Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 20, Number 97, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 August 1899 — THE PATRIOTS TALISMAN. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE PATRIOTS TALISMAN.

Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.

CHAPTER 111. &>«* well-lighted parlor of a substantial brick dwelling, aitaated on Spruce Otreet, and not far from the Delaware tlvor, aat two females, listening to the •bouts of the populace, and the ringing of the bells, and the rattle of small arms and luwmtnir of cannon, and watching the ' v bMaignes of flame that leaped up from the bonfires along the river’s bank. The first Was a woman of middle age, slightly framed, her pale, wan face giving token gfcnt g he was far from well. Traces of stiver were abundant in her hair, marks -Of premature age; and though the same .Otamp had come prematurely upon her -face, yet there were traces sufficient lef* -to show that she had been very beautiful •once. Aye, she had been very beautiful when die became the wife of Jacob Eastooort, and nobody wondered at the time <that Jacob had fancied the charming’ widow, though many did wonder how a •refined and beautiful woman could willingly have married with a coarse, unpolished man like Jacob Eastcourt. But •tranger things than that have happened. Weak, timid women have often taken -husbands coarse and uneducated simply heoonse they were physically strong and brave. At the age of thirty, Marian Wilton had been left a widow, with a large property. •Mr. Wilton had been a successful banker, -enjoying the confidence of all who did business with him. But he had not been « physically strong man. and the cares •of life soon wore him down. A child had been born to him—a daughter—which died et the age of three years; and a few months later he had been himself taken •way, leaving all his property to his wife: h the fifth year of her widowhood, Marion Wilton would have lost her life in tbe flood of the Delaware but for the Strong and willing arm of Jacob Eastcoart She had never seen the man before, but she saw him often enough after--wards. He represented himself as a •widower, with a child dependent upon His wife, he said, had died in Bos•tou three years before. And then Marian Wilton spw the child —Lillian East--court —as beautiful as the morning, and bright and winsome as a fairy—reminding her of her own lost darling, and •completely filling the aching void in her mother’s heart. Later, Jacob Eastcourt asked her for her hand, and she gave it to him; but even then it was not certain rim it had not been the child rather than tbe man with whom she had fallen in love. Later the child occupied her heart ■entirely entirely. Her second husband bod evidently been attracted more by her -wealth than her beauty. He had no love for the beautiful. He had no weakness •Of gallantry. He never could have given 4 wife occasion to be jealous of other -women. He loved money first; and, havtng gained money, he loved power. He •cared nothing for the power to do good, •or to make men happy; it was rather his •pride to be feared, and to possess the power of being revenged upon his foes. But of him we shall know more when -we have seen him.

Thirteen years had Marian been the •wife of Jacob Eaatcourt when we now intrude upon her, and years of weariness of emptiness might they have been trat for tie one bright presence that gave flghf to her home, and imparted warmth to her heart 'But for this blessed support hhe might have failed long ago. Herself highly educated and accomplished, she h«* found her great joy and solace in educating and training the true and loving heart that had fallen to her charge. And well was it tor the girl that it had been ao, for a father’s love she had never lanown. The man who could have no love tor his beautiful and devoted wife could Cm] no love for his child. In truth, real love, warm in the heart, was a stranger to Jacob Eastcourt’s nature. Lillian Eastcourt! She sat now near to her step-mother, listening with bated hreath to the wondrous voices of the wight. She was beautiful in all that can till the eye of the true lover of sweet and delicious harmony. She was taller than her step-mother, and stronger, and yet not above the medium height of women, for •the elder lady was hardly up to the standard. In form the maiden was the very igprfcction of statuesque grace and ease, that is, when she was at rest; when she moved she betrayed a strength and suppleness of limb, and a rhythm of motion -that might have become Terpsichore her«elf. Her hair, floating in wavy masses over her shoulders, was of a lustrous brown, and her eyes, frank and inspiring, wero of a deep, liquid blue. Of years ih«» had seen not quite eighteen. “Lillian, of what are you thinking?” The girl looked up with a start. “I was thinking of many things, dear mother.” “You were thinking of Robert?” ■“Yes—but not more of him than of my father.” Mafjfji Eastcourt’s face had brightened when she spoke the name of the young patriot, but a shadow fell at the mention of her husband. “I Was thinking,” pursued Lillian, “how different must be the feelings with which Robert and my father listen to this outpouring of patriotic emotion. Oh, why is niy father as he is? How can he, with America for his home —with all his prospects of the future fixed upon this soil—ateel his heart against this God-given yearning for liberty and manful rights?” S* “Ah, my child, he has no ” "No heart, yon would say?” added the 4drl, as the other hesitated. “Alaa!” moaned the unhappy wife, “you «nd I cannot hide the truth from ourwelves. If he has a heart, it is cold and Hibo yon think,” asked Lillian, in a reWV#r loved e meV ng ° n0 ’ * “I never saw a token of such love,” re«ud Tmournful Lake of°the‘head.’

he sometimes almost hated me because of the sins of my mother?” “Yes, Lillian; but I believe he lied to me. He did not speak like a man who was telling the truth. Think no more of that. Do not let it trouble you.” “Ah, dear mother, were that the only source of trouble, I think I could be happy. The darker, deeper trouble is in the future. My father is a Tory. He will give his influence entirely against the liberty of his country; and in his opposition to the patriot cause he will be bitter and revengeful. You and I both know that even now he is supporting a Tory band somewhere out among the Schuylkill farms.” “Yea,” returned the wife, with a quiver of pain, “and money which was once all mine is being put to this unholy use. But be sure he is not in the end to bear the burden of expense., He is but an agent of the king, hired by Sir William Howe. For every pound that he expends he will expect two from the royal coffers. As you say,' my child, we can see trouble in the future. Our dearest friends are of the patriots.” e “Aye,” cried Lillian, with enthusiasm, “and I am with them, heart and soul!” “So am I, my child; but if we would be of service to our country in this hour of her need, we must be circumspect. Oh, it is painful, It is humiliating, to be forced to act, in even the slightest degree, a double part; but, in maintaining the right against snch a man as we have to deal with, it may be necessary. At least, we may be forced to conceal from him the real sentiments we cherish. He must not

know that we would help on the patriot cause.” Before either could speak further, a knock was heard at the outer door, and presently a servant appeared and announced Robert Seaton. Our young friend followed immediately after the servant, and was welcomed by both mother and daughter. The matron greeted ‘him first, and an own mother could not have exhibited more tender solicitude. When the maiden approached, giving him both her hands, and gazing up into his face with such a world of trustful love in the azure depths of her eloquent eyes, he could not bnt bend his head and imprint a kis upon her fair brow. ' ~ “Dear Lillian,” he said, “I know that this clanging and booming and shouting is music in your ears.” “Yes, Robert, and I wish there could be no discordant notes.” “It is said there is no rose without a thorn.” He tried to smile, but coaid not; and evidently feeling the figure to be weak and frivolous for the occasion, he presently added, in a more subdued and solemn tone:

“Not much of the joy of earth comes to us unmixed with trial; and we know that the greatest blessings of life are the result of much toil and patient waiting. And yet all trial is not sorrow. We can be ever sad, and not be sorrowful. I have been joyous to-day, and I have been sad. Bat I have not brought my sadness here.” “If you have sadness, Robert,” said Lillian, resting her hand upon his arm, “yon must let me share it.” “I will tell you what you may share, my darling. It may be of anxiety, but 1 trust not of sadness or sorrow. In times like these we should understand each other perrectly. Since our love has been pledged, oar mutual confidence should be complete. Do you not feel so?” “Yes, Robert.” “Then I must tell you of a pledge which I have this day given to my father. He is suffering more and more from hie old wound. The cruel bullet is lodged so near the seat of life that the surgeons dare not attempt its removal, and it is slowly, but surely, wearing him down.” “Oh, God grant that he may be spared to ns a long, long time! I love him, Robert—l love him dearly." “And so he loves you, my precious. But he does not feel that he has long to live, and witfc the thought of approaching death he is anxious regarding the position his son is to occupy in the coming struggle. He asked me to-day, when his patriotic soul had been stirred to its very depths, what 1 would do if the alternative were forced upon me, and I should be galled upon to choose between my Lillian knd my country. I was not willing to admit that the dread alternative could arise. Bat he pressed me to answer what I wonld do if it should arise. I could not refuse. I told him that I loved my Lillian as I loved my life; but I held honor far dearer than life, and that, should the necessity be forced upon me, which God forbid! I would turn from all the world beside and cling to my country. Did Ido right r* “Oh, my own true love! My brave, brave heart!” cried Lillian, throwing her arms around her lover’s neck, and kissing him upon the cheek, “had you said less, '

you could not have been tny hero! God bless you, Robert! Go and teU your father that Lillian ia a sharer in his pride and in his patriotism.” “Aye,” added the matron, her pale face flushing; “and tell him that Marian Eastcourt, -while she lives, will lend all her infiuence to the Patriot cause!’* After a brief pause, during which the surging emotions were in a measure subdued, Mrs. Eastcourt resumed: *“We know pot what the future may hold in store, but to a certain extent we hold our fates in our own hands. We can at least choose death rather than dishonor. We will not be willing tools of wrong and oppression. We may become the victims, but not the agents. My children, I have ever shared your confidence; let me share it still., I will help you as I can. If new complications arise, we will work together. Let us hope for the best, and be prepared for the worst. And now, Robert, will you tell us of the doings of the day? We are anxious to know what has been done. Of course we can surmise the grand result, but you can tell to us the inspiriting story.” Holding one of Lillian’s hands, whose love seemed to grow more brave and tenacious with the threatening of danger, and with the matron sitting before him, he told the story of the day, as he had seen it, and as he had gained it from those who had been within the hall of Congress. Both his hearers were deeply interested, and both gave frequent utterance to their feelings. He was not himself more true and loyal to the Genius of Liberty than were those two women. “And,” said the young man, in conclusion, “among the men who threw np their hats and shouted for joy, none made more show of enthusiasm than did Jacob Eaatcourt. Do you think he could have been sincere?” “Time will show,” replied the wife, to whom the query had been addressed. “Of course he would join with the multitude on such an occasion. The multitude do not know him, and he does not wish that they should. Ah! there is his step.” And shortly afterwards Jacob Eastcourt entered the apartment. He was a man of fifty or thereabouts, heavily and strongly built, with a small head set upon a pair of broad, ronnded shoulders. His face, clean shaven, was coarse featured, with a substantial chin and a very low

brow. Hiß eyes were small in size, very dark in color, and deeply sunken beneath a pair of shaggy, overhanging brows. A phrenologist would have said that his perceptive faculties were largely developed, with a lack of the reflective; also that he was sadly deficient in the moral and reverential qualities, while destructiveness and secretiveness were toll and prominent,. making a man who could carry vengeance a long way, and follow it up persistently. His hair, which had once been black, was slightly grizzled, and was coarse and bristly. His garb was that of the well-to-do gentleman of the time, and his watch chain and his linen were pretentious. He stopped a moment upon the threshold when he saw who was present, but he finally came in, smiling and greeted Robert Seaton in an off-hand, friendly manner. Our hero stopped long enough to discover that Eastcourt had gained a thorough knowledge of what Congress had done, and then he arose and took his leave. Jacob followed him to the hall, and drew him-into a small reception room, where a taper was burning. “Robert,” he said, in a business-like way, “I will detain you but a moment. The time has now arrived when you and I should understand one another. Henceforth the lines must be sharply drawn. We must be either for the king, or must be reb — No, I will not say rebels —I will say Revolutionists. You understand me?” “Yes, sir.” “For my own part, I cannot yet exactly see my way clear. I most take time, for consideration. I suppose your course is decided upon?” “It is, Mr. Eastcourt.” “Yes, I thought it likely. Yon young men, with fortune to make, have the advantage of us older men who have worked their way up the hill, and find the hill to be a volcano, after all.” “You will hardly deem, sir,” said Robert, “that a young man can enter the American service in the hope of making a fortune.” “Most certainly hot;-and this brings me to the subject in hand, my boy. You love my daughter?” “Yes. sir.” “And with her hand, if yon gain it with my consent* a fortune is sure to come.” “Indeed, Mr. Eastcourt ” “Tut, tut—l understand what you would say. I know you love the girl, and we will let it go at that. And now, answer me this, and consider well before you answer: Suppose I should say to yon, Embrace the cause of the king, and the hand of Lillian, with her fortune, shall be yours when the compact is sealed?” ' “Do you mean for me to answer that?” demanded the youth, raising himself proudly up. . “Yes; but consider.” “I have considered long and well. I love your daughter, sir, and for her I think I wonld sacrifice everything but my manhood and my honor. My duty is to my country first. You know that I am already at the head of a company of enlisted men, and I may tell you that I expect in a few days to receive my commission as a captain in the American service. Could I prove traitor to my country I should be unworthy to aspire to the hand of Lillian Eastcourt—l should hide my head for very shame!" .

"Robert, rive me your hand! Yon have answered as I expected you would answer, and I honor yon for it Go on with yopr patriotic work, and continue to love my daughter as much as you please. When the victory is won she shall be yours. Of course I will not have you marry while the bond could only hamper you in the discharge of graver duties.” “Mr. Eastcourt,” cried the youth, grasping warmly the hand that had been extended to him, “I know not how to thank you for this.” “I want no thanks, my boy. I can honor the man who honors himself. As I said before, I cannot yet exactly see mj own way clear. My sympathies have, bees with the king, and it will be hard for m* to learn new manners; but, should we be separated in politics, our friendship shall not be severed. You can promise me that?” “I can promise that such severing shall not be the work of my hand, sir.” “Thank you, my boy—thank you! Take your commission, and wear it, and know that my doors are still open to you. If you should convert old Jacob Eastcourt to Revolutionism, it w-ould be a feather in your hat. But I hardly think you will attempt it. Lillian is already converted, which is far more to your purpose. I suppose she knows your determination?” “Yes, sir.” “Have you told her when you will be called away?” “No. Ido not know that yet myself.” “But it must be soon?” “I think so.” “And you will join Washington in New York?” “It may be.” “Well, good luck go with you wherever you go. And now, my boy, good-night. Give my best wishes and kindest regards to your father.” Robert Seaton reached the sidewalk in a half-dazed condition. He could hardly realize that he had heard aright, or if his ears had not deceived him, that it had been Jacob Eastcourt to whom he had been listening. Surely he had misjudged the man. Lillian’s father was, after all, good at heart; and who should say that his political convictions were not honest?

The young man was walking very slowly, with his head bowed, thinking of the strange interview, when his ear caught the sound of a light, hurrying footfall behind him, and presently a hand was laid upon his arm. He stopped and turned, and by the starlight and reflected glare of the distant bonfires he distinguished a female form, closely muffled in a dark mantle. “Robert! Hush! Speak no name. Follow me. I have something to say to you.” It was Jacob Eastcourt’s wife! Wonderingly he followed her —followed to a darkened archway leading to a residence that stood back from the street, where she turned and removed the veiling mantle from her face. He fancied he could hear the throbbing of her heart, though the tumult might have been in his own bosom. (To be continued.) Copyright.

JACOB EASTCOURT AND ROBERT SEATON.