On the morning of the second of April, Ella Armstead^[1] arose early. When she awoke, her first thought was of William; then her thoughts turned to something she had forgotten to tell William. She said to herself:

“Oh! Why did I forget to tell dear Willie that Albert King proposed to me and I refused him? Why didn’t I tell him that Al King had sworn to be an enemy to me always if I didn’t comply with his proposition?” She paused for a few minutes and then said in a voice full of anxiety: “Let[’s] see, he made his proposition to me on Wednesday, the Twenty-Eighth of March. Yes, it was Wednesday evening, and what were his last words? Why they were, ‘Mark my words, Ella Armstead, if you do not accept my proposition I am your sworn enemy forever. And as for your marrying William Reed, if you marry him or promise to marry him, I’ll see if a bullet from a Mexican Rifle can’t find his life.’ Yes, those were his last words, and I haven’t told anyone anything about it. I’ll tell Mother and Father about it this very morning, but it is too late for poor William! The train is now carrying him far, far away. It is too late! Too late!”

With these words, she went down the stairs. Their house stood on the side of a hill near the Opequon Creek.^[2] Her father owned a large lot of cows, horses, hogs, and sheep. She was a very smart girl. She never hesitated to do anything she could to help her mother. She accordingly went out and helped to milk the cows. This done, she helped to get breakfast. Then she rang the bell when breakfast was ready. She had a brother, a very nice looking young man, and a brother-like companion to Hugh Walters, the young miller we spoke of in the preceding chapter. They always greeted one another cordially every morning. So as Herbert Armstead came in, for such was Ella’s brother’s name, when he came in, he said gaily:

“Good morning, Ella dear, how are you?”

She said: “Pleasant morning to you, Brother Bertie. How are you? I am not feeling very well this morning. I hope you are well.”

“Bertie” was Herbert’s pet name. He said good humoredly with a smile:

“Oh, I am always well, Sister, and I know what is the matter with you: you are grieving about your dear Willie. Did he propose before he left? He ought to have done so, if he didn’t! He is certainly a nice young gentleman.”

“Yes, William did propose and I accepted him,” said Ella, blushing until her lips and cheeks were like roses.

“Sensible girl!” Bertie said approvingly. “Ella, I always thought you were a sensible girl.”

Further conversation was interrupted by Father and another Armstead entering. They all seated themselves at the table, and in the course of the conversation Ella spoke that which was nearest her heart. She began and related all the circumstances of the case about Al King and his last words, a copy of which the Reader has already seen.

“Why didn’t you tell us before this, Ella?” Herbert said reproachfully, and then he added: ÷ “I would give him the most genteel thrashing he ever had. I will do it yet if I ever see him. Hugh Walters is up there with him now. I’ll go up there tomorrow if I have time.”

“Now Herbert, don’t be so hasty,” Mr. Armstead said reprovingly. “Albert King is more of a gentleman than to carry out such threats.” Herbert didn’t say no more, but as the old proverb says, still water runs deep. So did Herbert Armstead’s thoughts.

As soon as they had satisfied their appetites, they arose from the table. Mr. Armstead and his son went out to the barn and the women went to cleaning the house up. Ella went upstairs to make the beds. She was very sad. She commenced talking to herself about her betrothed. She said:

“Oh, how bad I feel since Willie has gone. He said he would not write until he got ready to come home, and he said something about his right name. I always thought he was Wilse Reed’s son, only he was so unlike him. Dear Willie was all that is noble and pure, while Wilse Reed is a coarse, villainous looking man.” After a silence of about half an hour’s duration, she said:

“Yes, for the first time in all my life I have began to doubt whether Wilse Reed is Willie’s father or not. If he is, where is his wife? Willie said from the first he could recollect he was left by Wilse Reed, or then he was called by some other name, he was left with a woman which he dimly recollects looked something like Mrs. Barton, and he says he recollects that Wilse told this woman that he was Wilse’s first wife’s child and he {. . .} to Berryville and had almost forgotten where he lived when he was left with this woman.”

Ella busied herself with these perplexing thoughts for a good while. Finally she went downstairs, and her mother said, “Why, Ella, you look as if you were lost since William has gone away.”

“Yes, Mother, I do feel like I am lost. I know one thing: I have lost an opportunity of telling dear Willie to watch out for his enemy, Al King.”

Her mother looked at her for a while and then said: “Why, Ella, do you believe Al King meant what he said?”

Ella didn’t answer immediately. When she did answer, she said:

“No, Mother, I do not believe Al King meant what he said, I simply know he meant it.”

“Well,” her mother said anxiously, “hope for the best. I hope he will think more of himself than to harm you or William.”

But hoping didn’t satisfy Ella. It seemed as if new troubles were twining themselves around the fair heroine’s young life. She had parted from her lover, her betrothed, and she had small chances of ever seeing him again if Al King carried out his threats.

She went up to her room again and knelt and prayed for the safety of her betrothed. A fearful presentiment that they would never meet again kept looming up before her. She tried to be cheerful, to sing, but all was of no avail whatever. She was restless. She went down to the creek under the large weeping willow where they had parted. Oh how she longed to be clasped to that manly heart once more, how she longed to see that smiling face once more, how she longed to hear that gentle voice again, but alas it was gone. The manly heart, the smiling face, the gentle voice was gone. Gone perhaps forever, perhaps for one year, perhaps for a shorter period. And from the way circumstances stood, perhaps, yes more than likely, they would never meet again. Oh what harrowing thoughts, what terrible anxiety for one so young. She sat down and wept tears of bitter sorrow.

“Oh William!” she exclaimed. “Oh William, if you only knew. If you only knew how wretched I am, you would never go and leave me!”

Herbert was working near there, and hearing this exclamation, he hastened to her side. ÷

“Why, Ella,” said Herbert. “Ella, what is the matter?” Ella did not answer, only with sobs. After a while, Herbert said, “I know what it is, Ella, and if you or William Reed has one hair of your heads harmed, I will be revenged. Or, more proper, I’ll be avenged.”

They stayed there and talked a long while. Finally Herbert went to his work and Ella went to the house bearing as calm a face as she could under the circumstances. Mr. John Armstead had amassed a considerable fortune by saving all his gains, and he had got a notion of moving to Washington City. He thought it would suit him better. The “Pine Hills” was too solitary a place for him. As he had formerly lived in Springfield, Massachusetts, so he had determined to move to Washington. And it was now near midday. As Ella reached the house, she went to helping her mother to get dinner. When dinner was ready, she had to blow the horn for the men. The men soon appeared, and they were all soon seated at the table to enjoy the delicious repast. Mr. Armstead began talking about his plans of moving to Washington and commencing business in a good locality.

“Well, I have decided to go to Washington to start business,” said he in the course of the conversation. “Herbert, I know you would rather be clerk in my store than to work on a farm, would you not, my son?” And Mr. Armstead looked smilingly at his son. He always idolized his son and daughter because they were so very dutiful. Nothing will make a child so very dutiful as an innocent, kind-hearted father, and such a father was Mr. Armstead. He had always encouraged his children in everything, and very sublime were the thoughts of the man who said that “a good man is the noblest work of God.” He might have added that a good woman is as noble a work of God as a good man.

“Yes, Father, I would,” Herbert said. “Although I have never murmured, I do not like working on a farm. How soon do you think you’ll go? Not before autumn?” Although Herbert didn’t like farming, he didn’t like the idea of leaving what he had planted for others to reap.

“No, Son,” Mr. Armstead said, “I guess I’ll not go before autumn.” Ah! How little did he think that he was destined to see something enacted that would make his blood curdle in his veins before he left Virginia, but such was the case. He was destined to see a revengeful man and an avenging woman exposed to the world. He hadn’t the power to look into the future.

“Well, Father,” said Ella, “I am glad to hear you say you are going to stay until fall, for perhaps dear Willie will get back by that time.”

“Oh, your ‘dear Willie’ is all you can think about,” said her father playfully.

When they had finished their dinner, they all went to their work, the men to the field, the women to their household duties. While they are all at their duties, we will embrace this opportunity of describing the father and mother of the house. Mr. Armstead was about forty years of age. His hair was as black as night, not a gray hair had made its appearance on his head. So contented had his life been, so free from trouble he had lived, that he was as robust as a boy of sixteen. He always wore a heavy mustache, but no more, on his face. He was said to be the most friendly, honest, and upright man in Frederick at that time. Although he always disapproved of slavery, he never argued with anyone upon such a subject but lived at peace with all. Thus he was termed one of the best “New Englanders” that ever lived in Virginia. Any stranger would be as frank with him as if they had known him ever so long. His wife was equal to him in all of her characteristics. She was at least three years his junior. She had married very young. She looked to be a great deal younger than she was. One of her sweet smiles would make the most reserved person talkative. The world and age had dealt gently with her. When she had first got married her husband was poor—very poor—but by his perseverance and her economy they were now in a fair way for making a fortune. She had always let her husband do as he said, believing it was all for the best, and so it was. She was a strict member of the Church of God and [a] persevering woman in every respect. She had always encouraged—never discouraged—her husband in any of his undertakings. In fact, she had strictly followed her promise at the altar when they were joined together in holy matrimony. She had strictly obeyed the injunction “honor and obey him in all things,” and she intended to do so until death did sever the bonds between them. The bonds were in no way binding to her. Ah no, it was a pleasure more than a duty for her to “honor and obey” him in all things. She was also very fond of her children. Her son was her Idol, and her daughter was part of her own existence. Just imagine! How could children be otherwise than dutiful with such guardian angels as those two people were that we have described?

Oh, the bliss of such a life. Oh, what a heavenly blessing it is to have kind parents, parents who take pride in bringing their children up in the way they ought to go! Those people took heed of the old Proverb which says: ÷ “As the sapling is bent the tree is bound to grow.” That is the sentiment, if not the exact words. They took pride in doing right in teaching their children right from wrong. ÷ And now to proceed. We find Mrs. Armstead seated in her easy chair. As she sits there, her mind, or her thoughts rather, go back to the time when she had first loved man, when she had been asked the questions which novelists so delight to write about, and then when she had timidly said “yes.” Was she sorry she had said yes? Was she sorry she had chosen John Armstead for her husband—no, go and ask the pilgrim on his dying bed if he was sorry he had been a Christian all his life!

What would his answer be? It would be “No!”

Time flies while we are reflecting. It was near sundown at the Armsteads’. The great day God was slowly sinking below the western hills. Mrs. Armstead rose out of her easy chair and went about supper. She soon had supper ready, and father and son were not long in coming to enjoy the repast. ÷ Herbert, though a dutiful son, he had a strong will. So he repeated his intentions at supper.

“I will have plenty time to go up to the mill,” said Herbert, “so I’ll ‘step’ up there tomorrow.”

Oh! Little did he think what a sight would meet his eyes when he did go. So supper passed [as] time rolled on, nine o’clock came, half past nine came, and they all went to bed, little thinking they were to be aroused before morning. It was past midnight before Ella Armstead could go to sleep. Some irresistible power kept her awake. She was just sinking into a pleasant “doze” when she heard a noise as of a horse galloping up the lane toward the house. The horse stopped, and she heard a hasty knock at the door. She called her father, and he arose hastily and went downstairs to the door.