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diff --git a/15498-8.txt b/15498-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7a9fd9a --- /dev/null +++ b/15498-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,18830 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Trumps, by George William Curtis + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Trumps + + +Author: George William Curtis + +Release Date: March 29, 2005 [eBook #15498] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRUMPS*** + + +E-text prepared by Curtis Weyant, Mary Meehan, and the Project Gutenberg +Online Distributed Proofreading Team from page images generously made +available by the Making of America Collection of the University of +Michigan Library + + + +Note: Images of the original pages are available through the Making + of America Collection of the University of Michigan. See + http://www.hti.umich.edu/cgi/b/bib/bibperm?q1=abw7901 + + + + + +TRUMPS + +A Novel + +by + +GEO. WM. CURTIS + +Author of _Nile Notes of a Howadji_, _The Howadji in Syria_, +_The Potiphar Papers_, _Prue and I_, etc. + +1861 + + + + + + + +CONTENTS + +Chapter + + I. SCHOOL BEGINS + II. HOPE WAYNE + III. AVE MARIA! + IV. NIGHT + V. PEEWEE PREACHING + VI. EXPERIMENTUM CRUCIS + VII. CASTLE DANGEROUS + VIII. AFTER THE BATTLE + IX. NEWS FROM HOME + X. BEGINNING TO SKETCH + XI. A VERDICT AND A SENTENCE + XII. HELP, HO! + XIII. SOCIETY + XIV. A NEW YORK MERCHANT + XV. A SCHOOL-BOY NO LONGER + XVI. PHILOSOPHY + XVII. OF GIRLS AND FLOWERS + XVIII. OLD FRIENDS AND NEW + XIX. DOG-DAYS + XX. AUNT MARTHA + XXI. THE CAMPAIGN + XXII. THE FINE ARTS + XXIII. BONIFACE NEWT, SON, & CO., DRY GOODS ON COMMISSION + XXXIV. "QUEEN AND HUNTRESS" + XXV. A STATESMAN--AND STATESWOMAN + XXVI. THE PORTRAIT AND THE MINIATURE + XXVII. GABRIEL AT HOME + XXVIII. BORN TO BE A BACHELOR + XXIX. MR. ABEL NEWT, GRAND STREET + XXX. CHECK + XXXI. AT DELMONICO'S + XXXII. MRS. THEODORE KINGFISHER AT HOME. _On dansera_ + XXXIII. ANOTHER TURN IN THE WALTZ + XXXIV. HEAVEN'S LAST BEST GIFT + XXXV. MOTHER-IN-LAW AND DAUGHTER-IN-LAW + XXXVI. THE BACK WINDOW + XXXVII. ABEL NEWT _Vice_ SLIGO MOULTRIE REMOVED + XXXVIII. THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING + XXXIX. A FIELD-DAY + XL. AT THE ROUND TABLE + XLI. A LITTLE DINNER + XLII. CLEARING AND CLOUDY + XLIII. WALKING HOME + XLIV. CHURCH GOING + XLV. IN CHURCH + XLVI. IN ANOTHER CHURCH + XLVII. DEATH + XLVIII. THE HEIRESS + XLIX. A SELECT PARTY + L. WINE AND TRUTH + LI. A WARNING + LII. BREAKFAST + LIII. SLIGO MOULTRIE _vice_ ABEL NEWT + LIV. CLOUDS AND DARKNESS + LV. ARTHUR MERLIN'S GREAT PICTURE + LVI. REDIVIVUS + LVII. DINING WITH LAWRENCE NEWT + LVIII. THE HEALTH OF THE JUNIOR PARTNER + LIX. MRS. ALFRED DINKS + LX. POLITICS + LXI. GONE TO PROTEST + LXII. THE CRASH, UP TOWN + LXIII. ENDYMION + LXIV. DIANA + LXV. THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE + LXVI. MENTOR AND TELEMACHUS + LXVII. WIRES + LXVIII. THE INDUSTRIOUS APPRENTICE + LXIX. IN AND OUT + LXX. THE REPRESENTATIVE OF THE PEOPLE + LXXI. RICHES HAVE WINGS + LXXII. GOOD-BY + LXXIII. THE BELCH PLATFORM + LXXIV. MIDNIGHT + LXXV. REMINISCENCE + LXXVI. A SOCIAL GLASS + LXXVII. FACE TO FACE + LXXVIII. FINISHING PICTURES + LXXIX. THE LAST THROW + LXXX. CLOUDS BREAKING + LXXXI. MRS. ALFRED DINKS AT HOME + LXXXII. THE LOST IS FOUND + LXXXIII. MRS. DELILAH JONES + LXXXIV. PROSPECTS OF HAPPINESS + LXXXV. GETTING READY + LXXXVI. IN THE CITY + LXXXVII. A LONG JOURNEY + LXXXVIII. WAITING + LXXXIX. DUST TO DUST + XC. UNDER THE MISLETOE + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +SCHOOL BEGINS. + + +Forty years ago Mr. Savory Gray was a prosperous merchant. No gentleman +on 'Change wore more spotless linen or blacker broadcloth. His ample +white cravat had an air of absolute wisdom and honesty. It was so very +white that his fellow-merchants could not avoid a vague impression that +he had taken the church on his way down town, and had so purified himself +for business. Indeed a white cravat is strongly to be recommended as a +corrective and sedative of the public mind. Its advantages have long been +familiar to the clergy; and even, in some desperate cases, politicians +have found a resort to it of signal benefit. There are instructive +instances, also, in banks and insurance offices of the comfort and +value of spotless linen. Combined with highly-polished shoes, it is +of inestimable mercantile advantage. + +Mr. Gray prospered in business, and nobody was sorry. He enjoyed his +practical joke and his glass of Madeira, which had made at least three +voyages round the Cape. His temperament, like his person, was just +unctuous enough to enable him to slip comfortably through life. + +Happily for his own comfort, he had but a speaking acquaintance with +politics. He was not a blue Federalist, and he never d'd the Democrats. +With unconscious skill he shot the angry rapids of discussion, and swept, +by a sure instinct, toward the quiet water on which he liked to ride. In +the counting-room or the meeting of directors, when his neighbors waxed +furious upon raking over some outrage of that old French infidel, Tom +Jefferson, as they called him, sending him and his gun-boats where no +man or boat wants to go, Mr. Gray rolled his neck in his white cravat, +crossed his legs, and shook his black-gaitered shoe, and beamed, and +smiled, and blew his nose, and hum'd, and ha'd, and said, "Ah, yes!" +"Ah, indeed?" "Quite so!" and held his tongue. + +Mr. Savory Gray minded his own business; but his business did not +mind him. There came a sudden crash--one of the commercial earthquakes +that shake fortunes to their foundations and scatter failure on every +side. One day he sat in his office consoling his friend Jowlson, who +had been ruined. Mr. Jowlson was terribly agitated--credit gone--fortune +wrecked--no prospects--"O wife and children!" he cried, rocking to and +fro as he sat. + +"My dear Jowlson, you must not give way in this manner. You must +control your feelings. Have we not always been taught," said Mr. Gray, +as a clerk brought in a letter, the seal of which the merchant broke +leisurely, and then skimmed the contents as he continued, "that riches +have wings and--my God!" he ejaculated, springing up, "I am a ruined +man!" + +So he was. Every thing was gone. Those pretty riches that chirped and +sang to him as he fed them; they had all spread their bright plumage, +like a troop of singing birds--have we not always been taught that they +might, Mr. Jowlson?--and had flown away. + +To undertake business anew was out of the question. His friends said, +"Poor Gray! what shall be done?" + +The friendly merchants pondered and pondered. The worthy Jowlson, who +had meanwhile engaged as book-keeper upon a salary of seven hundred +dollars a year--one of the rare prizes--was busy enough for his friend, +consulting, wondering, planning. Mr. Gray could not preach, nor practice +medicine, nor surgery, nor law, because men must be instructed in those +professions; and people will not trust a suit of a thousand dollars, or +a sore throat, or a broken thumb, in the hands of a man who has not +fitted himself carefully for the responsibility. He could not make boots, +nor build houses, nor shoe horses, nor lay stone wall, nor bake bread, +nor bind books. Men must be educated to be shoemakers, carpenters, +blacksmiths, bakers, masons, or book-binders. What _could_ be done? +Nobody suggested an insurance office, or an agency for diamond mines +on Newport beach; for, although it was the era of good feeling, those +ingenious infirmaries for commercial invalids were not yet invented. + +"I have it!" cried Jowlson, one day, rushing in, out of breath, among +several gentlemen who were holding a council about their friend +Gray--that is, who had met in a bank parlor, and were talking about +his prospects--"I have it! and how dull we all are! What shall he do? +Why, keep a school, to be sure!--a school!--a school! Take children, +and be a parent to them!" + +"How dull we all were!" cried the gentlemen in chorus. "A school is the +very thing! A school it shall be!" And a school it was. + +Upon the main street of the pleasant village of Delafield Savory Gray, +Esq., hired a large house, with an avenue of young lindens in front, a +garden on one side, and a spacious play-ground in the rear. The pretty +pond was not far away, with its sloping shores and neat villas, and a +distant spire upon the opposite bank--the whole like the vignette of an +English pastoral poem. Here the merchant turned from importing pongees to +inculcating principles. His old friends sent some of their children to +the new school, and persuaded their friends to send others. Some of his +former correspondents in other parts of the world, not entirely satisfied +with the Asian and East Indian systems of education, shipped their sons +to Mr. Gray. The good man was glad to see them. He was not very learned, +and therefore could not communicate knowledge. But he did his best, and +tried very hard to be respected. The boys did not learn any thing; but +they had plenty of good beef, and Mr. Gray played practical jokes upon +them; and on Sundays they all went to hear Dr. Peewee preach. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +HOPE WAYNE. + + +When there was a report that Mr. Savory Gray was coming to Delafield to +establish a school for boys, Dr. Peewee, the minister of the village, +called to communicate the news to Mr. Christopher Burt, his oldest and +richest parishioner, at Pine wood, his country seat. When Mr. Burt heard +the news, he foresaw trouble without end; for his orphan grand-daughter, +Hope Wayne, who lived with him, was nearly eighteen years old; and it had +been his fixed resolution that she should be protected from the wicked +world of youth that is always going up and down in the earth seeking whom +it may marry. If incessant care, and invention, and management could +secure it, she should arrive safely where Grandpa Burt was determined +she should arrive ultimately, at the head of her husband's dinner-table, +Mrs. Simcoe, ma'am. + +Mrs. Simcoe was Mr. Burt's housekeeper. So far as any body could say, +Mrs. Burt died at a period of which the memory of man runneth not to +the contrary. There were traditions of other housekeepers. But since +the death of Hope's mother Mrs. Simcoe was the only incumbent. She had +been Mrs. Wayne's nurse in her last moments, and had rocked the little +Hope to sleep the night after her mother's burial. She was always tidy, +erect, imperturbable. She pervaded the house; and her eye was upon a +table-cloth, a pane of glass, or a carpet, almost as soon as the spot +which arrested it. Housekeeper _nascitur non fit_. She was so silent and +shadowy that the whole house sympathized with her, until it became +extremely uncomfortable to the servants, who constantly went away; and a +story that the house was haunted became immensely popular and credible +the moment it was told. + +There had been no visiting at Pinewood for a long time, because of the +want of a mistress and of the unsocial habits of Mr. Burt. But the +neighboring ladies were just beginning to call upon Miss Wayne. When she +returned the visits Mrs. Simcoe accompanied her in the carriage, and sat +there while Miss Wayne performed the parlor ceremony. Then they drove +home. Mr. Burt dined at two, and Miss Hope sat opposite her grandfather +at table; Hiram waited. Mrs. Simcoe dined alone in her room. + +There, too, she sat alone in the long summer afternoons, when the work of +the house was over for the day. She held a book by the open window, or +gazed for a very long time out upon the landscape. There were pine-trees +near her window; but beyond she could see green meadows, and blue hills, +and a glittering river, and rounded reaches of woods. She watched the +clouds, or, at least, looked at the sky. She heard the birds in spring +days, and the dry hot locusts on sultry afternoons; and she looked with +the same unchanging eyes upon the opening buds and blooming flowers, as +upon the worms that swung themselves on filaments and ate the leaves and +ruined the trees, or the autumnal hectic which Death painted upon the +leaves that escaped the worms. + +Sometimes on these still, warm afternoons her lips parted, as if she were +singing. But it was a very grave, quiet performance. There was none of +the gush and warmth of song, although the words she uttered were always +those of the hymns of Charles Wesley--those passionate, religious songs +of the New Jerusalem. For Mrs. Simcoe was a Methodist, and with Methodist +hymns she had sung Hope to sleep in the days when she was a baby; so that +the young woman often listened to the music in church with a heart full +of vague feelings, and dim, inexplicable memories, not knowing that she +was hearing, though with different words, the strains that her nurse had +whispered over her crib in the hymns of Wesley. + +It is to be presumed that at some period Mrs. Simcoe, whom Mr. Burt +always addressed in the same manner as "Mrs. Simcoe, ma'am," had received +a general system of instruction to the effect that "My grand-daughter, +Miss Wayne--Mrs. Simcoe, ma'am--will marry a gentleman of wealth and +position; and I expect her to be fitted to preside over his household. +Yes, Mrs. Simcoe, ma'am." + +What on earth is a girl sent into this world for but to make a proper +match, and not disgrace her husband--to keep his house, either directly +or by a deputy--to take care of his children, to see that his slippers +are warm and his Madeira cold, and his beef not burned to a cinder, Mrs. +Simcoe, ma'am? Christopher Burt believed that a man's wife was a more +sacred piece of private property than his sheep-pasture, and when he +delivered the deed of any such property he meant that it should be in +perfect order. + +"Hope may marry a foreign minister, Mrs. Simcoe, ma'am. Who knows? She +may marry a large merchant in town or a large planter at the South, who +will be obliged to entertain a great deal, and from all parts of the +world. I intend that she shall be fit for the situation, that she shall +preside at her husband's table in a superior manner." + +So Hope, as a child, had played with little girls, who were invited to +Pinewood--select little girls, who came in the prettiest frocks and +behaved in the prettiest way, superintended by nurses and ladies' maids. +They tended their dolls peaceably in the nursery; they played clean +little games upon the lawn. Not too noisy, Ellen! Mary, gently, gently, +dear! Julia, carefully! you are tumbling your frock. They were not +chattery French nurses who presided over these solemnities; they were +grave, housekeeping, Mrs. Simcoe-kind of people. Julia and Mary were +exhorted to behave themselves like little ladies, and the frolic ended +by their all taking books from the library shelves and sitting properly +in a large chair, or on the sofa, or even upon the piazza, if it had been +nicely dusted and inspected, until the setting sun sent them away with +the calmest kisses at parting. + +As Hope grew older she had teachers at home--recluse old scholars, +decayed clergymen in shiny black coats, who taught her Latin, and looked +at her through round spectacles, and, as they looked, remembered that +they were once young. She had teachers of history, of grammar, of +arithmetic--of all English studies. Some of these Mentors were weak-eyed +fathers of ten children, who spoke so softly that their wives must have +had loud voices. Others were young college graduates, with low collars +and long hair, who read with Miss Wayne in English literature, while Mrs. +Simcoe sat knitting in the next chair. Then there had been the Italian +music-masters, and the French teachers, very devoted, never missing a +lesson, but also never missing Mrs. Simcoe, who presided over all +instruction which was imparted by any Mentor under sixty. + +But when Hope grew older still and found Byron upon the shelves of the +Library, his romantic sadness responded to the vague longing of her +heart. Instinctively she avoided all that repels a woman in his verses, +as she would have avoided the unsound parts of a fruit. But the solitary, +secluded girl lived unconsciously and inevitably in a dream world, for +she had no knowledge of any other, nor contact with it. Proud and shy, +her heart was restless, her imagination morbid, and she believed in +heroes. + +When Dr. Peewee had told Mr. Burt all that he knew about the project of +the school, Mr. Burt rang the bell violently. + +"Send Miss Hope to me." + +The servant disappeared, and in a few moments Hope Wayne entered the +room. To Dr. Peewee's eyes she seemed wrapped only in a cloud of delicate +muslin, and the wind had evidently been playing with her golden hair, for +she had been lying upon the lawn reading Byron. + +"Did you want me, grandfather?" + +"Yes, my dear. Mr. Gray, a respectable person, is coming here to set up a +school. There will be a great many young men and boys. I shall never ask +them to the house. I hate boys. I expect you to hate them too." + +"Yes--yes, my dear," said Dr. Peewee; "hate the boys? Yes; we must hate +the boys." + +Hope Wayne looked at the two old gentlemen, and answered, + +"I don't think you need have warned me, grandfather; I'm not so apt to +fall in love with boys." + +"No, no, Hope; I know. Ever since you have lived with me--how long is it, +my dear, since your mother died?" + +"I don't know, grandfather; I never saw her," replied Hope, gravely. + +"Yes, yes; well, ever since then you have been a good, quiet little girl +with grandpapa. Here, Cossy, come and give grandpa a kiss. And mind the +boys! No speaking, no looking--we are never to know them. You understand? +Now go, dear." + +As she closed the door, Dr. Peewee also rose to take leave. + +"Doctor," said Mr. Burt, as the other pushed back his chair, "it is a +very warm day. Let me advise you to guard against any sudden debility +or effect of the heat by a little cordial." + +As he spoke he led the way into the dining-room, and fumbled slowly +over a bunch of keys which he drew from his pocket. Finding the proper +key, he put it into the door of the side-board. "In this side-board, Dr. +Peewee, I keep a bottle of old Jamaica, which was sent me by a former +correspondent in the West Indies." As Dr. Peewee had heard the same +remark at least fifty times before, the kindly glistening of his nose +must be attributed to some other cause than excitement at this +intelligence. + +"I like to preserve my friendly relations with my old commercial +friends," continued Mr. Burt, speaking very pompously, and slowly +pouring from a half-empty decanter into a tumbler. "I rarely drink +any thing myself--" + +"H'm, ha!" grunted the Doctor. + +"--except a glass of port at dinner. Yet, not to be impolite, Doctor, +not to be impolite, I could not refuse to drink to your very good health +and safe return to the bosom of your family." + +And Mr. Burt drained the glass, quite unobservant of the fact that the +Rev. Dr. Peewee was standing beside him without glass or old Jamaica. In +truth Mr. Burt had previously been alarmed about the effect of the bottle +of port--which he metaphorically called a glass--that he had drunk at +dinner, and to guard against evil results he had already, that very +afternoon, as he was accustomed to say with an excellent humor, been +to the West Indies for his health. + +"Bless my soul, Doctor, you haven't filled your glass! Permit me." + +And the old gentleman poured into the one glass and then into the other. + +"And now, Sir," he added, "now, Sir, let us drink to the health of Mr. +Gray, but not of the boys--ha! ha!" + +"No, no, not of the boys? No, not of the boys. Thank you, Sir--thank you. +That is a pleasant liquor, Mr. Burt. H'm, ha! a very pleasant liquor. +Good-afternoon, Mr. Burt; a very good day, Sir. H'm, ha!" + +As Hope left her grandfather, Mrs. Simcoe was sitting at her window, +which looked over the lawn in front of the house upon which Hope +presently appeared. It was already toward sunset, and the tender golden +light streamed upon the landscape like a visible benediction. A few rosy +clouds lay in long, tranquil lines across the west, and the great trees +bathed in the sweet air with conscious pleasure. + +As Hope stood with folded hands looking toward the sunset, she began +unconsciously to repeat some of the lines that always lay in her mind +like invisible writing, waiting only for the warmth of a strong emotion +to bring them legibly out: + +"Though the rock of my last hope is shivered, + And its fragments are sunk in the wave; +Though I feel that my soul is delivered + To pain, it shall not be its slave. +There is many a pang to pursue me; + They may crush, but they shall not contemn; +They may torture, but shall not subdue me; + 'Tis of thee that I think, not of them." + +At the same moment Mrs. Simcoe was closing her window high over Hope's +head. Her face was turned toward the sunset with the usual calm impassive +look, and as she gazed at the darkening landscape she was singing, in her +murmuring way, + +"I rest upon thy word; + Thy promise is for me: +My succor and salvation, Lord, + Shall surely come from thee. +But let me still abide, + Nor from my hope remove, +Till thou my patient spirit guide + Into thy perfect love." + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +AVE MARIA! + + +Mr. Gray's boys sat in several pews, which he could command with his +eye from his own seat in the broad aisle. Every Sunday morning at the +first stroke of the bell the boys began to stroll toward the church. +But after they were seated, and the congregation had assembled, and Dr. +Peewee had gone up into the pulpit, the wheels of a carriage were heard +outside--steps were let down--there was an opening of doors, a slight +scuffing and treading, and old Christopher Burt entered. His head was +powdered, and he wore a queue. His coat collar was slightly whitened +with-powder, and he carried a gold-headed cane. + +The boys looked in admiration upon so much respectability, powder, age, +and gold cane united in one person. + +But all the boys were in love with the golden-haired grand-daughter. +They went home to talk about her. They went to bed to dream of her. +They read Mary Lamb's stories from Shakespeare, and Hope Wayne was +Ophelia, and Desdemona, and Imogen--above all others, she was Juliet. +They read the "Arabian Nights," and she was all the Arabian Princesses +with unpronounceable names. They read Miss Edgeworth--"Helen," +"Belinda."--"Oh, thunder!" they cried, and dropped the book to think +of Hope. + +Hope Wayne was not unconscious of the adoration she excited. If a swarm +of school-boys can not enter a country church without turning all their +eyes toward one pew, is it not possible that, when a girl comes in and +seats herself in that pew, the very focus of those burning glances, even +Dr. Peewee may not entirely distract her mind, however he may rivet her +eyes? As she takes her last glance at the Sunday toilet in her sunny +dressing-room at home, and half turns to be sure that the collar is +smooth, and that the golden curl nestles precisely as it should under the +moss rose-bud that blushes modestly by the side of a lovelier bloom--is +it not just supposable that she thinks, for a wayward instant, of other +eyes that will presently scan that figure and face, and feels, with a +half-flush, that they will not be shocked nor disappointed? + +There was not a boy in Mr. Gray's school who would have dared to dream +that Hope Wayne ever had such a thought. When she appeared behind +Grandfather Burt and the gold-headed cane she had no more antecedents +in their imaginations than a rose or a rainbow. They no more thought +of little human weaknesses and mundane influences in regard to her +than they thought of cold vapor when they looked at sunset clouds. + +During the service Hope sat stately in the pew, with her eyes fixed upon +Dr. Peewee. She knew the boys were there. From time to time she observed +that new boys had arrived, and that older ones had left. But how she +discovered it, who could say? There was never one of Mr. Gray's boys who +could honestly declare that he had seen Hope Wayne looking at either of +the pews in which they sat. Perhaps she did not hear what Dr. Peewee +said, although she looked at him so steadily. Perhaps her heart did not +look out of her eyes, but was busy with a hundred sweet fancies in which +some one of those fascinated boys had a larger share than he knew. +Perhaps, when she covered her eyes in an attitude of devotion, she did +not thereby exclude all thoughts of the outer and lower world. Perhaps +the Being for whose worship they were assembled was no more displeased +with the innocent reveries and fancies which floated through that young +heart than with the soft air and sweet song of birds that played through +the open windows of the church on some warm June Sunday morning. + +But when the shrill-voiced leader of the choir sounded the key-note of +the hymn-tune through his nose, and the growling bass-viol joined in +unison, while the congregation rose, and Dr. Peewee surveyed his people +to mark who had staid away from service, then Hope Wayne looked at the +choir as if her whole soul were singing; and young Gabriel Bennet, +younger than Hope, had a choking feeling as he gazed at her--an +involuntary sense of unworthiness and shame before such purity and grace. +He counted every line of the hymn grudgingly, and loved the tunes that +went back and repeated and prolonged--the tunes endlessly _da capo_--and +the hymns that he heard as he looked at her he never forgot. + +But there were other eyes than Gabriel Bennet's that watched Hope Wayne, +and for many months had watched her--the flashing black eyes of Abel +Newt. Handsome, strong, graceful, he was one of the oldest boys, and a +leader at Mr. Gray's school. Like every handsome, bold boy or young man, +for he was fully eighteen, and seemed much older, Abel Newt had plenty of +allies at school--they could hardly be called friends. There was many a +boy who thought with the one nicknamed Little Malacca, although, more +prudently than he, he might not say it: "Abe gives me gingerbread; but I +guess I don't like him!" If a boy interfered with Abe he was always +punished. The laugh was turned on him; there was ceaseless ridicule and +taunting. Then if it grew insupportable, and came to fighting, Abel Newt +was strong in muscle and furious in wrath, and the recusant was generally +pommeled. + +Reposing upon his easy, conscious superiority, Abel had long worshiped +Hope Wayne. They were nearly of the same age--she a few months the +younger. But as the regulations of the school confined every boy, without +especial permission of absence, to the school grounds, and as Abel had no +acquaintance with Mr. Burt and no excuse for calling, his worship had +been silent and distant. He was the more satisfied that it should be so, +because it had never occurred to him that any of the other boys could be +a serious rival for her regard. He was also obliged to be the more +satisfied with his silent devotion, because never, by a glance, did she +betray any consciousness of his particular observation, or afford him +the least opportunity for saying or doing any thing that would betray +it. If he hastened to the front door of the church he could only stand +upon the steps, and as she passed out she nodded to her few friends, +and immediately followed her grandfather into the carriage. + +When Gabriel Bennet came to Mr. Gray's, Abel did not like him. He laughed +at him. He made the other boys laugh at him whenever he could. He bullied +him in the play-ground. He proposed to introduce fagging at Mr. Gray's. +He praised it as a splendid institution of the British schools, simply +because he wanted Gabriel as his fag. He wanted to fling his boots at +Gabriel's head that he might black them. He wanted to send him down +stairs in his shirt on winter nights. He wanted to have Gabriel get up in +the cold mornings and bring him his breakfast in bed. He wanted to chain +Gabriel to the car of his triumphal progress through school-life. He +wanted to debase and degrade him altogether. + +"What is it," Abel exclaimed one day to the large boys assembled in +solemn conclave in the school-room, "that takes all the boorishness and +brutishness out of the English character? What is it that prevents the +Britishers from being servile and obsequious--traits, I tell you, boys, +unknown in England--but this splendid system of fagging? Did you ever +hear of an insolent Englishman, a despotic Englishman, a surly +Englishman, a selfish Englishman, an obstinate Englishman, a domineering +Englishman, a dogmatic Englishman? Never, boys, never. These things are +all taken out of them by fagging. It stands to reason they should be. If +I shy my boots at a fellow's head, is he likely to domineer? If I kick a +small boy who contradicts me, is he likely to be opinionated and +dogmatic? If I eat up my fag's plum-cake just sent by his mamma, hot, +as it were, from the maternal heart, and moist with a mother's tears, is +that fag likely to be selfish? Not at all. The boots, and the kicking, +and the general walloping make him manly. It teaches him to govern his +temper and hold his tongue. I swear I should like to have a fag!" +perorated Abel, meaning that he should like to be the holy office, and +to have Gabriel Bennet immediately delivered up to him for discipline. + +Once Gabriel overheard this kind of conversation in the play-ground, as +Abel Newt and some of the other boys were resting after a game at ball. +There were no personal allusions in what Abel had said, but Gabriel took +him up a little curtly: + +"Pooh! Abel, how would you like to have Gyles Blanding shy his boots at +your head?" + +Abel looked at him a moment, sarcastically. Then he replied: + +"My young friend, I should like to see him try it. But fagging concerns +small boys, not large ones." + +"Yes!" retorted Gabriel, his eyes flashing, as he kept tossing the ball +nervously, and catching it; "yes, that's the meanness of it: the little +boy can't help himself." + +"By golly, I'd kick!" put in Little Malacca. + +"Then you'd be licked till you dropped, my small Sir," said Abel, +sneeringly. + +"Yes, Abel," replied Gabriel, "but it's a mean thing for an American boy +to want fagging." + +"Not at all," he answered; "there are some young American gentlemen I +know who would be greatly benefited by being well fagged; yes, made to +lie down in the dirt and lick a little of it, and fetch and carry. And to +be kicked out of bed every morning and into bed every night would be the +very best thing that could happen to 'em. By George, I should like to +have the kicking and licking begin now!" + +Gabriel had the same dislike of Abel which the latter felt for him, +but they had never had any open quarrel. Even thus far in the present +conversation there had been nothing personal said. It was only a warm +general discussion. Gabriel merely asked, when the other stopped, + +"What good does the fagging do the fellow that flings the boots and +bullies the little one?" + +"Good?" answered Abel--"what good does it do? Why, +he has been through it all himself, and he's just paying it +off." + +Abel smiled grimly as he looked round upon the boys, who did not seem at +all enthusiastic for his suggestion. + +"Well," said he, "I'm afraid I shall have to postpone my millennium of +fagging. But I don't know what else will make men of you. And mark you, +my merry men, there's more than one kind of fagging;" and he looked in a +droll way--a droll way that was not in the least funny, but made the boys +all wonder what Abel Newt was up to now. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +NIGHT. + + +It was already dusk, but the summer evening is the best time for play. +The sport in the play-ground at Mr. Gray's was at its height, and the +hot, eager, panting boys were shouting and scampering in every direction, +when a man ran in from the road and cried out, breathless, + +"Where's Mr. Gray?" + +"In his study," answered twenty voices at once. The man darted toward the +house and went in; the next moment he reappeared with Mr. Gray, both of +them running. + +"Get out the boat!" cried Mr. Gray, "and call the big boys. There's a man +drowning in the pond!" + +The game was over at once, and each young heart thrilled with vague +horror. Abel Newt, Muddock, Blanding, Tom Gait, Jim Greenidge, and the +rest of the older boys, came rushing out of the school-room, and ran +toward the barn, in which the boat was kept upon a truck. In a moment the +door was open, the truck run out, and all the boys took hold of the rope. +Mr. Gray and the stranger led the way. The throng swept out of the gate, +and as they hastened silently along, the axles of the truck kindled with +the friction and began to smoke. + +"Carefully! steadily!" cried the boys all together. + +They slackened speed a little, but, happily, the pond was but a short +distance from the school. It was a circular sheet of water, perhaps a +mile in width. + +"Boys, he is nearly on the other side," said Mr. Gray, as the crowd +reached the shore. + +In an instant the boat was afloat. Mr. Gray, the stranger, and the six +stoutest boys in the school, stepped into it. The boys lifted their oars. +"Let fall! give way!" cried Mr. Gray, and the boat moved off, glimmering +away into the darkness. + +The younger boys remained hushed and awe-stricken upon the shore. The +stars were just coming out, the wind had fallen, and the smooth, black +pond lay silent at their feet. They could see the vague, dark outline of +the opposite shore, but none of the pretty villas that stood in graceful +groves upon the banks--none of the little lawns that sloped, with a +feeling of human sympathy, to the water. The treachery of that glassy +surface was all they thought of. They shuddered to remember that they had +so often bathed in the pond, and recoiled as if they had been friends of +a murderer. None of them spoke. They clustered closely together, +listening intently. Nothing was audible but the hum of the evening +insects and the regular muffled beat of the oars over the water. The +boys strained their ears and held their breath as the sound suddenly +stopped. But they listened in vain. The lazy tree-toads sang, the +monotonous hum of the night went on. + +Gabriel Bennet held the hand of Little Malacca--a dark-eyed boy, who was +supposed in the school to have had no father or mother, and who had +instinctively attached himself to Gabriel from the moment they met. + +"Isn't it dreadful?" whispered the latter. + +"Yes," said Gabriel, "it's dreadful to be young when a man's drowning, +for you can't do any thing. Hist!" + +There was not a movement, as they heard a dull, distant sound. + +"I guess that's Jim Greenidge," whispered Little Malacca, under his +breath; "he's the best diver." + +Nobody answered. The slow minutes passed. Some of the boys peered timidly +into the dark, and clung closer to their neighbors. + +"There they come!" said Gabriel suddenly, in a low voice, and in a few +moments the beat of the oars was heard again. Still nobody spoke. Most of +the boys were afraid that when the boat appeared they should see a dead +body, and they dreaded it. Some felt homesick, and began to cry. The +throb of oars came nearer and nearer. The boat glimmered out of the +darkness, and almost at the same moment slid up the shore. The solemn +undertone in which the rowers spoke told all. Death was in the boat. + +Gabriel Bennet could see the rowers step quickly out, and with great care +run the boat upon the truck. He said, "Come, boys!" and they all moved +together and grasped the rope. + +"Forward!" said Mr. Gray. + +Something lay across the seats covered with a large cloak. The boys did +not look behind, but they all knew what they were dragging. The homely +funeral-car rolled slowly along under the stars. The crickets chirped; +the multitudinous voice of the summer night murmured on every side, +mingling with the hollow rumble of the truck. In a few moments the +procession turned into the grounds, and the boat was drawn to the +platform. + +"The little boys may go," said Mr. Gray. + +They dropped the rope and turned away. They did not even try to see +what was done with the body; but when Blanding came out of the house +afterward, they asked him who found the drowned man. + +"Jim Greenidge," said he. "He stripped as soon as we were well out on the +pond, and asked the stranger gentleman to show him about where his friend +sank. The moment the place was pointed out he dove. The first time he +found nothing. The second time he touched him"--the boys shuddered--"and +he actually brought him up to the surface. But he was quite dead. Then +we took him into the boat and covered him over. That's all." + +There were no more games, there was no other talk, that evening. When the +boys were going to bed, Gabriel asked Little Malacca in which room Jim +Greenidge slept. + +"He sleeps in Number Seven. Why?" + +"Oh! I only wanted to know." + +Gabriel Bennet could not sleep. His mind was too busy with the events of +the day. All night long he could think of nothing but the strong figure +of Jim Greenidge erect in the summer night, then plunging silently into +the black water. When it was fairly light he hurried on his clothes, and +passing quietly along the hall, knocked at the door of Number Seven. + +"Who's there?" cried a voice within. + +"It's only me." + +"Who's me?" + +"Gabriel Bennet." + +"Come in, then." + +It was Abel Newt who spoke; and as Gabriel stepped in, Newt asked, +abruptly, + +"What do you want?" + +"I want to speak to Jim Greenidge." + +"Well, there he is," replied Newt, pointing to another bed. "Jim! Jim!" + +Greenidge roused himself. + +"What's the matter?" said his cheery voice, as he rose upon his elbow and +looked at Gabriel with his kind eyes. "Come here, Gabriel. What is it?" + +Gabriel hesitated, for Abel Newt was looking sharply at him. But in a +moment he went to Greenidge's bedside, and said, shyly, in a low voice, + +"Shall I black your boots for you?" + +"Black my boots! Why, Gabriel, what on earth do you mean? No, of course +you shall not." + +And the strong youth looked pleasantly on the boy who stood by his +bedside, and then put out his hand to him. + +"Can't I brush your clothes then, or do any thing for you?" persisted +Gabriel, softly. + +"Certainly not. Why do you want to?" replied Greenidge. + +"Oh! I only thought it would be pleasant if I could do something--that's +all," said Gabriel, as he moved slowly away. "I'm sorry to have waked +you." + +He closed the door gently as he went out. Jim Greenidge lay for some time +resting upon his elbow, wondering why a boy who had scarcely ever spoken +a word to him before should suddenly want to be his servant. He could +make nothing of it, and, tired with the excitement of the previous +evening, he lay down again for a morning nap. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +PEEWEE PREACHING. + + +Upon the following Sunday the Rev. Amos Peewee, D.D., made a suitable +improvement of the melancholy event of the week. He enlarged upon the +uncertainty of life. He said that in the midst of life we are in death. +He said that we are shadows and pursue shades. He added that we are here +to-day and gone to-morrow. + +During the long prayer before the sermon a violent thunder-gust swept +from the west and dashed against the old wooden church. As the Doctor +poured forth his petitions he made the most extraordinary movements with +his right hand. He waved it up and down rapidly. He opened his eyes for +an instant as if to find somebody. He seemed to be closing imaginary +windows--and so he was. It leaked out the next day at Mr. Gray's that Dr. +Peewee was telegraphing the sexton at random--for he did not know where +to look for him--to close the windows. Nobody better understood the +danger of draughts from windows, during thunder-storms, than the Doctor; +nobody knew better than he that the lightning-rod upon the spire was no +protection at all, but that the iron staples with which it was clamped +to the building would serve, in case of a bolt's striking the church, to +drive its whole force into the building. As a loud crash burst over the +village in the midst of his sermon, and showed how frightfully near the +storm was, his voice broke into a shrill quaver, as he faltered out, +"Yes, my brethren, let us be calm under all circumstances, and Death +will have no terrors." + +The Rev. Amos Peewee had been settled in the village of Delafield since a +long period before the Revolution, according to the boys. But the parish +register carried the date only to the beginning of this century. He wore +a silken gown in summer, and a woolen gown in winter, and black worsted +gloves, always with the middle finger of the right-hand glove slit, +that he might more conveniently turn the leaves of the Bible, and the +hymn-book, and his own sermons. + +The pews of the old meeting-house were high, and many of them square. The +heads of the people of consideration in the congregation were mostly +bald, as beseems respectable age, and as the smooth, shiny line of pates +appeared above the wooden line of the pews they somehow sympathetically +blended into one gleaming surface of worn wood and skull, until it seemed +as if the Doctor's theological battles were all fought upon the heads of +his people. + +But the Doctor was by no means altogether polemical. After defeating and +utterly confounding the fathers who fired their last shot a thousand +years ago, and who had not a word to say against his remaining master of +the field, he was wont to unbend his mind and recreate his fancy by +practical discourses. His sermons upon lying were celebrated all through +the village. He gave the insidious vice no quarter. He charged upon it +from all sides at once. Lying couldn't stand for a moment. White lies, +black lies, blue lies, and green lies, lies of ceremony, of charity, and +of good intention disappeared before the lightning of his wrath. They are +all children of the Devil, with different complexions, said Dr. Peewee. + +But if lying be a vice, surely, said he, discretion is a virtue. "My +dear Mr. Gray," said Dr. Peewee to that gentleman when he was about +establishing his school in the village, and was consulting with the +Doctor about bringing his boys to church--"my dear Mr. Gray," said the +Doctor, putting down his cigar and stirring his toddy (he was of an +earlier day), "above all things a clergyman should be discreet. In +fact, Christianity is discretion. A man must preach at sins, not sinners. +Where would society be if the sins of individuals were to be rudely +assaulted?--one more lump, if you please. A man's sins are like his +corns. Neither the shoe nor the sermon must fit too snugly. I am a +clergyman, but I hope I am also a man of common sense--a practical man, +Mr. Gray. The general moral law and the means of grace, those are the +proper themes of the preacher. And the pastor ought to understand the +individual characters and pursuits of his parishioners, that he may +avoid all personality in applying the truth." + +"Clearly," said Mr. Gray. + +"For instance," reasoned the Doctor, as he slowly stirred his toddy, and +gesticulated with one skinny forefinger, occasionally sipping as he went +on, "if I have a deacon in my church who is a notorious miser, is it not +plain that, if I preach a strong sermon upon covetousness, every body in +the church will think of my deacon--will, in fact, apply the sermon to +him? The deacon, of course, will be the first to do it. And then, why, +good gracious! he might even take his hat and cane and stalk heavily down +the broad aisle, under my very nose, before my very eyes, and slam the +church door after him in my very face! Here at once is difficulty in the +church; hard feeling; perhaps even swearing. Am I, as a Christian +clergyman, to give occasion to uncharitable emotions, even to actual +profanity? Is not a Christian congregation, was not every early Christian +community, a society of brothers? Of course they were; of course we must +be. Little children, love one another. Let us dwell together, my +brethren, in amity," said the Doctor, putting down his glass, and +forgetting that he was in Mr. Gray's study; "and please give me your +ears while I show you this morning the enormity of burning widows upon +the funeral pyres of their husbands." + +This was the Peewee Christianity; and after such a sermon the deacon has +been known to say to his wife--thin she was in the face, which had a +settled shade, like the sober twilight of valleys from which the sun has +long been gone, though it has not yet set-- + +"What shocking people the Hindoos are! They actually burn widows! My +dear, how grateful we ought to be that we live in a Christian country +where wives are not burned!--Abraham! if you put another stick of wood +into that stove I'll skin you alive, Sir. Go to bed this instant, you +wicked boy!--It must be bad enough to be a widow, my dear, let alone +the burning. Shall we have evening prayers, Mrs. Deacon?" + +In the evening of the day on which the Doctor improved the drowning, and +exhorted his hearers to be brave, Mr. Gray asked Gabriel Bennet, "Where +was the text?" + +"I don't know, Sir," replied Gabriel. As he spoke there was the sound of +warm discussion on the other side of the dining-room, in which the boys +sat during the evening. + +"What is it, Gyles?" asked Mr. Gray. + +"Why, Sir," replied he, "it's nothing. We were talking about a ribbon, +Sir." + +"What ribbon?" + +"A ribbon we saw at church, Sir." + +"Well, whose was it?" asked Mr. Gray. + +"I believe it was Miss Hope Wayne's." + +"You believe, Gyles? Why don't you speak out?" + +"Well, Sir, the fact is that Abel Newt says she had a purple ribbon on +her bonnet--" + +"She hadn't," said Gabriel, breaking in, impetuously. "She had a +beautiful blue ribbon, and lilies of the valley inside, and a white +lace vail, and--" + +Gabriel stopped and turned very red, for he caught Abel Newt's eyes fixed +sharply upon him. + +"Oh ho! the text was there, was it?" asked Mr. Gray, smiling. + +But Abel Newt only said, quietly: + +"Oh well! I guess it _was_ a blue ribbon after all." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +EXPERIMENTUM CRUCIS. + + +"The truth is, Gyles;" said Abel to Blanding, his chum, "Gabriel Bennet's +mother ought to come and take him home for the summer to play with the +other calves in the country. People shouldn't leave their spoons about." + +The two boys went in to tea. + +In the evening, as the pupils were sitting in the dining-room, as usual, +some chatting, some reading, others quite ready to go to bed, + +"Mr. Gray," said Abel to Uncle Savory, who was sitting talking with Mrs. +Gray, whose hands, which were never idle, were now busily knitting. + +"Well, Abel." + +"Suppose we have some game." + +"Certainly. Boys, what shall we do? Let us see. There's the Grand Mufti, +and the Elements, and My ship's come loaded with--and--well, what shall +it be?" + +"Mr. Gray, it's a good while since we've tried all calling out together. +We haven't done it since Gabriel Bennet came." + +"No, we haven't," answered Mr. Gray, as his small eyes twinkled at the +prospect of a little fun; "no, we haven't. Now, boys, of course a good +many of you have played the game before. But you, new boys, attend! the +thing is this. When I say three--_one, two, three_!--every body is to +shout out the name of his sweet-heart. The fun is that nobody hears any +thing, because every body bawls so loud. You see?" asked he, apparently +feeling for his handkerchief. "Gabriel, before we begin, just run into +the study and get my handkerchief." + +Gabriel, full of expectation of the fun, ran out of the room. The moment +he closed the door Mr. Gray lifted his finger and said, + +"Now, boys! every body remain perfectly quiet when I say three." + +It was needless to explain why, for every body saw the intended joke, and +Gabriel returned instantly from the study saying that the handkerchief +was not there. + +"No matter," said Mr. Gray. "Are you all ready, boys. Now, then--_one, +two, three_!" + +As the word left Mr. Gray's lips, Gabriel, candid, full of spirit, jumped +up from his seat with the energy of his effort, and shouted out at the +top of his voice, + +"Hope Wayne!" + +--It was cruel. That name alone broke the silence, ringing out in +enthusiastic music. + +Gabriel's face instantly changed. Still standing erect and dismayed, he +looked rapidly around the room from boy to boy, and at Mr. Gray. There +was just a moment of utter silence, and then a loud peal of laughter. + +Gabriel's color came and went. His heart winced, but not his eye. Young +hearts are tender, and a joke like this cuts deeply. But just as he was +about to yield, and drop the tell-tale tear of a sensitive, mortified boy, +he caught the eye of Abel Newt. It was calmly studying him as a Roman +surgeon may have watched the gladiator in the arena, while his life-blood +ebbed away. Gabriel remembered Abel's words in the play-ground--"There's +more than one kind of fagging." + +When the laugh was over, Gabriel's had been loudest of all. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +CASTLE DANGEROUS. + + +The next day when school was dismissed, Abel asked leave to stroll out +of bounds. He pushed along the road, whistling cheerily, whipping the +road-side grass and weeds with his little ratan, and all the while +approaching the foot of the hill up which the road wound through the +estate of Pinewood. As he turned up the hill he walked more slowly, +and presently stopped and leaned upon a pair of bars which guarded the +entrance of one of Mr. Burt's pastures. He gazed for some time down into +the rich green field that sloped away from the road toward a little +bowery stream, but still whistled, as if he were looking into his mind +rather than at the landscape. + +After leaning and musing and vaguely whistling, he turned up the hill +again and continued his walk. + +At length he reached the entrance of Pinewood--a high iron gate, between +huge stone posts, on the tops of which were urns overflowing with vines, +that hung down and partly tapestried the columns. Immediately upon +entering the grounds the carriage avenue wound away from the gate, so +that the passer-by could see nothing as he looked through but the hedge +which skirted and concealed the lawn. The fence upon the road was a high, +solid stone wall, along whose top clustered a dense shrubbery, so that, +although the land rose from the road toward the house, the lawn was +entirely sequestered; and you might sit upon it and enjoy the pleasant +rural prospect of fields, woods, and hills, without being seen from the +road. The house itself was a stately, formal mansion. Its light color +contrasted well with the lofty pine-trees around it. But they, in turn, +invested it with an air of secrecy and gloom, unrelieved by flowers or +blossoming shrubs, of which there were no traces near the house, although +in the rear there was a garden so formally regular that it looked like a +penitentiary for flowers. + +These were the pine-trees that Hope Wayne had heard sing all her +life--but sing like the ocean, not like birds or human voices. In the +black autumn midnights they struggled with the north winds that smote +them fiercely and filled the night with uproar, while the child cowering +in her bed thought of wrecks on pitiless shores--of drowning mothers and +hapless children. Through the summer nights they sighed. But it was not +a lullaby--it was not a serenade. It was the croning of a Norland +enchantress, and young Hope sat at her open window, looking out into +the moonlight, and listening. + +Abel Newt opened the gate and passed in. He walked along the avenue, from +which the lawn was still hidden by the skirting hedge, went up the steps, +and rang the bell. + +"Is Mr. Burt at home?" he asked, quietly. + +"This way, Sir," said the nimble Hiram, going before, but half turning +and studying the visitor as he spoke, and quite unable to comprehend him +at a glance. "I will speak to him." + +Abel Newt was shown into a large drawing-room. The furniture was draped +for the season in cool-colored chintz. There was a straw matting upon +the floor. The chandeliers and candelabras were covered with muslin, +and heavy muslin curtains hung over the windows. The tables and chairs +were of a clumsy old-fashioned pattern, with feet in the form of claws +clasping balls, and a generally stiff, stately, and uncomfortable air. +The fire-place was covered by a heavy painted fire-board. The polished +brass andirons, which seemed to feel the whole weight of responsibility +in supporting the family dignity, stood across the hearth, belligerently +bright, and there were sprays of asparagus in a china vase in front of +them. A few pictures hung upon the wall--family portraits, Abel thought; +at least old Christopher was there, painted at the age of ten, standing, +in very clean attire, holding a book in one hand and a hoop in the other. +The picture was amusing, and looked to Abel symbolical, representing the +model boy, equally devoted to study and play. That singular sneering +smile flitted over his face as he muttered, "The Reverend Gabriel +Bennet!" + +There were a few books upon the centre-table, carefully placed and +balanced as if they had been porcelain ornaments. The bindings and the +edges of the leaves had a fresh, unworn look. The outer window-blinds +were closed, and the whole room had a chilly formality and dimness which +was not hospitable nor by any means inspiring. + +Abel seated himself in an easy-chair, and was still smiling at the +portrait of Master Christopher Burt at the age of ten, when that +gentleman, at the age of seventy-three, was heard in the hall. Hiram +had left the door open, so that Abel had full notice of his approach, +and rose just before the old gentleman entered, and stood with his cap +in his hand and his head slightly bent. + +Old Burt came into the room, and said, a little fiercely, as he saw the +visitor, + +"Well, Sir!" + +Abel bowed. + +"Well, Sir!" he repeated, more blandly, apparently mollified by something +in the appearance of the youth. + +"Mr. Burt," said Abel, "I am sure you will excuse me when you understand +the object of my call; although I am fully aware of the liberty I am +taking in intruding upon your valuable time and the many important cares +which must occupy the attention of a gentleman so universally known, +honored, and loved in the community as you are, Sir." + +"Did you come here to compliment me, Sir?" asked Mr. Burt. "You've got +some kind of subscription paper, I suppose." The old gentleman began to +warm up as he thought of it. "But I can't give any thing. I never do--I +never will. It's an infernal swindle. Some deuced Missionary Society, +or Tract Society, or Bible Society, some damnable doing-good society, +that bleeds the entire community, has sent you up here, Sir, to suck +money out of me with your smooth face. They're always at it. They're +always sending boys, and ministers in the milk, by Jove! and women that +talk in a way to turn the milk sour in the cellar, Sir, and who have +already turned themselves sour in the face, Sir, and whom a man can't +turn out of doors, Sir, to swindle money out of innocent people! I tell +you, young man, 'twon't work! I'll, be whipped if I give you a solitary +red cent!" And Christopher Burt, in a fine wrath, seated himself by the +table, and wiped his forehead. + +Abel stood patiently and meekly under this gust of fury, and when it +was ended, and Mr. Burt was a little composed, he began quietly, as if +the indignation were the most natural thing in the world: + +"No, Sir; it is not a subscription paper--" + +"Not a subscription paper!" interrupted the old gentleman, lifting his +head and staring at him. "Why, what the deuce is it, then?" + +"Why, Sir, as I was just saying," calmly returned Abel, "it is a personal +matter altogether." + +"Eh! eh! what?" cried Mr. Burt, on the edge of another paroxysm, "what +the deuce does that mean? Who are you. Sir?" + +"I am one of Mr. Gray's boys, Sir," replied Abel. + +"What! what!" thundered Grandpa Burt, springing up suddenly, his mind +opening upon a fresh scent. "One of Mr. Gray's boys? How dare you, Sir, +come into my house? Who sent you here, Sir? What right have you to +intrude into this place, Sir? Hiram! Hiram!" + +"Yes, Sir," answered the man, as he came across the hall. + +"Show this young man out." + +"He may have some message, Sir," said Hiram, who had heard the preceding +conversation. + +"Have you got any message?" asked Mr. Burt. + +"No, Sir; but I--" + +"Then why, in Heaven's name, don't you go?" + +"Mr. Burt," said Abel, with placid persistence, "being one of Mr. Gray's +boys, I go of course to Dr. Peewee's Church, and there I have so often +seen--" + +"Come, come, Sir, this is a little too much. Hiram, put this boy out," +said the old gentleman, quite beside himself as he thought of his +grand-daughter. "Seen, indeed! What business have you to see, Sir?" + +"So often seen your venerable figure," resumed Abel in the same tone as +before, while Mr. Burt turned suddenly and looked at him closely, "that I +naturally asked who you were. I was told, Sir; and hearing of your wealth +and old family, and so on, Sir, I was interested--it was only natural, +Sir--in all that belongs to you." + +"Eh! eh! what?" said Mr. Burt, quickly. + +"Particularly, Mr. Burt, in your--" + +"By Jove! young man, you'd better go if you don't want to have your +head broken. D'ye come here to beard me in my own house? By George! +your impudence stupefies me, Sir. I tell you go this minute!" + +But Abel continued: + +"In your beautiful--" + +"Don't dare to say it, Sir!" cried the old man, shaking his finger. + +"Place," said Abel, quietly. + +The old gentleman glared at him with a look of mixed surprise and +suspicion. But the boy wore the same look of candor. He held his cap in +his hand. His black hair fell around his handsome face. He was entirely +calm, and behaved in the most respectful manner. + +"What do you mean, Sir?" said Christopher Burt, in great perplexity, as +he seated himself again, and drew a long breath. + +"Simply, Sir, that I am very fond of sketching. My teacher says I draw +very well, and I have had a great desire to draw your place, but I did +not dare to ask permission. It is said in school, Sir, that you don't +like Mr. Gray's boys, and I knew nobody who could introduce me. But +to-day, as I came by, every thing looked so beautifully, and I was so +sure that I could make a pretty picture if I could only get leave to +come inside the grounds, that almost unconsciously I found myself coming +up the avenue and ringing the bell. That's all, Sir; and I'm sure I beg +your pardon for troubling you so much." + +Mr. Burt listened to this speech with a pacified air. He was perhaps a +little ashamed of his furious onslaughts and interruptions, and therefore +the more graciously inclined toward the request of the young man. + +So the old man said, with tolerable grace, + +"Well, Sir, I am willing you should draw my house. Will you do it this +afternoon?" + +"Really, Sir," replied Abel, "I had no intention of asking you to-day; +and as I strolled out merely for a walk, I did not bring my drawing +materials with me. But if you would allow me to come at any time, Sir, +I should be very deeply obliged. I am devoted to my art, Sir." + +"Oh! you mean to be an artist?" + +"Perhaps, Sir." + +"Phit! phit! Don't do any such silly thing, Sir. An artist! Why how much +does an artist make in a year?" + +"Well, Sir, the money I don't know about, but the fame!" + +"Oh! the fame! The fiddle, Sir! You are capable of better things." + +"For instance, Mr. Burt--" + +"Trade, Sir, trade--trade. That is the way to fortune in this country. +Enterprise, activity, shrewdness, industry, that's what a young man +wants. Get rid of your fol-de-rol notions about art. Benjamin West was a +great man, Sir; but he was an exception, and besides he lived in England. +I respect Benjamin West, Sir, of course. We all do. He made a good +thing of it. Take the word of an old man who has seen life and knows +the world, and remember that, with all your fine fiddling, it is +money makes the mare go. Old men like me don't mince matters, Sir. +It's money--money!" + +Abel thought old men sometimes minced grammar a little, but he did not +say so. He only looked respectful, and said, "Yes, Sir." + +"About drawing the house, come when you choose," said Mr. Burt, rising. + +"It may take more than one, or even three or four afternoons, Sir, to do +it properly." + +"Well, well. If I'm not at home ask for Mrs. Simcoe, d'ye hear? Mrs. +Simcoe. She will attend to you." + +Abel bowed very respectfully and as if he were controlling a strong +desire to kneel and kiss the foot of his Holiness, Christopher Burt; +but he mastered himself, and Hiram opened the front door. + +"Good-by, Hiram," said. Abel, putting a piece of money into his hand. + +"Oh no, Sir," said Hiram, pocketing the coin. + +Abel walked sedately down the steps, and looked carefully around him. He +scanned the windows; he glanced under the trees; but he saw nothing. He +did every thing, in fact, but study the house which he had been asking +permission to draw. He looked as if for something or somebody who did not +appear. But as Hiram still stood watching him, he moved away. + +He walked faster as he approached the gate. He opened it; flung it to +behind him, broke into a little trot, and almost tumbled over Gabriel +Bennet and Little Malacca as he did so. + +The collision was rude, and the three boys stopped. + +"You'd better look where you're going," said Gabriel, sharply, his cheeks +reddening and swelling. + +Abel's first impulse was to strike; but he restrained himself, and in the +most contemptuous way said merely, + +"Ah, the Reverend Gabriel Bennet!" + +He had scarcely spoken when Gabriel fell upon him like a young lion. +So sudden and impetuous was his attack that for a moment Abel was +confounded. He gave way a little, and was well battered almost before +he could strike in return. Then his strong arms began to tell. He was +confident of victory, and calmer than his antagonist; but it was like +fighting a flame, so fierce and rapid were Gabriel's strokes. + +Little Malacca looked on in amazement and terror. "Don't! don't!" cried +he, as he saw the faces of the fighters. "Oh, don't! Abel, you'll kill +him!" For Abel was now fully aroused. He was seriously hurt by Gabriel's +blows. + +"Don't! there's somebody coming!" cried Little Malacca, with the tears in +his eyes, as the sound of a carriage was heard driving down the hill. + +The combatants said nothing. The faces of both of them were bruised, and +the blood was flowing. Gabriel was clearly flagging; and Abel's face was +furious as he struck his heavy blows, under which the smaller boy +staggered, but did not yet succumb. + +"Oh, please! please!" cried Little Malacca, imploringly, the tears +streaming down his face. + +At that moment Abel Newt drew back, aimed a tremendous blow at Gabriel, +and delivered it with fearful force upon his head. The smaller boy +staggered, reeled, threw up his arms, and fell heavily forward into +the road, senseless. + +"You've killed him! You've killed him!" sobbed Little Malacca, piteously, +kneeling down and bending over Gabriel. + +Abel Newt stood bareheaded, frowning under his heavy hair, his hands +clenched, his face bruised and bleeding, his mouth sternly set as he +looked down upon his opponent. Suddenly he heard a sound close by +him--a half-smothered cry. He looked up. It was the Burt carriage, and +Hope Wayne was gazing in terror from the window. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +AFTER THE BATTLE. + + +Hiram was summoned to the door by a violent ringing of the bell. Visions +of apoplexy--of--in fact, of any thing that might befall a testy +gentleman of seventy-three, inclined to make incessant trips to the +West Indies--rushed to his mind as he rushed to the door. He opened +it in hot haste. + +There stood Hope Wayne, pale, her eyes flashing, her hand ungloved. At +the foot of the steps was the carriage, and in the carriage sat Mrs. +Simcoe, with a bleeding boy's head resting upon her shoulder. The +coachman stood at the carriage door. + +"Here, Hiram, help James to bring in this poor boy." + +"Yes, miss," replied the man, as he ran down the steps. + +The door was opened, and the coachman and Hiram lifted out Gabriel. + +They carried him, still unconscious, up stairs and laid him on a couch. +Old Burt could not refuse an act of mere humanity, but he said in a loud +voice, + +"It's all a conspiracy to get into the house, Mrs. Simcoe, ma'am. I'll +have bull-dogs--I'll have blunderbusses and spring-guns, Mrs. Simcoe, +ma'am! And what do you mean by fighting at my gate, Sir?" he said, +turning upon Little Malacca, who quivered under his wrath. "What are you +doing at my gate? Can't Mr. Gray keep his boys at home? Hope, go up +stairs!" said the old gentleman, as he reached the foot of the staircase. + +But Hope Wayne and Mrs. Simcoe remained with the patient. Hope rubbed +the boy's hands, and put her own hand upon his forehead from time to +time, until he sighed heavily and opened his eyes. But before he could +recognize her she went out to send Hiram to him, while Mrs. Simcoe sat +quietly by him. + +"We must put you to bed," she said, gently, "and to-morrow you may go. +But why do you fight?" + +Gabriel turned toward her with a piteous look. + +"No matter," replied Mrs. Simcoe. "Don't talk. You shall tell all about +it some other time. Come in, Hiram," she added, as she heard a knock. + +The man entered, and Mrs. Simcoe left the room after having told him +to undress the boy carefully and bathe his face and hands. Gabriel was +perfectly passive, Hiram was silent, quick, and careful, and in a few +moments he closed the door softly behind him, and left Gabriel alone. + +He was now entirely conscious, but very weak. His face was turned toward +the window, which was open, and he watched the pine-trees that rustled +gently in the afternoon breeze. It was profoundly still out of doors and +in the house; and as he lay exhausted, the events of the last few days +and months swam through his mind in misty confusion. Half-dozing, +half-sleeping, every thing glimmered before him, and the still hours +stole by. + +When he opened his eyes again it was twilight, and he was lying on his +back looking up at the heavy tester of the great bedstead from which hung +the curtains, so that he had only glimpses into the chamber. It was large +and lofty, and the paper on the wall told the story of Telemachus. His +eyes wandered over it dreamily. + +He could dimly see the beautiful Calypso--the sage Mentor--the eager +pupil--pallid phantoms floating around him. He seemed to hear the beating +of the sea upon the shore. The tears came to his eyes. The ghostly +Calypso put aside the curtain of the bed. Gabriel stretched out his +hands. + +"I must go," he murmured, as if he too were a phantom. + +The lips of Calypso moved. + +"Are you better?" + +Gabriel was awake in a moment. It was Hope Wayne who spoke to him. + +About ten o'clock in the evening she knocked again gently at Gabriel's +door. There was no reply. She opened the door softly and went in. A +night-lamp was burning, and threw a pleasant light through the room. +The windows were open, and the night-air sighed among the pine-trees +near them. + +Gabriel's face was turned toward the door, so that Hope saw it as she +entered. He was sleeping peacefully. At that very moment he was dreaming +of her. In dreams Hope Wayne was walking with him by the sea, her hand in +his: her heart his own. + +She stood motionless lest she might wake him. He did not stir, and she +heard his low, regular breathing, and knew that all was well. Then she +turned as noiselessly as she had entered, and went out, leaving him to +peaceful sleep--to dreams--to the sighing of the pines. + +Hope Wayne went quietly to her room, which was next to the one in which +Gabriel lay. Her kind heart had sent her to see that he wanted nothing. +She thought of him only as a boy who had had the worst of a quarrel, and +she pitied him. Was it then, indeed, only pity for the victim that +knocked gently at his door? Was she really thinking of the conqueror +when she went to comfort the conquered? Was she not trying somehow to +help Abel by doing all she could to alleviate the harm he had done? + +Hope Wayne asked herself no questions. She was conscious of a curious +excitement, and the sighing of the pines lulled her to sleep. But all +night long she dreamed of Abel Newt, with bare head and clustering black +hair, gracefully bowing, and murmuring excuses; and oh! so manly, oh! so +heroic he looked as he carefully helped to lay Gabriel in the carriage. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +NEWS FROM HOME. + + +Abel found a letter waiting for him when he returned to the school. He +tore it open and read it: + +"MY DEAR ABEL,--You have now nearly reached the age at which, by your +grandfather's direction, you were to leave school and enter upon active +life. Your grandfather, who had known and respected Mr. Gray in former +years, left you, as you know, a sum sufficient for your education, upon +condition of your being placed at Mr. Gray's until your nineteenth +birthday. That time is approaching. Upon your nineteenth birthday you +will leave school. Mr. Gray gives me the best accounts of you. My plans +for you are not quite settled. What are your own wishes? It is late for +you to think of college; and as you will undoubtedly be a business man, +I see no need of your learning Greek or writing Latin poetry. At your age +I was earning my own living. Your mother and the family are well. Your +affectionate father, + +"BONIFACE NEWT. + +"P.S.--Your mother wishes to add a line." + +"DEAR ABEL,--I am very glad to hear from Mr. Gray of your fine progress +in study, and your general good character and deportment. I trust you +give some of your leisure to solid reading. It is very necessary to +improve the mind. I hope you attend to religion. It will help you if +you keep a record of Dr. Peewee's texts, and write abstracts of his +sermons. Grammar, too, and general manners. I hear that you are very +self-possessed, which is really good news. My friend Mrs. Beacon was +here last week, and she says you _bow beautifully_! That is a great +deal for her to admit, for her son Bowdoin is one of the most elegant +and presentable young men I have ever seen. He is very gentlemanly +indeed. He and Alfred Dinks have been here for some time. My dear son, +could you not learn to waltz before you come home? It is considered very +bad by some people, because you have to put your arm round the lady's +waist. But I think it is very foolish for any body to set themselves up +against the customs of society. I think if it is permitted in Paris and +London, we needn't be so very particular about it in New York. Mr. Dinks +and Mr. Beacon both waltz, and I assure you it is very _distingué_ +indeed. But be careful in learning. Your sister Fanny says the Boston +young men stick out their elbows dreadfully when they waltz, and look +like owls spinning on invisible teetotums. She declares, too, that all +the Boston girls are dowdy. But she is obliged to confess that Mr. Beacon +and Mr. Dinks are as well dressed and gentlemanly and dance as well as +our young men here. And as for the Boston ladies, Mr. Dinks tells Fanny +that he has a cousin, a Miss Wayne, who lives in Delafield, who might +alter her opinion of the dowdiness of Boston girls. It seems she is a +great heiress, and very beautiful; and it is said here (but you know how +idle such gossip is) that she is going to marry her cousin, Alfred +Dinks. He does not deny it. He merely laughs and shakes his head--the +truth is, he hasn't much to say for himself. Bless me! I've got to take +another sheet. + +"Now, Abel, my dear, do you know Miss Wayne? I have never heard you speak +of her, and yet, if she lives in Delafield, you must know something about +her. Your father is working hard at his business, but it is shocking how +much money we have to spend to keep up our place in society properly. I +know that he spends all his income every year; and if any thing should +happen--I cry my eyes out to think of it. Miss Wayne, I hear, is very +beautiful, and about your age. Is it true about her being an heiress? + +"What is the news--let me see. Oh! your cousin, Laura Magot, is engaged, +and she has made a capital match. She will be eighteen on her next +birthday; and the happy man is Mellish Whitloe. It is the fine old +Knickerbocker family. Fanny says she knows all about them--that she has +the Whitloes all at her fingers' ends. You see she is as bright as +ever. It is a capital match. Mr. Whitloe has at least five thousand +dollars a year from his business now; and his aunt, Patience Doolittle, +widow of the old merchant, who has no children, is understood to prefer +him to all her relations. Laura will have a little something; so there +could be nothing better. We are naturally delighted. But what a pity +Laura is not a little taller--about Fanny's height; and as I was looking +at Fanny the other day, I thought how sorry I was for Mr. Whitloe that +Laura was not just a little prettier. She has _such_ a nose; and then her +complexion! However, my dear Abel of course cares nothing about such +things, and, I have no doubt, is wickedly laughing at his mamma at this +very moment for scribbling him such a long, rambling letter. What is Miss +Wayne's first name? Is she fair or brunette? Don't forget to write me all +you know. I am going to Saratoga in a few days--I think Fanny ought to +drink the waters. I told Dr. Lush I was perfectly sure of it; so he told +your father, and he has consented. + +"Do you remember Mrs. Plumer, the large, handsome woman from New Orleans, +whom you saw when we dined at your Uncle Magot's last summer? She has +come on, and will be at the Spring this year. I am told Mr. Plumer is a +very large planter--the largest, some people say, in the country. Their +oldest daughter, Grace is as school in town. She is only fourteen, I +believe. What an heiress she will be! The Moultries, from South Carolina, +will be there too, I suppose. By-the-by, now old is Sligo Moultrie? Then +there are some of those rich Havana people coming. What diamonds they +wear! It will be very pleasant at the Springs; and I hope the little +visit will do Fanny good. Dr. Maundy is giving us a series of sermons +upon the different kinds of wood used in building Solomon's Temple. They +are very interesting; and he has such a flow of beautiful words and such +wavy gestures, and he looks so gentlemanly in the pulpit, that I have no +doubt he does a great deal of good. The church is always full. Your Uncle +Lawrence has been to hear a preacher from Boston, by the name of +Channing, and is very much pleased. Have you ever heard him? It seems he +is very famous in his own sect, who are infidels, or deists, or +pollywogs, or atheists--I don't know which it is. I believe they preach +mere morality, and read essays instead of sermons. I hope you go +regularly to church; and from what I have heard of Dr. Peewee, I respect +him very highly. Perhaps you had better make abstracts of his sermons, +and I can look over them some time when you come home. + +"Speaking of religion, I must tell you a little story which Fanny told me +the other day. She was coming home from church with Mr. Dinks, and he +said to her, 'Miss Newt, what do you do when you go into church and put +your head down?' Fanny did not understand him, and asked him what he +meant. 'Why,' said he, 'when we go into church, you know, we all put our +heads down in front of the pew, or in our hands, for a little while, and +Dr. Maundy spreads his handkerchief on the desk and puts his face into it +for quite a long time. What do _you_ do?' he asked, in a really perplexed +way, Fanny says. 'Why,' said she, gravely, 'Mr. Dinks, it is to say a +short prayer.' 'Bless my soul!' said he; 'I never thought of that.' +'Why, what do you do, then?' asked Fanny, curiously. 'Well,' answered +Dinks, 'you know I think it's a capital thing to do; it's proper, and so +forth; but I never knew what people were really at when they did it; so I +always put my head into my hat and count ten. I find it comes to about +the same thing--I get through at the same time with other people.' He +isn't very bright, but he is a good-hearted fellow, and very gentlemanly, +and I am told he is very rich. Fanny laughs at him; but I think she likes +him very well. I wish you would find out whether Miss Wayne really is +engaged to him. Here I am at the very end of my paper. Take care of +yourself, my dear Abel, and remember the religion and the solid reading. + +"Your affectionate mother, + +"NANCY NEWT." + +Abel read the letters, and stood looking at the floor, musingly. His +school days, then, were numbered; the stage was to be deepened and +widened--the scenery and the figures so wonderfully changed! He was to +step in a moment from school into the world. He was to lie down one night +a boy, and wake up a man the next morning. + +The cloud of thoughts and fancies that filled his mind all drifted toward +one point--all floated below a summit upon which stood the only thing he +could discern clearly, and that was the figure of Hope Wayne. Just as he +thought he could reach her, was he to be torn away? + +And who was Mr. Alfred Dinks? + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +BEGINNING TO SKETCH. + + +The next morning when Gabriel declared that he was perfectly well and had +better return, nobody opposed his departure. Hope Wayne, indeed, ordered +the carriage so readily that the poor boy's heart sank. Yet Hope pitied +Gabriel sincerely. She wished he had not been injured, because then there +would have been nobody guilty of injuring him; and she was quite willing +he should go, because his presence reminded her too forcibly of what she +wanted to forget. + +The poor boy drove dismally away, thinking what a dreadful thing it is to +be young. + +After he had gone Hope Wayne sat upon the lawn reading. Suddenly a shadow +fell across the page, and looking up she saw Abel Newt standing beside +her. He had his cap in one hand and a port-folio in the other. The blood +rushed from Hope's cheek to her heart; then rushed back again. Abel saw +it. + +Rising from the lawn and bowing gravely, she turned toward the house. + +"Miss Wayne," said Abel, in a voice which was very musical and very +low--she stopped--"I hope you have not already convicted and sentenced +me." + +He smiled a little as he spoke, not familiarly, not presumptuously, +but with an air which indicated his entire ability to justify himself. +Hope said: + +"I have no wish to be unjust." + +"May I then plead my own cause?" + +"I must go into the house--I will call my grandfather, whom I suppose you +wish to see." + +"I am here by his permission, and I hope you will not regard me as an +intruder." + +"Certainly not, if he knows you are here;" and Hope lingered to hear if +he had any thing more to say. + +"It was a very sudden affair. We were both hot and angry; but he is +smaller than I, and I should have done nothing had he not struck me, +and fallen upon me so that I was obliged to defend myself." + +"Yes--to be sure--in that case," said Hope, still lingering, and +remarking the music of his voice. Abel continued--while the girl's eyes +saw how well he looked upon that lawn--the clustering black hair--the +rich eyes--the dark complexion--the light of intelligence playing upon +his face--his dress careful but graceful--and the port-folio which showed +this interview to be no design or expectation, but a mere chance-- + +"I am very sorry you should have had the pain of seeing such a spectacle, +and I am ashamed my first introduction to you should have been at such a +time." + +Hope Wayne lingered, looking on the ground. + +"I think, indeed," continued Abel, "that you owe me an opportunity of +making a better impression." + +"Hope! Hope!" came floating the sound of a distant voice calling in the +garden. + +Hope Wayne turned her head toward the voice, but her eyes looked upon the +ground, and her feet still lingered. + +"I have known you so long, and yet have never spoken to you," said the +musical voice at her side; "I have seen you so constantly in church, and +I have even tried sometimes--I confess it--to catch a glance from you as +you came out. But I am not sorry, for now--" + +"Hope! Hope!" called the voice from the garden. + +Hope looked dreamily in that direction, not as if she heard it, but as if +she were listening to something in her mind. + +"Now I meet you here on this lovely lawn in your own beautiful home. Do +you know that your grandfather permits me to sketch the place?" + +"Do you draw, Mr. Newt?" asked Hope Wayne, in a tone which seemed to Abel +to trickle along his nerves, so exquisite and prolonged was the pleasure +it gave him to hear her call him by name. How did she know it? thought +he. + +"Yes, I draw, and am very fond of it," he answered, as he untied his +port-folio. "I do not dare to say that I am proud of my drawing--and +yet you may perhaps recognize this, if you will look a moment." + +"Hope! Hope!" came the voice again from the garden. Abel heard +it--perhaps Hope did not. He was busily opening his port-folio and +turning over the drawings, and stepped closer to her, as he said: + +"There! now, what is that?" and he handed her a sketch. + +Hope looked at it and smiled. + +"That is the farther shore of the pond with the spire; how very pretty it +is!" + +"And this?" + +"Oh! that is the old church, and there is Mr. Gray's face at the window. +How good they are! You draw very well, Mr. Newt." + +"Do you draw, Miss Wayne?" + +"I've had plenty of lessons," replied Hope, smiling; "but I can't draw +from nature very well." + +"What do you sketch, then?" + +"Well, scenes and figures out of books." + +"How very pleasant that must be! That's a better style than mine." + +"Why so?" + +"Because we can never draw any thing as handsome as it seems to us. You +can go and see the pond with your own eyes, and then no picture will seem +worth having." He paused. "There is another reason, too, I suppose." + +"What is that?" asked Hope, looking at her companion. + +"Well," he answered, smiling, "because life in books is always so much +better than real life!" + +"Is it so?" said Hope, musingly. + +"Yes, certainly. People are always brave, and beautiful, and good, in +books. An author may make them do and say just what he and all the world +want them to, and it all seems right. And then they do such splendidly +impossible things!" + +"How do they?" + +"Why, now, if you and I were in a book at this moment, instead of +standing on this lawn, I might be a knight slaying a great dragon that +was just coming to destroy you, and you--" + +"Hope, Hope!" rang the voice from the garden, nearer and more +imperiously. + +"And I--might be saved by another knight dashing in upon you, like that +voice upon your sentence," said Hope, smiling. + +"No, no," answered Abel, laughing, "that shouldn't be in the book. I +should slay the great dragon who would desolate all Delafield with the +swishing of his scaly tail; then you would place a wreath upon my head, +and all the people would come out and salute me for saving the Princess +whom they loved, and I"--said Abel, after a momentary pause, a shade more +gravely, and in a tone a little lower--"and I, as I rode away, should not +wonder that they loved her." + +He looked across the lawn under the pine-trees as if he were thinking of +some story that he had been actually reading. Hope smiled no longer, but +said, quietly, + +"Mr. Newt, I am wanted. I must go in. Good-morning!" And she moved away. + +"Perhaps your cousin Alfred Dinks has arrived," said Abel, carelessly, as +he closed his port-folio. + +Hope Wayne stopped, and, standing very erect, turned and looked at him. + +"Do you know my cousin, Mr. Dinks?" + +"Not at all." + +"How did you know that I had such a cousin?" + +"I heard it somewhere," answered Abel, gently and respectfully, but +looking at Hope with a curious glance which seemed to her to penetrate +every pore in her body. That glance said as plainly as words could have +said, "And I heard you were engaged to him." + +Hope Wayne looked serious for a moment; then she said, with a half smile, + +"I suppose it is no secret that Alfred Dinks is my cousin;" and, bowing +to Abel, she went swiftly over the lawn toward the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +A VERDICT AND A SENTENCE. + + +Hope Wayne did not agree with Abel Newt that life was so much better in +books. There was nothing better in any book she had ever read than the +little conversation with the handsome youth which she had had that +morning upon the lawn. When she went into the house she found no one +until she knocked at Mrs. Simcoe's door. + +"Aunty, did you call me?" + +"Yes, Hope." + +"I was on the lawn, Aunty." + +"I know it, Hope." + +The young lady did not ask her why she had not sought her there, but she +asked, "What do you want, Aunty?" + +The older woman looked quietly out of the window. Neither spoke for a +long time. + +"I saw you talking with Abel Newt on the lawn. Why did he strike that +boy?" asked Mrs. Simcoe at length, still gazing at the distant hills. + +"He had to defend himself," said Hope, rapidly. + +"Couldn't a young man protect himself against a boy without stunning him? +He might easily have killed him," said Mrs. Simcoe, in the same dry tone. + +"It was very unfortunate, and Mr. Newt says so; but I don't think he is +to bear every thing." + +"What did the other do?" + +"He insulted him." + +"Indeed!" + +The tone in which the elderly woman spoke was trying. Hope was flushed, +and warm, and disconcerted. There was so much skepticism and contempt in +the single word "indeed!" as Mrs. Simcoe pronounced it, that Hope was +really angry with her. + +"I don't see why you should treat Mr. Newt in that manner," said she, +haughtily. + +"In what manner, Hope?" asked the other, calmly, fixing her eyes upon her +companion. + +"In that sneering, contemptuous manner," replied Hope, loftily. "Here is +a young man who falls into an unfortunate quarrel, in which he happens to +get the better of his opponent, who chances to be younger. He helps him +carefully into the carriage. He explains upon the spot as well as he can, +and to-day he comes to explain further; and you will not believe him; you +misunderstand and misrepresent him. It is unkind, Aunty--unkind." + +Hope was almost sobbing. + +"Has he once said he was sorry?" asked Mrs. Simcoe. "Has he told you so +this morning?" + +"Of course he is sorry, Aunty. How could he help it? Do you suppose he +is a brute? Do you suppose he hasn't ordinary human feeling? Why do you +treat him so?" + +Hope asked the question almost fiercely. + +Mrs. Simcoe sat profoundly still, and said nothing. Her face seemed to +grow even more rigid as she sat. But suddenly turning to the proud young +girl who stood at her side, her bosom heaving with passion, she drew her +toward her by both hands, pulled her face down close to hers, and kissed +her. + +Hope sank on her knees by the side of Mrs. Simcoe's chair. All the pride +in her heart was melted, and poured out of her eyes. She buried her face +upon Mrs. Simcoe's shoulder, and her passion wept and sobbed itself away. +She did not understand what it was, nor why. A little while before, upon +the lawn, she had been so happy. Now it seemed as if her heart were +breaking. When she grew calmer, Mrs. Simcoe, holding the fair face +between her hands, and tenderly kissing it once more, said, slowly, + +"Hope, my child, we must all walk the path alone. But you, too, will +learn that our human affections are but tents of a night." + +"Aunty, Aunty, what do you mean?" asked Hope, who had risen as the other +was speaking, and now stood beside her, pale and proud. + +"I mean, Hope, that you are in love with Abel Newt." + +Hope's hands dropped by her side. She stepped back a little. A feeling of +inexpressible solitude fell upon her--of alienation from her grandfather, +and of an inexplicable separation from her old nurse--a feeling as if she +suddenly stood alone in the world--as if she had ceased to be a girl. + +"Aunty, is it wrong to love him?" + +Before Mrs. Simcoe could answer there was a knock at the door. It was +Hiram, who announced the victim of yesterday's battle, waiting in the +parlor to say a word to Miss Wayne. + +"Yes, Hiram." He bowed and withdrew. Hope Wayne stood at the window +silent for a little while, then, with the calm, lofty air--calmer and +loftier than ever--she went down and found Gabriel Bennet. He had come to +thank her--to say how much better he was--how sorry that he should have +been so disgraced as to have been fighting almost before her very eyes. + +"I suppose I was very foolish and furious," said he. "Abel ran against +me, and I got very angry and struck him. It was wrong; I know it was, and +I am very sorry. But, ma'am, I hope you won't--ch--ch--I mean, won't--" + +That unlucky "ma'am" had choked all his other words. Hope was so lofty +and splendid in his eyes as she stood before him that he was impressed +with a kind of awe. But the moment he had spoken to her as if he were +only a little boy and she a woman, he was utterly confused. He staggered +and stumbled in his sentence until Hope graciously said, + +"I blame nobody." + +But poor Gabriel's speech was gone. His mouth was parched and his mind +dry. He could not think of a word to say; and, twisting and fumbling his +cap, did not know how to go. + +"There, Miss Wayne!" suddenly said a voice at the door. + +Hope and Gabriel turned at the same moment, and beheld Abel Newt entering +the room gayly, with a sketch in his hand. He nodded to Gabriel without +speaking, but went directly to Hope and showed her the drawing. + +"There, that will do for a beginning, will it not?" + +It was a bold, dashing sketch. The pine-trees, the windows, the +piazzas--yes, she saw them all. They had a new charm in her eyes. + +"That tree comes a little nearer that window," said she. + +"How do you know it does?" he replied. "You, who only draw from books?" + +"I think I ought to know the tree that I see every day at my own window!" + +"Oh! that is your window!" + +Gabriel was confounded at this sudden incursion and apparent resumption +of a previous conversation. As he ran up the avenue he had not remarked +Abel sketching on the lawn. But Abel, sketching on the lawn, had observed +Gabriel running up the avenue, and therefore happened in to ask Miss +Wayne's opinion of his drawing. He chatted merrily on: + +"Why, there's your grandpapa when he was a little grand-baby and had an +old grandpapa in his turn," said he, pointing at the portrait he had +remarked upon his previous visit in that parlor. "What a funny little old +fellow! Let me see. Gracious! 'twas before the Revolution. Ah! now, if he +could only speak and tell us just what he saw in the room where they were +painting him--what he had for breakfast, for instance--what those dear +little ridiculous waistcoats, with all their flowery embroidery, cost a +yard, say--yes, yes, and what book that is--and who gave him the hoop--" + +He rattled on. Never in Hope's lifetime had such sounds of gay speech +been heard in that well-arranged and well-behaved parlor. They seemed to +light it up. The rapid talk bubbled like music. + +"Hoop and book--book and hoop! Oh yes. Good boy, very good boy," said +Abel, laughing. "I should think it was a portrait of the young Dr. +Peewee--the wee Peewee, Miss Hope," said the audacious youth, sliding, +as it were, unconsciously and naturally into greater familiarity. "Ah! I +know you know all his sermons by heart, for you never look away from him. +What on earth are they all about?" + +What a contrast to Gabriel's awkward silence of the moment before! Such a +handsome face! such a musical voice! + +In the midst of it all Hiram was heard remonstrating outside: + +"Don't, Sir, don't! You'll--you'll--something will happen, Sir." + +There was a moment's scuffling and trampling, and Christopher Burt, +restrained by Hiram, burst into the room. The old man was white with +wrath. He had his cane in one hand, and Hiram held the other hand and +arm. + +He had come in from the garden, and as he stopped in the dining-room +to take a little trip to the West Indies, he had heard voices in the +drawing-room. Summoning Hiram to know if they were visitors, he had +learned the awful truth which apprised him that his Hesperidian wall +was down, and that the robbers at that very moment might be shaking his +precious fruit from the boughs. To be sure he had himself left the gate +open. Do you think, then, it helps a man's temper to be as furious with +himself as with other people? He burst into the room. + +There stood Hope: Abel at her side, in the merry midst of his talk, with +his sketch in his hand, his port-folio under his arm, and his finger +pointed toward the portrait; Gabriel, at a little distance, confounded +and abashed by an acquaintance between Hope and Abel of which he had no +previous suspicion. The poor boy! forgotten by Hope, and purposely +trampled down by the eager talk of Abel. + +"Hope, go up stairs!" shouted the old gentleman. "And what are you doing +in my house, you scamps?" + +He lifted his cane as he came toward them. "I knew all this fighting +business yesterday was a conspiracy--a swindling cheat to get into this +house! I've a mind to break your impudent bones!" + +"Why, Sir," said Abel, "you gave me leave to come here and sketch." + +"Did I give you leave to come into my parlor and bring boys with you, +Sir, and take up the time of my grand-daughter? Hope, I say, go up +stairs!" + +"I only thought, Sir--" began Abel. + +"Now, in Heaven's name, don't make me angry, Sir!" burst in the old +gentleman, almost foaming at the mouth. "Why should you think, Sir? What +business have you to think, Sir? You're a boy, Sir--a school-boy, Sir! +Are you going to dispute with me in my own house? I take back my +permission. Go, both of you! and never let me see your faces again!" + +The old man stood pointing with his cane toward the door. + +"Go, both of you!" repeated he, fiercely. It was impossible to resist; +and Abel and Gabriel moved slowly toward the door. The former was furious +at finding himself doomed in company with Gabriel. But he betrayed +nothing. He was preternaturally calm. Hope, dismayed and pale, stood +looking on, but saying nothing. Gabriel went quietly out of the room. +Abel turned to the door, and bowed gravely to Hope. + +"Remember, Sir," cried the old man, "I take back my permission!" + +"I understand, Sir," replied Abel, bowing to him also. + +He closed the door; and as he did so it seemed to Hope Wayne as if the +sunshine were extinguished. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +HELP, HO! + + +Abel Newt was fully aware that his time was short. His father's letter +had apprised him of his presently leaving school. To leave school--was +it not to quit Delafield? Might it not be to lose Hope Wayne? He was +banished from Pinewood. There were flaming swords of suspicion waving +over that flowery gate. The days were passing. The summer is ending, +thought he, and I am by no means saved. + +Neither he nor Gabriel had mentioned their last visit to Pinewood and its +catastrophe. It was a secret better buried in their own bosoms. Abel's +dislike of the other was deepened and imbittered by the ignominy of the +expulsion by Mr. Burt, of which Gabriel had been not only a companion but +a witness. It was an indignity that made Abel tingle whenever he thought +of it. He fancied Gabriel thinking of it too, and laughing at him in his +sleeve, and he longed to thrash him. But Gabriel had much better +business. He was thinking only of Hope Wayne, and laughing at himself +for thinking of her. + +The boys were strolling in different parts of the village. Abel, into +whose mind had stolen that thought of the possible laughter in Gabriel's +sleeve, pulled out his handkerchief suddenly, and waved it with an +indignant movement in the air. At the same moment a carriage had +overtaken him and was passing. The horses, startled by the shock of the +waving handkerchief, shied and broke into a run. The coachman tried in +vain to control them. They sprang forward and had their heads in a +moment. + +Abel looked up, and saw that it was the Burt carriage dashing down the +road. He flew after, and every boy followed. The horses, maddened by the +cries of the coachman and passers-by, by the rattling of the carriage, +and their own excitement and speed, plunged on with fearful swiftness. +As the carriage flew by, two faces were seen at the window--both calm, +but one terrified. They were those of Hope and Mrs. Simcoe. + +"Stop 'em! stop 'em!" rang the cry along the village street; and the +idling villagers looked from the windows or came to the doors--the women +exclaiming and holding up their hands, the men leaving whatever they were +doing and joining the chase. + +The whole village was in motion. Every body knew Hope Wayne--every body +loved her. + +Both she and Mrs. Simcoe sat quietly in the carriage. They knew it +was madness to leap--that their only chance lay in remaining perfectly +quiet. They both knew the danger--they knew that every instant they were +hovering on the edge of death or accident. How strange to Hope's eyes, +in those swift moments, looked the familiar houses--the trees--the +signs--the fences--as they swept by! How peaceful and secure they were! +How far away they seemed! She read the names distinctly. She thought of +little incidents connected with all the places. Her mind, and memory, +and perception were perfectly clear; but her hands were clenched, and +her cheek cold and pale with vague terror. Mrs. Simcoe sat beside her, +calmly holding one of Hope's hands, but neither of them spoke. + +The carriage struck a stone, and the crowd shuddered as they saw it rock +and swing in its furious course. The mad horses but flew more wildly. +Mrs. Simcoe pressed Hope's hand, and murmured, almost inaudibly, + +"'Christ shall bless thy going out, + Shall bless thy coming in; +Kindly compass thee about, + Till thou art saved from sin.'" + +"That corner! that corner!" shouted the throng, as the horses neared a +sudden turn into a side-road, toward which they seemed to be making, +frightened by the persons who came running toward them on the main +street. Among these was Gabriel, who, hearing the confused murmur that +rang down the road, turned and recognized the carriage that was whirled +along at the mercy of wild horses. He seemed to his companions to fly as +he went--to himself he seemed to be standing still. + +"Carefully, carefully!" cried the others, as they saw his impetuosity. +"Don't be trampled!" + +Gabriel did not hear. He only saw the fatal corner. He only knew that +Hope Wayne was in danger--that the carriage, already swaying, would be +overturned--might be dashed in pieces, and Hope-- + +He came near as the horses were about turning. The street toward which +they were heading was narrow, and on the other corner from him there was +a wall. They were running toward Gabriel down the main road; but just as +he came up with them he flung himself with all his might toward the +animals' heads. The startled horses half-recoiled, turned sharply and +suddenly--dashed themselves against the wall--and the carriage stood +still. In a moment a dozen men had secured them, and the danger was past. + +The door was opened, and the ladies stepped out. Mrs. Simcoe was pale, +but her heart had not quailed. The faith that sustains a woman's heart +in life does not fail when death brushes her with his finger-tips. + +"Dear child!" she said to Hope, when they both knew that the crisis was +over, and her lips moved in silent prayer and thanksgiving. + +Hope herself was trembling and silent. In her inmost heart she hoped it +was Abel Newt who had saved them. But in all the throng she did not see +his face. She felt a secret disappointment. + +"Here is your preserver, ma'am," said one of the villagers, pushing +Gabriel forward. Mrs. Simcoe actually smiled. She put out her hand to +him kindly; and Hope, with grave Sweetness, told him how great was their +obligation. The boy bowed and looked at her earnestly. + +"Are you hurt?" + +"Oh! no, not at all," replied Hope, smiling, and not without some effort, +because she fancied that Gabriel looked at her as if she showed some sign +of pain--or disappointment--or what? + +"We are perfectly well, thanks to you." + +"What started the horses?" asked Gabriel. + +"I'm sure I don't know," replied Hope. + +"Abel Newt started them," said Mrs. Simcoe. + +Hope reddened and looked at her companion. "What do you mean, Aunty?" +asked she, haughtily. + +Mrs. Simcoe was explaining, when Abel came up out of breath and alarmed. +In a moment he saw that there had been no injury. Hope's eyes met his, +and the color slowly died away from her cheeks. He eagerly asked how it +happened, and was confounded by hearing that he was the cause. + +"How strange it is," said he, in a low voice, to Hope, as the people +busied themselves in looking after the horses and carriage, and Gabriel +talked to Mrs. Simcoe, with whom he found conversation so much easier +than with Hope--"how strange it is that just as I was wondering when +and where and how I should see you again, I should meet you in this +way, Miss Wayne!" + +Pleased, still weak and trembling, pale and flushed by turns, Hope +listened to him. + +"Where _can_ I see you?" he continued; "certainly your grandfather was +unkind--" + +Hope shook her head slowly. Abel watched every movement--every +look--every fluctuating change of manner and color, as if he knew +its most hidden meaning. + +"I can see you nowhere but at home," she answered. + +He did not reply. She stood silent. She wished he would speak. The +silence was dreadful. She could not bear it. + +"I am very sorry," said she, in a whisper, her eyes fastened upon the +ground, her hands playing with her handkerchief. + +"I hope you are," he said, quietly, with a tone of sadness, not of +reproach. There was another painful pause. + +"I hope so, because I am going away," said Abel. + +"Where are you going?" + +"Home." + +"When?" + +"In a few weeks." + +"Where is your home?" + +"In New York." + +It was very much to the point. Yet both of them wanted to say so much +more; and neither of them dared! + +"Miss Hope!" whispered Abel. + +Hope heard the musical whisper. She perceived the audacity of the +familiarity, but she did not wish it were otherwise. She bent her +head a little lower, as if listening more intently. + +"May I see you before I go?" + +Hope was silent. Dr. Livingstone relates that when the lion had struck +him with his paw, upon a certain occasion, he lay in a kind of paralysis, +of which he would have been cured in a moment more by being devoured. + +"Hope," said Mrs. Simcoe, "the horses will be brought up. We had better +walk home. Here, my dear!" + +"I can only see you at home," Hope said, in a low voice, as she rose. + +"Then we part here forever," he replied. "I am sorry." + +Still there was no reproach; it was only a deep sadness which softened +that musical voice. + +"Forever!" he repeated slowly, with low, remorseless music. + +Hope Wayne trembled, but he did not see it. + +"I am sorry, too," she said, in a hurried whisper, as she moved slowly +toward Mrs. Simcoe. Abel Newt was disappointed. + +"Good-by forever, Miss Wayne!" he said. He could not see Hope's paler +face as she heard the more formal address, and knew by it that he was +offended. + +"Good-by!" was all he caught as Hope Wayne took Mrs. Simcoe's arm and +walked away. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +SOCIETY. + + +Tradition declares that the family of Newt has been uniformly respectable +but honest--so respectable, indeed, that Mr. Boniface Newt, the father of +Abel, a celebrated New York merchant and a Tammany Sachem, had a crest. +He had even buttons for his coachman's coat with a stag's head engraved +upon them. The same device was upon his sealring. It appeared upon his +carriage door. It figured on the edges of his dinner-service. It was +worked into the ground glass of the door that led from his dining-room +to the back stairs. He had his paper stamped with it; and a great many +of his neighbors, thinking it a neat and becoming ornament, imitated him +in its generous use. + +Mrs. Newt's family had a crest also. She was a Magot--another of the fine +old families which came to this country at the earliest possible period. +The Magots, however, had no buttons upon their coachman's coat; one +reason of which omission was, perhaps, that they had no coachman. But +when the ladies of the Magot family went visiting or shopping they hired +a carriage, and insisted that the driver should brush his hat and black +his boots; so that it was not every body who knew that it was a livery +equipage. + +Their friends did, of course; but there were a great many people from +the country who gazed at it, in passing, with the same emotion with +which they would have contemplated a private carriage; which was highly +gratifying to the feelings of the Magots. + +Their friends knew it, but friends never remark upon such things. There +was old Mrs. Beriah Dagon--dowager Mrs. Dagon, she was called--aunt of +Mr. Newt, who never said, "I see the Magots have hired a hackney-coach +from Jobbers to make calls in. They quarreled with Gudging over his last +bill. Medora Magot has turned her last year's silk, which is a little +stained and worn; but then it does just as well." + +By-and-by her nephew Boniface married Medora's sister, Nancy. + +It was Mrs. Dagon who sat with Mrs. Newt in her parlor, and said to her, + +"So your son Abel is coming home. I'm glad to hear it. I hope he knows +how to waltz, and isn't awkward. There are some very good matches to be +made; and I like to have a young man settle early. It's better for his +morals. Men are bad people, my dear. I think Maria Chubleigh would do +very well for Abel. She had a foolish affair with that Colonel Orson, +but it's all over. Why on earth do girls fall in love with officers? They +never have any pay worth speaking of, and a girl must tramp all over the +land, and live I don't know how. Pshaw! it's a wretched business. How's +Mr. Dinks? I saw him and Fanny waltzing last month at the Shrimps'. Who +are the Shrimps? Somebody says something about the immense fortune Mr. +Shrimp has made in the oil trade. You should have seen Mrs. Winslow Orry +peering about at the Shrimps. I really believe she counted the spoons. +What an eye that woman has, and what a tongue! Are you really going to +Saratoga? Will Boniface let you? He is the kindest man! He is so generous +that I sometimes fear somebody'll be taking advantage of him. Gracious +me! how hot it is!" + +It was warm, and Mrs. Dagon fanned herself. When she and Mrs. Newt +met there was a tremendous struggle to get the first innings of the +conversation, and neither surrendered the ground until fairly forced +off by breathlessness and exhaustion. + +"Yes, we shall go to Saratoga," began Mrs. Newt; "and I want Abel to +come, so as to take him. There'll be a very pleasant season. What a pity +you can't go! However, people must regard their time of life, and take +care of their health. There's old Mrs. Octoyne says she shall never give +up. She hopes to bring out her great-grand-daughter next winter, and +says she has no life but in society. I suppose you know Herbert Octoyne +is engaged to one of the Shrimps. They keep their carriage, and the girls +dress very prettily. Herbert tells the young men that the Shrimps are a +fine old family, which has been long out of society, having no daughters +to marry; so they have not been obliged to appear. But I don't know about +visiting them. However, I suppose we shall. Herbert Octoyne will give 'em +family, if they really haven't it; and the Octoynes won't be sorry for +her money. What a pretty shawl! Did you hear that Mellish Whitloe has +given Laura a diamond pin which cost five hundred dollars? Extravagant +fellow! Yet I like to have young men do these things handsomely. I do +think it's such a pity about Laura's nose--" + +"She can smell with it, I suppose, mother; and what else do you want of a +nose?" + +It was Miss Fanny Newt who spoke, and who had entered the room during the +conversation. She was a tall young woman of about twenty, with firm, dark +eyes, and abundant dark hair, and that kind of composure of manner which +is called repose in drawing-rooms and boldness in bar-rooms. + +"Gracious, Fanny, how you do disturb one! I didn't know you were there. +Don't be ridiculous. Of course she can smell with it. But that isn't all +you want of a nose." + +"I suppose you want it to turn up at some people," replied Miss Fanny, +smoothing her dress, and looking in the glass. "Well, Aunt Dagon, who've +you been lunching on?" + +Aunt Dagon looked a little appalled. + +"My dear, what do you mean?" she said, fanning herself violently. "I hope +I never say any thing that isn't true about people. I'm sure I should be +very sorry to hurt any body's feelings. There's Mrs. Kite--you know, +Joseph Kite's wife, the man they said really did cheat his creditors, +only none of 'em would swear to it; well, Kitty Kite, my dear, does do +and say the most abominable things about people. At the Shrimps' ball, +when you were waltzing with Mr. Dinks, I heard her say to Mrs. Orry, 'Do +look at Fanny Newt hug that man!' It was dreadful to hear her say such +things, my dear; and then to see the whole room stare at you! It was +cruel--it was really unfeeling." + +Fanny did not wince. She merely said, + +"How old is Mrs. Kite, Aunt Dagon?" + +"Well, let me see; she's about my age, I suppose." + +"Oh! well, Aunt, people at her time of life can't see or hear much, you +know. They ought to be in their beds with hot bottles at their feet, and +not obtrude themselves among people who are young enough to enjoy life +with all their senses," replied Miss Fanny, carelessly arranging a stray +lock of hair. + +"Indeed, Miss, you would like to shove all the married people into the +wall, or into their graves," retorted Mrs. Dagon, warmly. + +"Oh no, dear Aunt, only into their beds--and that not until they +are superannuated, which, you know, old people never find out for +themselves," answered Fanny, smiling sweetly and calmly upon Mrs. Dagon. + +"What a country it is, Aunt!" said Mrs. Newt, looking at Fanny with a +kind of admiration. "How the young people take every thing into their own +hands! Dear me! dear me! how they do rule us!" + +Miss Newt made no observation, but took up a gayly-bound book from the +table and looked carelessly into it. Mrs. Dagon rose to go. She had +somewhat recovered her composure. + +"Don't think I believed it, dear," said she to Fanny, in whom, perhaps, +she recognized some of the family character. "No, no--not at all! I said +to every body in the room that I didn't believe what Mrs. Kite said, that +you were hugging Mr. Dinks in the waltz. I believe I spoke to every body +I knew, and they all said they didn't believe it either." + +"How kind it was of you, dear Aunt Dagon!" said Fanny, as she rose to +salute her departing relative, "and how generous people were not to +believe it! But I couldn't persuade them that that beautiful lace-edging +on your dress was real Mechlin, although I tried very hard. They said it +was natural in me to insist upon it, because I was your grand-niece; and +it was no matter at all, because old ladies could do just as they +pleased; but for all that it was not Mechlin. I must have told as many as +thirty people that they were wrong. But people's eyes are so sharp--it's +really dreadful. Good-morning, darling Aunt Dagon!" + +"Fanny dear," said her mother, as the door closed upon Mrs. Dagon, who +departed speechless and in what may be called a simmering state of mind, +"Abel will be here in a day or two. I really hope to hear something about +this Miss Wayne. Do you suppose Alfred Dinks is actually engaged to her?" + +"How should I know, mother?" + +"Why, my dear, you have been so intimate with him." + +"My dear mother, how _can_ any body be intimate with Alfred Dinks? You +might as well talk of breathing in a vacuum." + +"But, Fanny, he is a very good sort of young man--so respectable, and +with such good manners, and he has a very pretty fortune--" + +Mrs. Newt was interrupted by the servant, who announced Mr. Wetherley. + +Poor Mr. Zephyr Wetherley! He was one of the rank and file of +society--one of the privates, so to speak, who are mentioned in a mass +after a ball, as common soldiers are mentioned after a battle. He entered +the room and bowed. Mrs. Newt seeing that it was one of her daughter's +visitors, left the room. Miss Fanny sat looking at the young man with her +black eyes so calmly that she seemed to him to be sitting a great way off +in a cool darkness. Miss Fanny was not fond of Mr. Wetherley, although +she had seen plainly enough the indications of his feeling for her. This +morning he was well gloved and booted. His costume was unexceptionable. +Society of that day boasted few better-dressed men than Zephyr Wetherley. +His judgment in a case of cravat was unerring. He had been in Europe, and +was quoted when waistcoats were in debate. He had been very attentive to +Mr. Alfred Dinks and Mr. Bowdoin Beacon, the two Boston youths who had +been charming society during the season that was now over. He was even +a little jealous of Mr. Dinks. + +After Mrs. Newt had left the room Mr. Wetherley fell into confusion. He +immediately embarked, of course, upon the weather; while Fanny, taking up +a book, looked casually into it with a slight air of _ennui_. + +"Have you read this?" said she to Mr. Wetherley. + +"No, I suppose not; eh! what is it?" replied Zephyr, who was not a +reading man. + +"It is John Meal's 'Rachel Dyer.'" + +"Oh, indeed! No, indeed. I have not read it!" + +"What have you read, Mr. Wetherley?" inquired Fanny, glancing through the +book which she held in her hand. + +"Oh, indeed!--" he began. Then he seemed to undergo some internal spasm. +He dropped his hat, slid his chair to the side of Fanny's, and said, "Ah, +Miss Newt, how can you ask me at such a moment?" + +Miss Fanny looked at him with a perfectly unruffled face. + +"Why not at this moment, Mr. Wetherley?" + +"Ah, Miss Newt, how can you when you know my feelings? Did you not carry +my bouquet at the theatre last evening? Have you not long authorized me +by your treatment to declare--" + +"Stop, Mr. Wetherley," said Fanny, calmly. "The day is warm--let us +be cool. Don't say any thing which you will regret to remember. Don't +mistake any thing that I have done as an indication of--" + +"Oh, Miss Newt," interrupted Zephyr, "how can you say such things? Hear +me but one word. I assure you that I most deeply, tenderly, truly--" + +"Mr. Wetherley," said Fanny, putting down the book and speaking very +firmly, "I really can not sit still and hear you proceed. You are +laboring under a great misapprehension. You must be aware that I have +never in the slightest way given you occasion to believe that I--" + +"I must speak!" burst in the impetuous Zephyr. "My feelings forbid +silence! Great Heavens! Miss Newt, you really have no idea--I am sure +you have no idea--you can not have any idea of the ardor with which for +a long, long time I have--" + +"Mr. Wetherley," said Fanny Newt, darker and cooler than ever, "it is +useless to prolong this conversation. I can not consent to hear you +declare that--" + +"But you haven't heard me declare it," replied Zephyr, vehemently. "It's +the very thing I am trying to do, and you won't let me. You keep cutting +me off just as I am saying how I--" + +"You need go no further, Sir," said Miss Newt, coldly, rising and +standing by the table; while Zephyr Wetherley, red and hot and confused, +crushed his handkerchief into a ball, and swept his hand through his +hair, wagging his foot, and rubbing his fingers together. "I understand, +Sir, what you wish to say, and I desire to tell you only--" + +"Just what I don't want to hear! Oh dear me! Please, please, Miss Newt!" +entreated Zephyr Wetherley. + +"Mr. Wetherley," interrupted the other, imperiously, "you wish to ask +me to marry you. I desire to spare you the pain of my answer to that +question by preventing your asking it." + +Mr. Wetherley was confounded. He wrinkled his brows doubtfully a +moment--he stared at the floor and at Miss Newt--he looked foolish and +mortified. "But--but--but--" stammered he. "Well--but--why--but--haven't +you somehow answered the question?" inquired he, with gleams of doubtful +intelligence shooting across his face. + +Fanny Newt smiled icily. + +"As you please," said she. + +Poor Zephyr was bewildered. + +"It is very confusing, somehow, Miss Newt, isn't it?" said he, wiping his +face. + +"Yes, Mr. Wetherley; one should always look before he leaps." + +"Yes, yes; oh, indeed, yes. A man had better look out, or--" + +"Or he'll catch a Tartar!" said a clear, strange voice. + +Fanny Newt and Wetherley turned simultaneously toward the speaker. It +was a young man, with clustering black hair and sparkling eyes, in a +traveling dress. He stood in the back room, which he had entered through +the conservatory. + +"Abel!" said his sister, running toward him, and pulling him forward. + +"Mr. Wetherley, this is my brother, Mr. Abel Newt." + +The young men bowed. + +"Oh, indeed!" said Zephyr. "How'd he come here listening?" + +"Chance, chance, Mr. Wetherley. I have just returned from school. Pretty +tough old school-boy, hey? Well, it's all the grandpa's doing. Grandpas +are extraordinary beings, Mr. Wetherley. Now there was--" + +"Oh, indeed! Really, I must go. Good-morning, Miss Newt. Good-morning, +Sir." And Mr. Zephyr Wetherley departed. + +The brother and sister laughed. + +"Sensible fellow," said Abel; "he flies the grandpas." + +"How did you come here, you wretch!" asked Fanny, "listening to my +secrets?" + +"My dear, I arrived this morning, only half an hour ago. I let myself +in by my pass-key, and, hearing voices in the parlor, I went round by the +conservatory to spy out the land. Then and there I beheld this spectacle. +Fanny, you're wonderful." + +Miss Newt made a demure courtesy. + +"So you've really come home for good? Well, Abel, I'm glad. Now you're +here I shall have a man of my own to attend me next winter. And there's +to be the handsome Boston bride here, you know, next season." + +"Who is she?" said Abel, laughing, sinking into a chair. "Mother wrote +me you said that all Boston girls are dowdy. Who is the dowdy of next +winter?" + +"Mrs. Alfred Dinks," replied Fanny, carelessly, but looking with her +keenest glance at Abel. + +He, sprang up and began to say something; but his sister's eye arrested +him. + +"Oh yes," said he, hurriedly--"Dinks, I've heard about Alfred Dinks. +What a devil of a name!" + +"Come, dear, you'd better go up stairs and see mamma," said Fanny; "and +I'm so sorry you missed Aunt Dagon. She was here this morning, lovely as +ever. But I think the velvet is wearing off her claws." + +Fanny Newt laughed a cold little laugh. Abel went out of the room. + +"Master Abel, then, does know Miss Hope Wayne," said she to herself. "He +more than knows her--he loves her--or thinks he does. Wouldn't he have +known if she had been engaged to her cousin?" + +She pondered a little while. + +"I don't believe," thought Miss Fanny, "that she is engaged to him." + +Miss Fanny was pleased with that thought, because she meant to be engaged +to him herself, if it proved to be true, as every body declared, that he +had ten or fifteen thousand a year. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +A NEW YORK MERCHANT. + + +Mr. Lawrence Newt, the brother of Boniface, sat in his office. It +was upon South Street, and the windows looked out upon the shipping +in the East River--upon the ferry-boats incessantly crossing--upon the +lofty city of Brooklyn opposite, with its spires. He heard the sailors +sing--the oaths of the stevedores--the bustle of the carts, and the hum +and scuffle of the passers-by. As he sat at his table he saw the ships +haul into the stream--the little steamers that puffed alongside bringing +the passengers; then, if the wind were not fair, pulling and shoving the +huge hulks into a space large enough for them to manage themselves in. + +Sometimes he watched the parting of passengers at the wharf when the wind +was fair, and the ship could sail from her berth. The vast sails were +slowly unfurled, were shaken out, hung for a few moments, then shook +lazily, then filled round and full with the gentle, steady wind. Mr. +Lawrence Newt laughed as he watched, for he thought of fine ladies +taking their hair out of curl-papers, and patting and smoothing and +rolling it upon little sticks and over little fingers until the curls +stood round and full, and ready for action. + +Then the ship moved slowly, almost imperceptibly, from the wharf--so +slowly, so imperceptibly, that the people on board thought the city was +sliding away from them. The merchant saw the solid, trim, beautiful +vessel turn her bow southward and outward, and glide gently down the +river. Her hull was soon lost to his eyes, but he could see the streamer +fluttering at the mast-head over the masts of the other vessels. While +he looked it vanished--the ship was gone. + +Often enough Mr. Lawrence Newt stood leaning his head against the +window-frame of his office after the ship had disappeared, and seemed +to be looking at the ferry-boats or at the lofty city of Brooklyn. But +he saw neither. Faster than ship ever sailed, or wind blew, or light +flashed, the thought of Lawrence Newt darted, and the merchant, seemingly +leaning against his office-window in South Street, was really sitting +under palm-trees, or dandling in a palanquin, or chatting in a strange +tongue, or gazing in awe upon snowier summits than the villagers of +Chamouni have ever seen. + +And what was that dark little hand he seemed to himself to press?--and +what were those eyes, soft depths of exquisite darkness, into which +through his own eyes his soul seemed to be sinking? + +There were clerks busily writing in the outer office. It was dark in +that office when Mr. Newt first occupied the rooms, and Thomas Tray, the +book-keeper, who had the lightest place, said that the eyes of Venables, +the youngest clerk, were giving out. Young Venables, a lad of sixteen, +supported a mother and sister and infirm father upon his five hundred +dollars a year. + +"Eyes giving out in my service, Thomas Tray! I am ashamed of myself." + +And Lawrence Newt hired the adjoining office, knocked down all the walls, +and introduced so much daylight that it shone not only into the eyes of +young Venables, but into those of his mother and sister and infirm +father. + +It was scratch, scratch, scratch, all day long in the clerks' office. +Messengers were coming and going. Samples were brought in. Draymen came +for orders. Apple-women and pie-men dropped in about noon, and there were +plenty of cheap apples and cheap jokes when the peddlers were young +and pretty. Customers came and brother merchants, who went into Mr. +Lawrence Newt's room. They talked China news, and South American news, +and Mediterranean news. Their conversation was full of the names of +places of which poems and histories have been written. The merchants +joked complacent jokes. They gossiped a little when business had been +discussed. So young Whitloe was really to marry Magot's daughter, and the +Doolittle money would go to the Magots after all! And old Jacob Van +Boozenberg had actually left off knee-breeches and white cravats, and +none of his directors knew him when he came into the Bank in modern +costume. And there was no doubt that Mrs. Dagon wore cotton lace at +the Orrys', for Winslow's wife said she saw it with her own eyes. + +Mr. Lawrence Newt's talk ceased with that about business. When the +scandal set in, his mind seemed to set out. He stirred the fire if +it were winter. He stepped into the outer office. He had a word for +Venables. Had Miss Venables seen the new novel by Mr. Bulwer? It is +called "Pelham," and will be amusing to read aloud in the family. Will +Mr. Venables call at Carville's on his way up, have the book charged +to Mr. Lawrence Newt, and present it, with Mr. Newt's compliments, to +his sister? If it were summer he opened the window, when it happened to +be closed, and stood by it, or drew his chair to it and looked at the +ships and the streets, and listened to the sailors swearing when he +might have heard merchants, worth two or three hundred thousand dollars +apiece, talking about Mrs. Dagon's cotton lace. + +One day he sat at his table writing letters. He was alone in the inner +room; but the sun that morning did not see a row of pleasanter faces than +were bending over large books in odoriferous red Russia binding, and +little books in leather covers, and invoices and sheets of letter paper, +in the outer office of Lawrence Newt. + +A lad entered the office and stood at the door, impressed by the silent +activity he beheld. He did not speak; the younger clerks looked up a +moment, then went on with their work. It was clearly packet-day. + +The lad remained silent for so long a time, as if his profound respect +for the industry he saw before him would not allow him to speak, that +Thomas Tray looked up at last, and said, + +"Well, Sir?" + +"May I see Mr. Newt, Sir?" + +"In the other room," said Mr. Tray, with his goose-quill in his mouth, +nodding his head toward the inner office, and turning over with both +hands a solid mass of leaves in his great, odoriferous red Russia +book, and letting them gently down--proud of being the author of that +clearly-written, massive work, containing an accurate biography of +Lawrence Newt's business. + +The youth tapped at the glass door. Mr. Newt said, "Come in," and, when +the door opened, looked up, and still holding his pen with the ink in +it poised above the paper, he said, kindly, "Well, Sir? Be short. It's +packet-day." + +"I want a place, Sir." + +"What kind of a place?" + +"In a store, Sir." + +"I'm sorry I'm all full. But sit down while I finish these letters; then +we'll talk about it." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +A SCHOOL-BOY NO LONGER. + + +The lad seated himself by the window. Scratch--scratch--scratch. The sun +sparkled in the river. The sails, after yesterday's rain, were loosened +to dry, and were white as if it had rained milk upon them instead of +water. Every thing looked cheerful and bright from Lawrence Newt's +window. The lad saw with delight how much sunshine there was in the +office. + +"I don't believe it would hurt my health to work here," thought he. +Mr. Lawrence Newt rang a little bell. Venables entered quietly. + +"Most ready out there?" asked Mr. Newt. + +"Most ready, Sir." + +"Brisk's the word this morning, you know. Please to copy these letters." + +Venables said nothing, took the letters, and went out. + +"Now, young man," said the merchant, "tell me what you want." + +The lad's heart turned toward him like a fallow-field to the May sun. + +"My father's been unfortunate, Sir, and I want to do something for +myself. He advised me to come to you." + +"Why?" + +"Because he said you would give me good advice if you couldn't give me +employment." + +"Well, Sir, you seem a strong, likely lad. Have you ever been in a +store?" + +"No, Sir. I left school last week." + +Mr. Newt looked out of the window. + +"Your father's been unfortunate?" + +"Yes, Sir." + +"How's that? Has he told a lie, or lost his eyes, or his health, or has +his daughter married a drunkard?" asked Mr. Lawrence Newt, looking at the +lad with a kindly humor in his eyes. + +"Oh no, Sir," replied the boy, surprised. "He's lost his money." + +"Oh ho! his money! And it is the loss of money which you call +'unfortunate.' Now, my boy, think a moment. Is there any thing belonging +to your father which he could so well spare? Has he any superfluous boy +or girl? any useless arm or leg? any unnecessary good temper or honesty? +any taste for books, or pictures, or the country, that he would part +with? Is there any thing which he owns that it would not be a greater +misfortune to him to lose than his money? Honor bright, my boy. If you +think there is, say so!" + +The youth smiled. + +"Well, Sir, I suppose worse things could happen to us than poverty," said +he. + +Mr. Lawrence Newt interrupted him by remarks which were belied by his +beaming face. + +"Worse things than poverty! Why, my boy, what are you thinking of? Do +you not know that it is written in the largest efforts upon the hearts +of all Americans, 'Resist poverty, and it will flee from you?' If you +do not begin by considering poverty the root of all evil, where on +earth do you expect to end? Cease to be poor, learn to be rich. I'm +afraid you don't read the good book. So your father has health"--the boy +nodded--"and a whole body, a good temper, an affectionate family, +generous and refined tastes, pleasant relations with others, a warm +heart, a clear conscience"--the boy nodded with an increasing enthusiasm +of assent--"and yet you call him unfortunate--ruined! Why, look here, my +son; there's an old apple-woman at the corner of Burling Slip, where I +stop every day and buy apples; she's sixty years old, and through thick +and thin, under a dripping wreck of an umbrella when it rains, under the +sky when it shines--warming herself by a foot-stove in winter, by the sun +in summer--there the old creature sits. She has an old, sick, querulous +husband at home, who tries to beat her. Her daughters are all out at +service--let us hope, in kind families--her sons are dull, ignorant men; +her home is solitary and forlorn; she can not read much, nor does she +want to; she is coughing her life away, and succeeds in selling apples +enough to pay her rent and buy food for her old man and herself. She told +me yesterday that she was a most fortunate woman. What does the word +mean? I give it up." + +The lad looked around the spacious office, on every table and desk and +chair of which was written Prosperity as plainly as the name of Lawrence +Newt upon the little tin sign by the door. Except for the singular +magnetism of the merchant's presence, which dissipated such a suggestion +as rapidly as it rose, the youth would have said aloud what was in his +heart. + +"How easy 'tis for a rich man to smile at poverty!" + +The man watched the boy, and knew exactly what he was thinking. As the +eyes of the younger involuntarily glanced about the office and presently +returned to the merchant, they found the merchant's gazing so keenly that +they seemed to be mere windows through which his soul was looking. But +the keen earnestness melted imperceptibly into the usual sweetness as +Lawrence Newt said, + +"You think I can talk prettily about misfortune because I know nothing +about it. You make a great mistake. No man, even in jest, can talk well +of what he doesn't understand. So don't misunderstand me. I am rich, but +I am not fortunate." + +He said it in the same tone as before. + +"If you wanted a rose and got only a butter-cup, should you think +yourself fortunate?" asked Mr. Newt. + +"Why, yes, Sir. A man can't expect to have every thing precisely as he +wants it," replied the boy. + +"My young friend, you are of opinion that a half loaf is better than no +bread. True--so am I. But never make the mistake of supposing a half to +be the whole. Content is a good thing. When the man sent for cake, and +said, 'John, if you can't get cake, get smelts,' he did wisely. But +smelts are not cake for all that. What's your name?" asked Mr. Newt, +abruptly. + +"Gabriel Bennet," replied the boy. + +"Bennet--Bennet--what Bennet?" + +"I don't know, Sir." + +Lawrence Newt was apparently satisfied with this answer. He only said: + +"Well, my son, you do wisely to say at once you don't know, instead of +going back to somebody a few centuries ago, of whose father you have to +make the same answer. The Newts, however, you must be aware, are a very +old family." The merchant smiled. "They came into England with the +Normans; but who they came into Normandy with I don't know. Do you?" + +Gabriel laughed, with a pleasant feeling of confidence in his companion. + +"Have you been at school in the city?" asked the merchant. + +Gabriel told him that he had been at Mr. Gray's. + +"Oh ho! then you know my nephew Abel?" + +"Yes, Sir," replied Gabriel, coloring. + +"Abel is a smart boy," said Mr. Newt. + +Gabriel made no reply. + +"Do you like Abel?" + +Gabriel paused a moment; then said, + +"No, Sir." + +The merchant looked at the boy for a few moments. + +"Who did you like at school?" + +"Oh, I liked Jim Greenidge and Little Malacca best,", replied Gabriel, as +if the whole world must be familiar with those names. + +At the mention of the latter Lawrence Newt looked interested, and, after +talking a little more, said, + +"Gabriel, I take you into my office." + +He called Mr. Tray. + +"Thomas Tray, this is the youngest clerk, Gabriel Bennet. Gabriel, this +is the head of the outer office, Mr. Thomas Tray. Thomas, ask Venables to +step this way." + +That young man appeared immediately. + +"Mr. Venables, you are promoted. You have seven hundred dollars a year, +and are no longer youngest clerk. Gabriel Bennet, this is Frank Venables. +Be friends. Now go to work." + +There was a general bowing, and Thomas Tray and the two young men +retired. + +As they went out Mr. Newt opened a letter which had been brought in from +the Post during the interview. + +"DEAR SIR,--I trust you will pardon this intrusion. It is a long time +since I have had the honor of writing to you; but I thought you would +wish to know that Miss Wayne will be in New York, for the first time, +within a day or two after you receive this letter. She is with her aunt, +Mrs. Dinks, who will stay at Bunker's. + +"Respectfully yours, + +"JANE SIMCOE." + +Lawrence Newt's head drooped as he sat. Presently he arose and walked up +and down the office. + +Meanwhile Gabriel was installed. That ceremony consisted of offering him +a high stool with a leathern seat. Mr. Tray remarked that he should have +a drawer in the high desk, on both sides of which the clerks were seated. +The installation was completed by Mr. Tray's formally introducing the +new-comer to the older clerks. + +The scratching began again. Gabriel looked curiously upon the work in +which he was now to share. The young men had no words for him. Mr. Newt +was engaged within. The boy had a vague feeling that he must shift for +himself--that every body was busy--that play in this life had ended and +work begun. The thought tasted to him much more like smelts than cake. +And while he was wisely left by Thomas Tray to familiarize himself with +the entire novelty of the situation his mind flashed back to Delafield +with an aching longing, and the boy would willingly have put his face in +his hands and wept. But he sat quietly looking at his companions--until +Mr. Tray said, + +"Gabriel, I want you to copy this invoice." + +And Gabriel was a school-boy no longer. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +PHILOSOPHY. + + +Abel Newt believed in his lucky star. He had managed Uncle +Savory--couldn't he manage the world? + +"My son," said Mr. Boniface Newt, "you are now about to begin the +world." (Begin? thought Abel.) "You are now coming into my house as +a merchant. In this world we must do the best we can. It is a great +pity that men are not considerate, and all that. But they are not. They +are selfish. You must take them as you find them. _You_, my son, think +they are all honest and good."--Do I? quoth son, in his soul.--"It is +the bitter task of experience to undeceive youth from its romantic +dreams. As a rule, Abel, men are rascals; that is to say, they pursue +their own interests. How sad! True; how sad! Where was I? Oh! men are +scamps--with some exceptions; but you must go by the rule. Life is a +scrub-race--melancholy, Abel, but true. I talk plainly to you, but I +do it for your good. If we were all angels, things would be different. +If this were the Millennium, every thing would doubtless be agreeable +to every body. But it is not--how very sad! True, how very sad! Where +was I? Oh! it's all devil take the hindmost. And because your neighbors +are dishonest, why should you starve? You see, Abel?" + +It was in Mr. Boniface Newt's counting-room that he preached this gospel. +A boy entered and announced that Mr. Hadley was outside looking at some +cases of dry goods. + +"Now, Abel," said his father, "I'll return in a moment." + +He stepped out, smiling and rubbing his hands. Mr. Hadley was stooping +over a case of calicoes; Blackstone, Hadley, & Merrimack--no safer +purchasers in the world. The countenance of Boniface Newt beamed upon +the customer as if he saw good notes at six months exuding from every +part of his person. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Hadley. Charming morning, Sir--beautiful day, Sir. +What's the word this morning, Sir?" + +"Nothing, nothing," returned the customer. "Pretty print that. Just what +I've been looking for" (renewed rubbing of hands on the part of Mr. +Newt)--"very pretty. If it's the right width, it's just the thing. Let me +see--that's about seven-eighths." He shook his head negatively. "No, not +wide enough. If that print were a yard wide, I should take all you have." + +"Oh, that's a yard," replied Mr. Newt; "certainly a full yard." He looked +around inquiringly, as if for a yard-stick. + +"Where is the yard-stick?" asked Mr. Hadley. + +"Timothy!" said Mr. Newt to the boy, with a peculiar look. + +The boy disappeared and reappeared with a yard-stick, while Mr. Newt's +face underwent a series of expressions of subdued anger and disgust. + +"Now, then," said Mr. Hadley, laying the yard-stick upon the calicoes; +"yes, as I thought, seven-eighths; too narrow--sorry." + +There were thirty cases of those goods in the loft. Boniface Newt groaned +in soul. The unconscious small boy, who had not understood the peculiar +look, and had brought the yard-stick, stood by. + +"Mr. Newt," said Hadley, stopping at another case, "that is very +handsome." + +"Very, very; and that is the last case." + +"You have no other cases?" + +"No." + +"Oh! well, send it round at once; for I am sure--" + +"Mr. Newt," said the unconscious boy, smiling with the satisfaction of +one who is able to correct an error, "you are mistaken, Sir. There are a +dozen more cases just like that up stairs." + +"Ah! then I don't care about it," said Mr. Hadley, passing on. The head +of the large commission-house of Boniface Newt & Co. looked upon the +point of apoplexy. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Newt; sorry that I see nothing farther," said Mr. +Hadley, and he went out. + +Mr. Newt turned fiercely to the unconscious boy. + +"What do you mean, Sir, by saying and doing such things?" asked he, +sharply. + +"What things, Sir?" demanded the appalled boy. + +"Why, getting the yard-stick when I winked to you not to find it, and +telling of other cases when I said that one was the last." + +"Why, Sir, because it wasn't the last," said the boy. + +"For business purposes it _was_ the last, Sir," replied Mr. Newt. "You +don't know the first principles of business. The tongue is always the +mischief-maker. Hold your tongue, Sir, hold your tongue, or you'll lose +your place, Sir." + +Mr. Boniface Newt, ruffled and red, went into his office, where he found +Abel reading the newspaper and smoking a cigar. The clerks outside were +pale at the audacity, of Newt, Jun. The young man was dressed extremely +well. He had improved the few weeks of his residence in the city by +visits to Frost the tailor, in Maiden Lane; and had sent his measure +to Forr, the bootmaker in Paris, artists who turned out the prettiest +figures that decorated the Broadway of those days. Mr. Abel Newt, to his +father's eyes, had the air of a man of superb leisure; and as he sat +reading the paper, with one leg thrown over the arm of the office-chair, +and the smoke languidly curling from his lips, Mr. Boniface Newt felt +profoundly, but vaguely, uncomfortable, as if he had some slight +prescience of a future of indolence for the hope of the house of Newt. + +As his father entered, Mr. Abel dropped by his side the hand still +holding the newspaper, and, without removing the cigar, said, through +the cloud of smoke he blew, + +"Father, you were imparting your philosophy of life." + +The older gentleman, somewhat discomposed, answered, + +"Yes, I was saying what a pity it is that men are such d----d rascals, +because they force every body else to be so too. But what can you do? +It's all very fine to talk, but we've got to live. I sha'n't be such an +ass as to run into the street and say, 'I gave ten cents a yard for those +goods, but you must pay me twenty.' Not at all. It's other men's business +to find that out if they can. It's a great game, business is, and the +smartest chap wins. Every body knows we are going to get the largest +price we can. People are gouging, and shinning, and sucking all round. +It's give and take. I am not here to look out for other men, I'm here to +take care of myself--for nobody else will. It's very sad, I know; it's +very sad, indeed. It's absolutely melancholy. Ah, yes! where was I? Oh! +I was saying that a lie well stuck to is better than the truth wavering. +It's perfectly dreadful, my son, from some points of view--Christianity, +for instance. But what on earth are you going to do? The only happy +people are the rich people, for they don't have this eternal bother how +to make money. Don't misunderstand me, my son; I do not say that you must +always tell stories. Heaven forbid! But a man is not bound always to tell +the whole truth. The very law itself says that no man need give evidence +against himself. Besides, business is no worse than every other calling. +Do you suppose a lawyer never defends a man whom he knows to be guilty? +He says he does it to give the culprit a fair trial. Fiddle-de-dee! He +strains every nerve to get the man off. A lawyer is hired to take the +side of a company or a corporation in every quarrel. He's paid by the +year or by the case. He probably stops to consider whether his company +is right, doesn't he? he works for justice, not for victory? Oh, yes! +stuff! He works for fees. What's the meaning of a retainer? That if, upon +examination, the lawyer finds the retaining party to be in the right, he +will undertake the case? Fiddle! no! but that he will undertake the case +any how and fight it through. So 'tis all round. I wish I was rich, and +I'd be out of it." + +Mr. Boniface Newt discoursed warmly; Mr. Abel Newt listened with extreme +coolness. He whiffed his cigar, and leaned his head on one side as he +hearkened to the wisdom of experience; observing that his father put his +practice into words and called it philosophy. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +OF GIRLS AND FLOWERS. + + +Mr. Abel Newt was not a philosopher; he was a man of action. + +He told his mother that he could not accompany her to the Springs, +because he must prepare himself to enter the counting-room of his father. +But the evening before she left, Mrs. Newt gave a little party for Mrs. +Plumer, of New Orleans. So Miss Grace, of whom his mother had written +Abel, and who was just about leaving school, left school and entered +society, simultaneously, by taking leave of Madame de Feuille and making +her courtesy at Mrs. Boniface Newt's. + +Madame de Feuille's was a "finishing" school. An extreme polish was +given to young ladies by Madame de Feuille. By her generous system they +were fitted to be wives of men of even the largest fortune. There was +not one of her pupils who would not have been equal to the addresses of +a millionaire. It is the profound conviction of all who were familiar +with that seminary that the pupils would not have shrunk from marrying +a crown-prince, or any king in any country who confined himself to +Christian wedlock with one wife, or even the son of an English duke--so +perfect was the polish, so liberal the education. + +Mrs. Newt's party was select. Mrs. Plumer, Miss Grace Plumer and the +Magots, with Mellish Whitloe, of course; and Mrs. Osborne Moultrie, a +lovely woman from Georgia, and her son Sligo, a slim, graceful gentleman, +with fair hair and eyes; Dr. and Mrs. Lush, Rev. Dr. and Mrs. Maundy, who +came only upon the express understanding that there was to be no dancing, +and a few other agreeable people. It was a Summer party, Abel said--mere +low-necked muslin, strawberries and ice-cream. + +The eyes of the strangers of the gentler sex soon discovered the dark, +rich face of Abel, who moved among the groups with the grace and ease of +an accomplished man of society, smiling brightly upon his friends, bowing +gravely to those of his mother's guests whom he did not personally know. + +"Who is that?" asked Mrs. Whetwood Tully, who had recently returned with +her daughter, one of Madame de Feuille's finest successes, from a foreign +tour. + +"That is my brother Abel," replied Miss Fanny. + +"Your brother Abel? how charming! How very like he is to Viscount +Tattersalls. You've not been in England, I believe, Miss Newt?" + +Fanny bowed negatively. + +"Ah! then you have never seen Lord Tattersalls. He is a very superior +young man. We were very intimate with him indeed. Dolly, dear!" + +"Yes, ma." + +"You remember our particular friend Lord Viscount Tattersalls?" + +"Was he a bishop?" asked Miss Fanny Newt. + +"Law! no, my dear. He was a--he was a--why, he was a Viscount, you +know--a Viscount." + +"Oh! a Viscount?" + +"Yes, a Viscount." + +"Ah! a Viscount." + +"Well, Dolly dear, do you see how much Mr. Abel Newt resembles Lord +Tattersalls?" + +"Yes, ma." + +"It's very striking, isn't it?" + +"Yes, ma." + +"Or now I look, I think he is even more like the Marquis of Crockford. +Don't you think so?" + +"Yes, ma?" + +"Very like indeed." + +"Yes, ma." + +"Dolly, dear, don't you think his nose is like the Duke of Wellington's? +You remember the Wellington nose, my child?" + +"Yes, ma." + +"Or is it Lord Brougham's that I mean?" + +"Yes, ma." + +"Yes, dear." + +"May I present my brother Abel, Miss Tally?" asked Fanny Newt. + +"Yes, I'm sure," said Miss Tully. + +Fanny Newt turned just as a song began in the other room, out of which +opened the conservatory. + +"Last May a braw wooer cam down the lang glen, + And sair wi' his love he did deave me: +I said there was naething I hated like men-- + The deuce gae wi'm to believe'me, believe me, + The deuce gae wi'm to believe me." + +The rooms were hushed as the merry song rang out. The voice of the singer +was arch, and her eye flashed slyly on Abel Newt as she finished, and a +murmur of pleasure rose around her. + +Abel leaned upon the piano, with his eyes fixed upon the singer. He was +fully conscious of the surprise he had betrayed to sister Fanny when she +spoke suddenly of Mrs. Alfred Dinks. It was necessary to remove any +suspicion that she might entertain in consequence. If Mr. Abel Newt had +intentions in which Miss Hope Wayne was interested, was there any reason +why Miss Fanny Newt should mingle in the matter? + +As Miss Plumer finished the song Abel saw his sister coming toward him +through the little crowd, although his eyes seemed to be constantly fixed +upon the singer. + +"How beautiful!" said he, ardently, in a low voice, looking Grace Plumer +directly in the eyes. + +"Yes, it is a pretty song." + +"Oh! you mean the song?" said Abel. + +The singer blushed, and took up a bunch of roses that she had laid upon +the piano and began to play with them. + +"How very warm it is!" said she. + +"Yes," said Abel. "Let us take a turn in the conservatory--it is both +darker and cooler; and I think your eyes will give light and warmth +enough to our conversation." + +"Dear me! if you depend upon me it will be the Arctic zone in the +conservatory," said Miss Grace Plumer, as she rose from the piano. (Mrs. +Newt had written Abel she was fourteen! She was seventeen in May.) + +"No, no," said Abel, "we shall find the tropics in that conservatory." + +"Then look out for storms!" replied Miss Plumer, laughing. + +Abel offered his arm, and the young couple moved through the humming +room. The arch eyes were cast down. The voice of the youth was very low. + +He felt a touch, and turned. He knew very well who it was. It was his +sister. + +"Abel, I want to present you to Miss Whetwood Tully." + +"My dear Fanny, I can not turn from roses to violets. Miss Tully, I am +sure, is charming. I would go with you with all my heart if I could," +said he, smiling and looking at Miss Plumer; "but, you see, all my heart +is going here." + +Grace Plumer blushed again. He was certainly a charming young man. + +Fanny Newt, with lips parted, looked at him a moment and shook her +head gently. Abel was sure she would happen to find herself in the +conservatory presently, whither he and his companion slowly passed. +It was prettily illuminated with a few candles, but was left purposely +dim. + +"How lovely it is here! Oh! how fond I am of flowers!" said Miss Plumer, +with the prettiest little rapture, and such a little spring that Abel was +obliged to hold her arm more closely. + +"Are you fond of flowers, Mr. Newt?" + +"Yes; but I prefer them living." + +"Living flowers--what a poetic idea! But what do you mean?" asked Grace +Plumer, hanging her head. + +Abel saw somebody on the cane sofa under the great orange-tree, almost +hidden in the shade. Dear Fanny! thought he. + +"My dear Grace," began Abel, in his lowest, sweetest voice; but the +conservatory was so still that the words could have been easily heard +by any one sitting upon the sofa. + +Some one was sitting there--some one did hear. Abel smiled in his heart, +and bent more closely to his companion. His manner was full of tender +devotion. He and Grace came nearer. Some one not only heard, but started. +Abel raised his eyes smilingly to meet Fanny's. Somebody else started +then; for under the great orange-tree, on the cane sofa, sat Lawrence +Newt and Hope Wayne. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +OLD FRIENDS AND NEW. + + +Lawrence Newt had called at Bunker's, and found Mrs. Dinks and Miss +Hope Wayne. They were sitting at the window upon Broadway watching the +promenaders along that famous thoroughfare; for thirty years ago the +fashionable walk was between the Park and the Battery, and Bunker's was +close to Morris Street, a little above the Bowling Green. + +When Mr. Newt was announced Hope Wayne felt as if she were suffocating. +She knew but one person of that name. Her aunt supposed it to be the +husband of her friend, Mrs. Nancy Newt, whom she had seen upon a previous +visit to New York this same summer. They both looked up and saw a +gentleman they had never seen before. He bowed pleasantly, and said, + +"Ladies, my name is Lawrence Newt." + +There was a touch of quaintness in his manner, as in his dress. + +"You will find the city quite deserted," said he. "But I have called with +an invitation from my sister, Mrs. Boniface Newt, for this evening to a +small party. She incloses her card, and begs you to waive the formality +of a call." + +That was the way that Lawrence Newt and Hope Wayne came to be sitting +on the cane sofa under the great orange-tree in Boniface Newt's +conservatory. + +They had entered the room and made their bows to Mrs. Nancy; and Mr. +Lawrence, wishing to talk to Miss Hope, had led her by another way to +the conservatory, and so Mr. Abel had failed to see them. + +As they sat under the tree Lawrence Newt conversed with Hope in a tone of +earnest and respectful tenderness that touched her heart. She could not +understand the winning kindliness of his manner, nor could she resist it. +He spoke of her home with an accuracy of detail that surprised her. + +"It was not the same house in my day, and you, perhaps, hardly remember +much of the old one. The house is changed, but nothing else; no, nothing +else," he added, musingly, and with the same dreamy expression in his +eyes that was in them when he leaned against his office window and +watched the ships--while his mind sailed swifter and farther than they. + +"They can not touch the waving outline of the hills that you see from the +lawn, nor the pine-trees that shade the windows. Does the little brook +still flow in the meadow below? And do you understand the pine-trees? Do +they tell any tales?" + +He asked it with a half-mournful gayety. He asked as if he both longed +and feared that she should say, "Yes, they have told me: I know all." + +The murmurs of the singing came floating out to them as they sat. Hope +was happy and trustful. She was in the house of Abel--she should see +him--she should hear him! And this dear gentleman--not exactly like a +father nor an uncle--well, yes, perhaps a young uncle--he is brother of +Abel's mother, and he mysteriously knows so much about Pinewood, and his +smiling voice has a tear in it as he speaks of old days. I love him +already--I trust him entirely--I have found a friend. + +"Shall we go in again?" said Lawrence Newt. But they saw some one +approaching, and before they arose, while they were still silent, and +Hope's heart was like the dawning summer heaven, she suddenly heard Abel +Newt's words, and watched him, speechlessly, as he and his companion +glided by her into the darkness. It was the vision of a moment; but in +the attitude, the tone, the whole impression, Hope Wayne instinctively +felt treachery. + +"Yes, let us go in!" she said to Lawrence Newt, as she rose calmly. + +Abel had passed. He could no more have stopped and shaken hands with Hope +Wayne than he could have sung like a nightingale. He could not even raise +his head erect as he went by--something very stern and very strong seemed +to hold it down. + +Miss Plumer's head was also bent; she was waiting to hear the end of that +sentence. She thought society opened beautifully. Such a handsome fellow +in such a romantic spot, beginning his compliments in such a low, rich +voice, with his hair almost brushing hers. But he did not finish. Abel +Newt was perfectly silent. He glided away with Grace Plumer into grateful +gloom, and her ears, exquisitely apprehensive, caught from his lips not a +word further. + +Lawrence Newt rose as Hope requested, and they moved away. She found her +aunt, and stood by her side. The young men were brought up and presented, +and submitted their observations upon the weather, asked her how she +liked New York--were delighted to hear that she would pass the next +winter in the city--would show her then that New York had some claim to +attention even from a Bostonian--were charmed, really, with Mr. Bowdoin +Beacon and--and--Mr. Alfred Dinks; at mention of which name they looked +in her face in the most gentlemanly manner to see the red result, as +if the remark had been a blister, but they saw only an unconscious +abstraction in her own thoughts, mingled with an air of attention to +what they were saying. + +"Miss Hope," said Lawrence Newt, who approached her with a young woman by +his side, "I want you to know my friend Amy Waring." + +The two girls looked at each other and bowed. Then they shook hands with +a curious cordiality. + +Amy Waring had dark eyes--not round and hard and black--not ebony eyes, +but soft, sympathetic eyes, in which you expect to see images as lovely +as the Eastern traveler sees when he remembers home and looks in the drop +held in the palm of the hand of the magician's boy. They had the fresh, +unworn, moist light of flowers early in June mornings, when they are +full of sun and dew. And there was the same transparent, rich, pure +darkness in her complexion. It was not swarthy, nor black, nor gloomy. +It did not look half Indian, nor even olive. It was an illuminated +shadow. + +The two girls--they were women, rather--went together to a sofa and sat +down. Hope Wayne's impulse was to lay her head upon her new friend's +shoulder and cry; for Hope was prostrated by the unexpected vision of +Abel, as a strong man is unnerved by sudden physical pain. She felt the +overwhelming grief of a child, and longed to give way to it utterly. + +"I am glad to know you, Miss Wayne!" said Amy Waring, in a cordial, +cheerful voice, with a pleasant smile. + +Hope bowed, and thanked her. + +"I find that Mr. Newt's friends always prove to be mine," continued Amy. + +"I am glad of it; but I don't know why I am his friend," said Hope. "I +never saw him until to-day. He must have lived in Delafield. Do you know +how that is?" + +She found conversation a great relief, and longed to give way to a kind +of proud, indignant volubility. + +"No; but he seems to have lived every where, to have seen every thing, +and to have known every body. A very useful acquaintance, I assure you!" +said Amy, smiling. + +"Is he married?" asked Hope. + +There was the least little blush upon Amy's cheek as she heard this +question; but so slight, that if any body had thought he observed it, he +would have looked again and said, "No, I was mistaken," Perhaps, too, +there was the least little fluttering of a heart otherwise unconscious. +But words are like breezes that blow hither and thither, and the leaves +upon the most secluded trees in the very inmost covert of the wood may +sometimes feel a breath, and stir with responsive music before they +are aware. + +Amy Waring replied, pleasantly, that he was not married. Hope Wayne said, +"What a pity!" Amy smiled, and asked, + +"Why a pity?" + +"Because such a man would be so happy if he were married, and would make +others so happy! He has been in love, you may be sure." + +"Yes," replied Amy; "I have no doubt of that. We don't see men of forty, +or so, who have not been touched--" + +"By what?" asked Lawrence Newt, who had come up silently, and now stood +beside her. + +"Yes, by what?" interposed Miss Fanny, who had been very busy during the +whole evening, trying to get into her hands the threads of the various +interests that she saw flying and streaming all around her. She had seen +Mr. Alfred Dinks devoted to Miss Wayne, and was therefore confirmed in +her belief that they were engaged. She had seen Abel flirting with Grace, +and was therefore satisfied that he cared nothing about her. She had done +the best she could with Alfred Dinks, but was extremely dissatisfied with +her best; and, seeing Hope and Amy together, she had been hovering about +them for a long time, anxious to overhear or to join in. + +"Really," said Amy, looking up with a smile, "I was making a very +innocent remark." + +"Perfectly innocent, I'm sure!" replied Fanny, in her sweetest manner. +It was such a different sweetness from Amy Waring's, that Hope turned +and looked very curiously at Miss Fanny. + +"There are few men of forty who have not been in love," said Amy, calmly. +"That is what I was saying." + +As there was only one man of forty, or near that age, in the little +group, the appeal was evidently to him. Lawrence Newt looked at the +three girls, with the swimming light in his eyes, half crushing them and +smiling, so that every one of them felt, each in her own way, that they +were as completely blinded by that smile as by a glare of sunlight--which +also, like that smile, is warm, and not treacherous. + +They could not see beyond the words, nor hope to. + +"Miss Amy is right, as usual," said he. + +"Why, Uncle Lawrence, tell us all about it!" said Fanny, with a hard, +black smile in her eyes. + +Uncle Lawrence was not in the slightest degree abashed. + +"Fanny," said he, "I will speak to you in a parable. Remember, to _you_. +There was a farmer whose neighbor built a curious tower upon his land. +It was upon a hill, in a grove. The structure rose slowly, but public +curiosity rose with fearful rapidity. The gossips gossiped about it in +the public houses. Rumors of it stole up to the city, and down came +reporters and special correspondents to describe it with an unctuous +eloquence and picturesque splendor of style known only to them. The +builder held his tongue, dear Fanny. The workmen speculated upon the +subject, but their speculations were no more valuable than those of +other people. They received private bribes to tell; and all the great +newspapers announced that, at an enormous expense, they had secured the +exclusive intelligence, and the exclusive intelligence was always wrong. +The country was in commotion, dear Fanny, about a simple tower that +a man was building upon his land. But the wonder of wonders, and the +exasperation of exasperations, was, that the farmer whose estate adjoined +never so much as spoke of the tower--was never known to have asked about +it--and, indeed, it was not clear that he knew of the building of any +tower within a hundred miles of him. Of course, my dearest Fanny, a +self-respecting Public Sentiment could not stand that. It was insulting +to the public, which manifested so profound an interest in the tower, +that the immediate neighbor should preserve so strict a silence, and such +a perfectly tranquil mind. There are but two theories possible in regard +to that man, said the self-respecting Public Sentiment: he is either a +fool or a knave--probably a little of each. In any case he must be dealt +with. So Public Sentiment accosted the farmer, and asked him if he were +not aware that a mysterious tower was going up close to him, and that +the public curiosity was sadly exercised about it? He replied that he +was blessed with tolerable eyesight, and had seen the tower from the +very first stone upward. Tell us, then, all about it! shrieked Public +Sentiment. Ask the builder, if you want to know, said the farmer. But he +won't tell us, and we want you to tell us, because we know that you must +have asked him. Now what, in the name of pity!--what is that tower for? +I have never asked, replies the farmer. Never asked? shrieked Public +Sentiment. Never, retorted Rusticus. And why, in the name of Heaven, have +you never asked? cried the crowd. Because, said the farmer--" + +Lawrence Newt looked at his auditors. "Are you listening, dear Fanny?" + +"Yes, Uncle Lawrence." + +"--because it's none of my business." + +Lawrence Newt smiled; so did all the rest, including Fanny, who remarked +that he might have told her in fewer words that she was impertinent. + +"Yes, Fanny; but sometimes words help us to remember things. It is a +great point gained when we have learned to hoe the potatoes in our own +fields, and not vex our souls about our neighbor's towers." + +Hope Wayne was not in the least abstracted. She was nervously alive to +every thing that was said and done; and listened with a smile to Lawrence +Newt's parable, liking him more and more. + +The general restless distraction that precedes the breaking up of a party +had now set in. People were moving, and rustling, and breaking off the +ends of conversation. They began to go. A few said good-evening, and had +had such a charming time! The rest gradually followed, until there was a +universal departure. Grace Plumer was leaning upon Sligo Moultrie's +arm. But where was Abel? + +Hope Wayne's eyes looked every where. But her only glimpse of him +during the evening had been that glimmering, dreadful moment in the +conservatory. There he had remained ever since. There he still stood +gazing through the door into the drawing-room, seeing but not seen--his +mind a wild whirl of thoughts. + +"What a fool I am!" thought Abel, bitterly. He was steadily asking +himself, "Have--I--lost--Hope Wayne--before--I--had--won--her?" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +DOG-DAYS. + + +The great city roared, and steamed, and smoked. Along the hot, +glaring streets by the river a few panting people hurried, clinging +to the house wall for a thin strip of shade, too narrow even to cover +their feet. All the windows of the stores were open, and within the +offices, with a little thinking, a little turn of the pen, and a little +tracing in ink, men were magically warding off impending disaster, or +adding thousands to the thousands accumulated already--men, too, were +writing without thinking, mechanically copying or posting, scribbling +letters of form, with heads clear or heads aching, with hearts +burning or cold; full of ambition and hope, or vaguely remembering +country hill-sides and summer rambles--a day's fishing--a night's +frolic--Sunday-school--singing-school, and the girl with the chip +hat garlanded with sweet-brier; hearts longing and loving, regretting, +hoping, and remembering, and all the while the faces above them calm +and smooth, and the hands below them busily doing their part of the +great work of the world. + +In Wall Street there was restless running about. Men in white clothes +and straw-hats darted in at doors, darted out of doors--carrying little +books, and boxes, and bundles in their hands, nodding to each other +as they passed, but all infected with the same fever; with brows +half-wrinkled or tied up in hopeless seams of perplexity; with muttering +pale lips, or lips round and red, and clearly the lips of clerks who had +no great stakes at issue--a general rushing and hurrying as if every +body were haunted by the fear of arriving too late every where, and +losing all possible chances in every direction. + +Within doors there were cool bank parlors and insurance offices, with +long rows of comely clerks writing in those Russia red books which Thomas +Tray loved--or wetting their fingers on little sponges in little glass +dishes and counting whole fortunes in bank-notes--or perched high on +office-stools eating apples--while Presidents and Directors, with shiny +bald pates and bewigged heads, some heroically with permanent spectacles +and others coyly and weakly with eye-glasses held in the hand, sat +perusing the papers, telling the news, and gossiping about engagements, +and marriages, and family rumors, and secrets with the air of practical +men of the world, with no nonsense, no fanaticism, no fol-de-rol of any +kind about them, but who profoundly believed the Burt theory that wives +and daughters were a more sacred kind of property than sheep pastures, +or even than the most satisfactory bond and mortgage. + +They talked politics, these banking and insurance gentlemen, with vigor +and warmth. "What on earth does, this General Jackson mean, Sir? Is he +going to lay the axe at the very roots of our national prosperity? What +the deuce does a frontier soldier know about banking?" + +They talked about Morgan who had been found in Lake Ontario; and the +younger clerks took their turn at it, and furiously denied among +themselves that Washington was a Mason. The younger clerks held every +Mason responsible for the reported murder. Then they turned pale lest +their neighbors were Masons, and might cause them to be found drowned +off the Battery. The older men shook their heads. + +Murders--did you speak of murders, Mr. Van Boozenberg? Why, this is a +dreadful business in Salem! Old Mr. White murdered in his bed! The most +awful thing on record. Terrible stories are told, Sir, about respectable +people! It's getting to be dangerous to be rich. What are we coming to? +What can you expect, Sir, with Fanny Wright disseminating her infidel +sentiments, and the work-people buying _The Friend of Equal Human +Rights_? Equal human fiddle-sticks, Mr. Van Boozenberg! + +To which remarks from the mouths of many Directors that eminent officer +nodded his head, and looked so wise that it was very remarkable so many +foolish transactions took place under his administration. + +And in all the streets of the great city, in all the lofty workshops and +yards and factories, huge hammers smote and clashed, and men, naked to +the waist, reeking in dingy interiors, bent like gnomes at their tasks, +while saws creaked, wheels turned, planes and mallets, and chisels shoved +and cut and struck; and down in damp cellars sallow ghastly men and women +wove rag-carpets, and twisted baskets in the midst of litters of puny, +pale children, with bleared eyes, and sore heads, and dirty faces, +tumbling, playing, shouting, whimpering--scampering after the pigs that +came rooting and nosing in the liquid filth that simmered and stank to +heaven in the gutters at the top of the stairs; and the houses above the +heads of the ghastly men and women were swarming rookeries, hot and close +and bare, with window-panes broken, and hats, and coats, and rags stuffed +in, and men with bloodshot eyes and desperate faces sitting dogged with +their hats on, staring at nothing, or leaning on their ragged elbows on +broken tables, scowling from between their dirty hands at the world and +the future; while in higher rooms sat solitary girls in hard wooden +chairs, a pile of straw covered with a rug in the corner, and a box to +put a change of linen in, driving the needle silently and ceaselessly +through shirts or coats or trowsers, stooping over in the foul air during +the heat of the day, straining their eyes when the day darkened to save a +candle, hearing the roar and the rush and the murmur far away, mingled in +the distance, as if they were dead and buried in their graves, and +dreaming a horrid dream until the resurrection. + +Only sometimes an acute withering pain, as if something or somebody were +sewing the sewer and pierced her with a needle sharp and burning, made +the room swim and the straw in the corner glimmer; and the girl dropped +the work and closed her eyes--the cheeks were black and hollow beneath +them--and she gasped and panted, and leaned back, while the roar went on, +and the hot sun glared, and the neighboring church clock, striking the +hour, seemed to beat on her heart as it smote relentlessly the girl's +returning consciousness. Then she took up the work again, and the needle, +with whose little point in pain and sickness and consuming solitude, in +darkness, desolation, and flickering, fainting faith, she pricked back +death and dishonor. + +At neighboring corners were the reefs upon which human health, hope, +and happiness lay stranded, broken up and gone to pieces. Bloated faces +glowered through the open doors--their humanity sunk away into mere +bestiality. Human forms--men no longer--lay on benches, hung over chairs, +babbled, maundered, shrieked or wept aloud; while women came in and took +black bottles from under tattered shawls, and said nothing, but put down +a piece of money; and the man behind the counter said nothing, but took +the money and filled the bottles, which were hidden under the tattered +shawl again, and the speechless phantoms glided out, guarding that little +travesty of modesty even in that wild ruin. + +In shops beyond, yards of tape, and papers of pins, and boots and shoes +and bread, and all the multitudinous things that are bought and sold +every minute, were being done up in papers by complaisant, or surly, or +conceited, or well-behaved clerks; and in all the large and little houses +of the city, in all the spacious and narrow streets, there were women +cooking, washing, sweeping, scouring, rubbing, lifting, carrying, sewing, +reading, sleeping--tens and twenties and fifties and hundreds and +thousands of men, women, and children. More than two hundred thousand of +them were toiling, suffering, struggling, enjoying, dreaming, despairing +on a summer day, doing their share of the world's work. The eye was full +of the city's activity; the ear was tired with its noise; the heart was +sick with the thought of it; the streets and houses swarmed with people, +but the world was out of town. There was nobody at home. + +In the mighty stream, of which men and women are the waves, that poured +ceaselessly along its channels, friends met surprised--touched each +other's hands. + +"Came in this morning--off to-night--droll it looks--nobody in town--" + +And the tumultuous throng bore them apart. + +In the evening the Park Theatre is jammed to hear Mr. Forrest, who made +his first appearance in Philadelphia nine or ten years ago, and is +already a New York favorite. Contoit's garden flutters with the cool +dresses of the promenaders, who move about between the arbors looking for +friends and awaiting ices. The click of billiard balls is heard in the +glittering café at the corner of Reade Street, and a gay company smokes +and sips at the Washington Hotel. Life bursts from every door, from every +window, but there is nobody in town. + +More than two hundred thousand men, women, and children go to their beds +and wake up to the morrow, but there is nobody in town. Nobody in town, +because Mrs. Boniface Newt & Co. have gone to Saratoga--no cathedral +left, because some plastering has tumbled off an upper stone--no forest +left, because a few leaves have whirled away. Nobody in town, because +Mrs. Boniface Newt & Co. have gone to Saratoga, and are doing their part +of the world's work there. + +Mr. Alfred Dinks, Mr. Zephyr Wetherley, and Mr. Bowdoin Beacon, were +slowly sauntering down Broadway, when, they were overtaken and passed by +a young woman walking rapidly for so warm a morning. + +There was an immense explosion of adjectives expressing surprise when +the three young, gentlemen discovered that the young lady who was passing +them was Miss Amy Waring. + +"Why, Miss Waring!" cried they, simultaneously. + +She bowed and smiled. They lifted their hats. + +"You in town!" said Mr. Beacon. + +"In town?" echoed Mr. Dinks. + +"Town?" murmured Mr. Wetherley. + +"Town," said Miss Waring, with her eyes sparkling. + +"Where did you come from? I thought you were all at Saratoga," she +continued. + +"It's stupid there," said Mr. Beacon. + +"Quite stupid," echoed Mr. Dinks. + +"Stupid," murmured Mr. Wetherley. + +"Stupid?" asked the lady, this time making the interrogation in the +antistrophe of the chant. + +"We wanted a little fun." + +"A little fun." + +"Fun," replied the gentlemen. + +"Well, I'm going about my business," said she. "Good-morning." + +"About your business?" + +"Your business?" + +"Business?" murmured the youths, in order. Zephyr concluding. + +"Business!" said Miss Amy, bursting into a little laugh, in which the +listless, perfectly good-humored youths cheerfully joined. + +"It's dreadful hot," said Mr. Beacon. + +"Oh! horrid!" said Mr. Dinks. + +"Very," said Zephyr. And the gentlemen wiped their foreheads. + +"Coming to Saratoga, Miss Waring?" they asked. + +"Hardly, I think, but possibly," said she, and moved away, with her +little basket; while the gentlemen, swearing at the heat, the dust, and +the smells, sauntered on, asseverated that Amy Waring was an odd sort of +girl; and finally went in to the Washington Hotel, where each lolled back +in an armchair, with the white duck legs reposing in another--excepting +Mr. Dinks, who poised his boots upon the window-sill that commanded +Broadway; and so, comforted with a cigar in the mouth, and a glass of +iced port-wine sangaree in the hand, the three young gentlemen labored +through the hot hours until dinner. + +Amy Waring walked quite as rapidly as the heat would permit. She crossed +the Park, and, striking into Fulton Street, continued toward the river, +but turned into Water Street. The old peach-women at the corners, sitting +under huge cotton umbrellas, and parching in the heat, saw the lovely +face going by, and marked the peculiarly earnest step, which the sitters +in the streets, and consequent sharp students of faces and feet, easily +enough recognized as the step of one who was bound upon some especial +errand. Clerks looked idly at her from open shop doors, and from windows +above; and when she entered the marine region of Water Street, the heavy +stores and large houses, which here and there were covered with a dull +grime, as if the squalor within had exuded through the dingy red bricks, +seemed to glare at her unkindly, and sullenly ask why youth, and beauty, +and cleanly modesty should insult with sweet contrast that sordid gloom. + +The heat only made it worse. Half-naked children played in the foul +gutters with the pigs, which roamed freely at large, and comfortably at +home in the purlieus of the docks and the quarter of poverty. Carts +jostled by with hogsheads, and boxes, and bales; the red-faced carmen, +furious with their horses, or smoking pipes whose odor did not sweeten +the air, staring, with rude, curious eyes, at the lady making her way +among the casks and bales upon the sidewalks. There was nothing that +could possibly cheer the eye or ear, or heart or imagination, in any +part of the street--not even the haggard faces, thin with want, rusty +with exposure, and dull with drink, that listlessly looked down upon +her from the windows of lodging-houses. + +The door of one of these was open, and Amy Waring went in. She passed +rapidly through the desolate entry and up the dirty stairs with the +broken railing--stairs that creaked under her light step. At a room upon +the back of the house, in the third story, she stopped and tapped at the +door. A voice cried, "Who's there?" The girl answered, "Amy," and the +door was immediately unlocked. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +AUNT MARTHA. + + +The room was clean. There was a rag carpet on the floor; a pine bureau +neatly varnished; a half dozen plain but whole chairs; a bedstead, upon +which the bedding was scrupulously neat; a pine table, upon which lay a +much-thumbed leather-bound family Bible and a few religious books; and +between the windows, over the bureau, hung a common engraving of Christ +upon the Cross. The windows themselves looked upon the back of the stores +on South Street. Upon the floor was a large basket full of work, with +which the occupant of the room was evidently engaged. The whole room had +an air of severity and cheerlessness, yet it was clear that every thing +was most carefully arranged, and continually swept and washed and dusted. + +The person who had opened the door was a woman of nearly forty. She was +dressed entirely in black. She had not so much as a single spot of white +any where about her. She had even a black silk handkerchief twisted about +her head in the way that negro women twine gay cloths; and such was her +expression that it seemed as if her face, and her heart, and her soul, +and all that she felt, or hoped, or remembered, or imagined, were clad +and steeped in the same mourning garments and utter gloom. + +"Good-morning, Amy," said she, in a hard and dry, but not unkind voice. +In fact, the rigidity of her aspect, the hardness of her voice, and the +singular blackness of her costume, seemed to be too monotonously uniform +and resolute not to indicate something willful or unhealthy in the +woman's condition, as if the whole had been rather superinduced than +naturally developed. + +"Aunt Martha, I have brought you some things that I hope you will find +comforting and agreeable." + +The young woman glanced around the desolately regular and forbidding +room, and sighed. The other took the basket and stepped to a closet, but +paused as she opened it, and turning to Amy, said, in the same dry, +hopeless manner, + +"This bounty is too good for a sinner; and yet it would be the +unpardonable sin for so great a sinner to end her own life willfully." + +The solemn woman put the contents of the basket into the closet; but it +seemed as if, in that gloom, the sugar must have already lost its +sweetness and the tea its flavor. + +Amy still glanced round the room, and her eyes filled with tears. + +"Dear Aunt Martha, when may I tell?" she asked, with piteous earnestness. + +"Amy, would you thwart God? He is too merciful already. I almost fear +that to tolerate your sympathy and kindness is a sore offense in me. +Think what a worm I am! How utterly foul and rank with sin!" + +She spoke with clasped hands lying before her in her lap, in the +same hard tone as if the words were cut in ebony; with the same fixed +lips--the same pale, unsmiling severity of face; above which the abundant +hair, streaked with early gray, was almost entirely lost in the black +handkerchief. + +"But surely God is good!" said Amy, tenderly and sadly. "If we sin, He +only asks us to repent and be forgiven." + +"But we must pay the penalty, Amy," said the other. "There is a price set +upon every sin; and mine is so vast, so enormous--" + +She paused a moment, as if overwhelmed by the contemplation of it; then, +in the same tone, she continued: "You, Amy, can not even conceive how +dreadful it is. You know what it is, but not how bad it is." + +She was silent again, and her soul appeared to wrap itself in denser +gloom. The air of the room seemed to Amy stifling. The next moment she +felt as if she were pierced with sharp spears of ice. She sprang up: + +"I shall smother!" said she; and opened the window. + +"Aunt Martha, I begin to feel that this is really wicked! If you only +knew Lawrence Newt--" + +The older woman raised one thin finger, without lifting the hand from her +lap. Implacable darkness seemed to Amy to be settling upon her too. + +"At least, aunt, let me have you moved to some less horrid place." + +"Foulness and filth are too sweet and fair for me," said the dark woman; +"and I have been too long idle already." + +She lifted the work and began to sew. Amy's heart ached as she looked at +her, with sympathy for her suffering and a sense of inability to help +her. + +There came a violent knock at the door. + +"Who's there?" asked Aunt Martha, calmly. + +"Come, come; open this door, and let's see what's going on!" cried a +loud, coarse voice. + +"Who is it?" + +"Who is it? Why, it's me--Joseph!" replied the voice. + +Aunt Martha rose and unlocked the door. A man whose face was like his +voice bustled noisily into the room, with a cigar in his mouth and his +hat on. + +"Come, come; where's that work? Time's up! Quick, quick! No time, no +pay!" + +"It is not quite done, Mr. Joseph." + +The man stared at Aunt Martha for a moment; then laughed in a jeering +way. + +"Old lady Black, when you undertake to do a piece of work what d'ye mean +by not having it done? Damn it, there's a little too much of the lady +about you! Show me that work!" and he seated himself. + +The woman brought the basket to him, in the bottom of which were several +pieces completed and carefully folded. The man turned them over rapidly. + +"And why, in the devil's name, haven't you done the rest? Give 'em here!" + +He took the whole, finished and unfinished, and, bundling them up, made +for the door. "No time, no pay, old lady; that's the rule. That's the +only way to work such infernally jimmy old bodies as you!" + +The sewing woman remained perfectly passive as Mr. Joseph was passing +out; but Amy sprang forward from the window: + +"Stop, Sir!" said she, firmly. The man involuntarily turned, and such was +his overwhelming surprise at seeing a lady suddenly standing before him, +and a lady who spoke with perfect authority, that, with the instinct of +obsequiousness instinctive in every man who depends upon the favor of +customers, he took off his hat. + +"If you take that work without paying for it you shall be made to pay," +said Amy, quietly, her eyes flashing, and her figure firm and erect. + +The man hesitated for a moment. + +"Oh yes, ma'am, oh certainly, ma'am! Pay for it, of course, ma'am! 'Twas +only to frighten the woman, ma'am; oh certainly, certainly--oh! yes, +ma'am, pay for it, of course." + +"At once," said Amy, without moving. + +"Certainly, ma'am; here's the money," and Mr. Joseph counted it out upon +the pine table. + +"And you'd better leave the rest to be done at once." + +"I'll do so, ma'am," said the man, putting down the bundle. + +"And remember that if you ever harm this woman by a word or look, even," +added Amy, bending her head toward her aunt, "you will repent it +bitterly." + +The man stared at her and fumbled with his hat. The cigar had dropped +upon the floor. Amy pointed to it, and said, "Now go." + +Mr. Joseph stooped, picked up the stump, and departed. Amy felt weak. Her +aunt stood by her, and said, calmly, + +"It was only part of my punishment." + +Amy's eyes flashed. + +"Yes, aunt; and if any body should break into your room and steal every +thing you have and throw you out of the window, or break your bones and +leave you here to die of starvation, I suppose you would think it all +part of your punishment." + +"It would be no more than I deserve, Amy." + +"Aunt Martha," replied Amy, "if you don't take care you will force me to +break my promise to you." + +"Amy, to do that would be to bring needless disgrace upon your mother and +all her family and friends. They have considered me dead for nearly +sixteen years. They have long ago shed the last tear of regret for one +whom they believed to be as pure as you are now. Why should you take her +to them from the tomb, living still, but a loathsome mass of sin? I am +equal to my destiny. The curse is great, but I will bear it alone; and +the curse of God will fall upon you if you betray me." + +Amy was startled by the intensity with which these words were uttered. +There was no movement of the hands or head upon the part of the older +woman. She stood erect by the table, and, as her words grew stronger, the +gloom of her appearance appeared to intensify itself, as a thunder-cloud +grows imperceptibly blacker and blacker. + +When she stopped, Amy made no reply; but, troubled and uneasy, she drew a +chair to the window and sat down. The older woman took up her work again. +Amy was lost in thought, wondering what she could do. She saw nothing as +she looked down into the dirty yards of the houses; but after some time, +forgetting, in the abstraction of her meditation, where she was, she was +suddenly aware of the movement of some white object; and looking +curiously to see what it was, discovered Lawrence Newt gazing up at her +from the back window of his store, and waving his handkerchief to attract +her attention. + +As she saw the kindly face she smiled and shook her hand. There was a +motion of inquiry: "Shall I come round?" And a very resolute telegraphing +by the head back again: "No, no!" There was another question, in the +language of shoulders, and handkerchief, and hands: "What on earth are +you doing up there?" The answer was prompt and intelligible: "Nothing +that I am ashamed of." Still there came another message of motion from +below, which Amy, knowing Lawrence Newt, unconsciously interpreted to +herself thus: "I know you, angel of mercy! You have brought some angelic +soup to some poor woman." The only reply was a smile that shone down from +the window into the heart of the merchant who stood below. The smile was +followed by a wave of the hand from above that said farewell. Lawrence +Newt looked up and kissed his own, but the smiling face was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE CAMPAIGN. + + +Miss Fanny Newt went to Saratoga with a perfectly clear idea of what she +intended to do. She intended to be engaged to Mr. Alfred Dinks. + +That young gentleman was a second cousin of Hope Wayne's, and his mother +had never objected to his little visits at Pinewood, when both he and +Hope were young, and when the unsophisticated human heart is flexible as +melted wax, and receives impressions which only harden with time. + +"Let the children play together, my dear," she said, in conjugal +seclusion to her husband, the Hon. Budlong Dinks, who needed only +sufficient capacity and a proper opportunity to have been one of the most +distinguished of American diplomatists. He thought he was such already. +There was, indeed, plenty of diplomacy in the family, and that most +skillful of all diplomatic talents, the management of distinguished +diplomatists, was not unknown there. + +Fanny Newt had made the proper inquiries. The result was that there were +rumors--"How _do_ such stories start?" asked Mrs. Budlong Dinks of all +her friends who were likely to repeat the rumor--that it was a family +understanding that Mr. Alfred Dinks and his cousin Hope were to make a +match. "And they _do_ say," said Mrs. Dinks, "what ridiculous things +people are! and they _do_ say that, for family reasons, we are going to +keep it all quiet! What a world it is!" + +The next day Mrs. Cod told Mrs. Dod, in a morning call, that Mrs. Budlong +Dinks said that the engagement between her son Alfred and his cousin Hope +Wayne was kept quiet for family reasons. Before sunset of that day +society was keeping it quiet with the utmost diligence. + +These little stories were brought by little birds to New York, so that +when Mrs. Dinks arrived the air was full of hints and suggestions, and +the name of Hope Wayne was not unknown. Farther acquaintance with Mr. +Alfred Dinks had revealed to Miss Fanny that there was a certain wealthy +ancestor still living, in whom the Dinkses had an interest, and that the +only participant with them in that interest was Miss Hope Wayne. That was +enough for Miss Fanny, whose instinct at once assured her that Mrs. Dinks +designed Hope Wayne for her son Alfred, in order that the fortune should +be retained in the family. + +Miss Fanny having settled this, and upon farther acquaintance with Mr. +Dinks having discovered that she might as well undertake the matrimonial +management of him as of any other man, and that the Burt fortune would +probably descend, in part at least, to the youth Alfred, she decided that +the youth Alfred must marry her. + +But how should Hope Wayne be disposed of? Fanny reflected. + +She lived in Delafield. Brother Abel, now nearly nineteen--not a childish +youth--not unhandsome--not too modest--lived also in Delafield. Had he +ever met Hope Wayne? + +By skillful correspondence, alluding to the solitude of the country, et +cetera, and his natural wish for society, and what pleasant people were +there in Delafield, Fanny had drawn her lines around Abel to carry the +fact of his acquaintance, if possible, by pure strategy. + +In reply, Abel wrote about many things--about Mrs. Kingo and Miss +Broadbraid--the Sutlers and Grabeaus--he praised the peaceful tone of +rural society, and begged Fanny to beware of city dissipation; but not +a word of old Burt and Hope Wayne. + +Sister Fanny wrote again in the most confiding manner. Brother Abel +replied in a letter of beautiful sentiments and a quotation from Dr. +Peewee. + +He overdid it a little, as we sometimes do in this world. We appear so +intensely unconscious that it is perfectly evident we know that somebody +is looking at us. So Fanny, knowing that Christopher Burt was the richest +man in the village, and lived in a beautiful place, and that his lovely +grand-daughter lived with him constantly, with which information in detail +Alfred Dinks supplied her, and perceiving from Abel's letter that he was +not a recluse, but knew the society of the village, arrived very +naturally and easily at the conclusion that brother Abel did know Hope +Wayne, and was in love with her. She inferred the latter from the fact +that she had long ago decided that brother Abel would not fall in love +with any poor girl, and therefore she was sure that if he were in the +immediate neighborhood of a lady at once young, beautiful, of good family +and very rich, he would be immediately in love--very much in love. + +To make every thing sure, Abel had not been at home half an hour before +Fanny's well-directed allusion to Hope as the future Mrs. Dinks had +caused her brother to indicate an interest which revealed every thing. + +"If now," pondered Miss Fanny, "somebody who shall be nameless becomes +Mrs. Alfred Dinks, and the nameless somebody's brother marries Miss Hope +Wayne, what becomes of the Burt property?" + +She went, therefore, to Saratoga in great spirits, and with an unusual +wardrobe. The opposing general, Field-marshal Mrs. Budlong Dinks, had +certainly the advantage of position, for Hope Wayne was of her immediate +party, and she could devise as many opportunities as she chose for +bringing Mr. Alfred and his cousin together. She did not lose her +chances. There were little parties for bowling in the morning, and early +walking, and Fanny was invited very often, but sometimes omitted, as if +to indicate that she was not an essential part of the composition. There +was music in the parlor before dinner, and working of purses and bags +before the dressing-bell. There was the dinner itself, and the promenade, +with music, afterward. Drives, then, and riding; the glowing return at +sunset--the cheerful cup of tea--the reappearance, in delightful toilet, +for the evening dance--windows--balconies--piazzas--moonlight! + +Every time that Fanny, warm with the dance, declared that she must have +fresh air, and that was every time she danced with Alfred, she withdrew, +attended by him, to the cool, dim piazza, and every time Mrs. Dinks +beheld the departure. On the cool, dim piazza the music sounded more +faintly, the quiet moonlight filled the air, and life seemed all romance +and festival. + +"How beautiful after the hot room!" Fanny said, one evening as they sat +there. + +"Yes, how beautiful!" replied Alfred. + +"How happy I feel!" sighed Fanny. "Ever since I have been here I have +been so happy!" + +"Have you been happy? So I have been happy too. How very funny!" replied +Alfred. + +"Yes; but pleasant too. Sympathy is always pleasant." And Fanny turned +her large black eyes upon him, while the young Dinks was perplexed by a +singular feeling of happiness. + +They were content to moralize upon sympathy for some time. Alfred was +fascinated, and a little afraid. Fanny moved her Junonine shoulders, bent +her swan-like neck, drew off one glove and played with her rings, fanned +herself gently at intervals, and, with just enough embarrassment not to +frighten her companion, opened and closed her fan. + +"What a fine fellow Bowdoin Beacon is!" said Miss Fanny, a little +suddenly, and in a tone of suppressed admiration, as she drew on her +glove and laid her fan in her lap, as if on the point of departure. + +"Yes, he's a very good sort of fellow." + +"How cold you men always are in speaking of each other! I think him a +splendid fellow. He's so handsome. He has such glorious dark hair--almost +as dark as yours, Mr. Dinks." + +Alfred half raged, half smiled. + +"Do you know," continued Fanny, looking down a little, and speaking a +little lower--"do you know if he has any particular favorites among the +girls here?" + +Alfred was dreadfully alarmed. + +"If he has, how happy they must be! I think him a magnificent sort of +man; but not precisely the kind I should think a girl would fall in love +with. Should you?" + +"No," replied Alfred, mollified and bewildered. He rallied in a moment. +"What sort of man do girls fall in love with, Miss Fanny?" + +Fanny Newt was perfectly silent. She looked down upon the floor of the +piazza, fixing her eyes upon a pine-knot, patiently waiting, and +wondering which way the grain of the wood ran. + +The silence continued. Every moment Alfred was conscious of an increasing +nervousness. There were the Junonine shoulders--the neck--the downcast +eyes--moonlight--the softened music. + +"Why don't you answer?" asked he, at length. + +Fanny bent her head nearer to him, and dropped these words into his +waistcoat: + +"How good you are! I am so happy!" + +"What on earth have I done?" was the perplexed, and pleased, and +ridiculous reply. + +"Mr. Dinks, how could I answer the question you asked without +betraying--?" + +"What?" inquired Alfred, earnestly. + +"Without betraying what sort of man _I_ love," breathed Fanny, in the +lowest possible tone, which could be also perfectly distinct, and with +her head apparently upon the point of dropping after her words into his +waistcoat. + +"Well?" said Dinks. + +"Well, I can not do that, but I will make a bargain with you. If you will +say what sort of girl you would love, I will answer your question." + +Fanny dreaded to hear a description of Hope Wayne. But Alfred's mind was +resolved. The foolish youth answered with his heart in his mouth, and +barely whispering, + +"If you will look in your glass to-night, you will see." + +The next moment Fanny's head had fallen into the waistcoat--Alfred +Dinks's arms were embracing her. He perceived the perfume from her +abundant hair. He was frightened, and excited, and pleased. + +"Dear Alfred!" + +"Dear Fanny!" + +"Come Hope, dear, it is very late," said Mrs. Dinks in the ball-room, +alarmed at the long absence of Fanny and Alfred, and resolved to +investigate the reason of it. + +The lovers heard the voice, and were sitting quietly just a little apart, +as Mrs. Dinks and her retinue came out. + +"Aren't you afraid of taking cold, Miss Newt?" inquired Alfred's mother. + +"Oh not at all, thank you, I am very warm. But you are very wise to go +in, and I shall join you. Good-night, Mr. Dinks." As she rose, she +whispered--"After breakfast." + +The ladies rustled along the piazza in the moonlight. Alfred, flushed and +nervous and happy, sauntered into the bar-room, lit a cigar, and drank +some brandy and water. + +Meanwhile the Honorable Budlong Dinks sat in an armchair at the other end +of the piazza with several other honorable gentlemen--Major Scuppernong +from Carolina, Colonel le Fay from Louisiana, Captain Lamb from +Pennsylvania, General Arcularius Belch of New York, besides Captain +Jones, General Smith, Major Brown, Colonel Johnson, from other States, +and several honorable members of Congress, including, and chief of all, +the Honorable B.J. Ele, a leading statesman from New York, with whom Mr. +Dinks passed as much time as possible, and who was the chief oracle of +the wise men in armchairs who came to the springs to drink the waters, +to humor their wives and daughters in their foolish freaks for fashion +and frivolity, and who smiled loftily upon the gay young people who +amused themselves with setting up ten-pins and knocking them down, while +the wise men devoted themselves to talking politics and showing each +other, from day to day, the only way in which the country could be made +great and glorious, and fulfill its destiny. + +"I am not so clear about General Jackson's policy," said the Honorable +Budlong Dinks, with the cautious wisdom of a statesman. + +"Well, Sir, I am clear enough about it," replied Major Scuppernong. "It +will ruin this country just as sure as that," and the Major with great +dexterity directed a stream of saliva which fell with unerring precision +upon the small stone in the gravel walk at which it was evidently aimed. + +The Honorable Budlong Dinks watched the result of the illustration with +deep interest, and shook his head gravely when he saw that the stone was +thoroughly drenched by the salivary cascade. He seemed to feel the force +of the argument. But he was not in a position to commit himself. + +"Now, _I_ think," said the Honorable B.J. Ele, "that it is the only thing +that can save the country." + +"Ah! you do," said the Honorable B. Dinks. + +And so they kept it up day after day, pausing in the intervals to smile +at the ardor with which the women played their foolish game of gossip and +match-making. + +When Mrs. Dinks withdrew from her idle employments to the invigorating +air of the Honorable B.'s society, he tapped her cheek sometimes with his +finger--as he had read great men occasionally did when they were with +their wives in moments of relaxation from intellectual toil--asked her +what would become of the world if it were given up to women, and by his +manner refreshed her consciousness of the honor under which she labored +in being Mrs. Budlong Dinks. + +The weaker vessel smiled consciously, as if he very well knew that was +the one particular thing which under no conceivable circumstances could +she forget. + +"Budlong, I really think Alfred ought to keep a horse." + +"My dear!" replied the Honorable B., in a tone of mingled reproach, +amusement, contempt, and surprise. + +"Oh! I know we can't afford it. But it would be so pleasant if he could +drive out his cousin Hope, as so many of the other young men do. People +get so well acquainted in that way. Have you observed that Bowdoin Beacon +is a great deal with her? How glad Mrs. Beacon would be!" Mrs. Dinks took +off her cap, and was unpinning her collar, without in the least pressing +her request. Not at all. His word was enough. She had evidently yielded +the point. The horse was out of the question. + +Now the state of the country did not so entirely engross her husband's +mind, that he had not seen all the advantage of Hope's marrying Alfred. + +"It _is_ a pleasant thing for a young man to have his own horse. My dear, +I will see what can be done," said he. + +Then the diplomatist untied his cravat as if he had been undoing the +parchment of a great treaty. He fell asleep in the midst of rehearsing +the speech which he meant to make upon occasion of his presentation as +foreign minister somewhere; while his beloved partner lay by his side, +and resolved that Alfred Dinks must immediately secure Hope Wayne before +Fanny Newt secured Alfred Dinks. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE FINE ARTS. + + +The whole world of Saratoga congratulated Mrs. Dinks upon her beautiful +niece, Miss Wayne. Even old Mrs. Dagon said to every body: + +"How lovely she is! And to think she comes from Boston! Where did she get +her style? Fanny dear, I saw you hugging--I beg your pardon, I mean +waltzing with Mr. Dinks." + +But when Hope Wayne danced there seemed to be nobody else moving. She +filled the hall with grace, and the heart of the spectator with an +indefinable longing. She carried strings of bouquets. She made men happy +by asking them to hold some of her flowers while she danced; and then, +when she returned to take them, the gentlemen were steeped in such a +gush of sunny smiling that they stood bowing and grinning--even the +wisest--but felt as if the soft gush pushed them back a little; for the +beauty which, allured them defended her like a fiery halo. + +It was understood that she was engaged to Mr. Alfred Dinks, her cousin, +who was already, or was to be, very rich. But there was apparently +nothing very marked in his devotion. + +"It is so much better taste for young people who are engaged not to make +love in public," said Mrs. Dinks, as she sat in grand conclave of mammas +and elderly ladies, who all understood her to mean her son and niece, and +entirely agreed with her. + +Meanwhile all the gentlemen who could find one of her moments disengaged +were walking, bowling, driving, riding, chatting, sitting, with Miss +Wayne. She smiled upon all, and sat apart in her smiling. Some foolish +young fellows tried to flirt with her. When they had fully developed +their intentions she smiled full in their faces, not insultingly nor +familiarly, but with a soft superiority. The foolish young fellows went +down to light their cigars and drink their brandy and water, feeling as +if their faces had been rubbed upon an iceberg, for not less lofty and +pure were their thoughts of her, and not less burning was their sense of +her superb scorn. + +But Arthur Merlin, the painter, who had come to pass a few days at +Saratoga on his way to Lake George, and whose few days had expanded into +the few weeks that Miss Wayne had been there--Arthur Merlin, the painter, +whose eyes were accustomed not only to look, but to see, observed that +Miss Wayne was constantly doing something. It was dance, drive, bowl, +ride, walk incessantly. From the earliest hour to the latest she was in +the midst of people and excitement. She gave herself scarcely time to +sleep. + +The painter was introduced to her, and became one of her habitual +attendants. Every morning after breakfast Hope Wayne held a kind of court +upon the piazza. All the young men surrounded her and worshipped. + +Arthur Merlin was intelligent and ingenuous. His imagination gave a kind +of airy grace to his conversation and manner. Passionately interested in +his art, he deserted its pursuit a little only when the observation of +life around him seemed to him a study as interesting. He and Miss Wayne +were sometimes alone together; but although she was conscious of a +peculiar sympathy with his tastes and character, she avoided him more +than any of the other young men. Mrs. Dagon said it was a pity Miss Wayne +was so cold and haughty to the poor painter. She thought that people +might be taught their places without cruelty. + +Arthur Merlin constantly said to himself in a friendly way that if he had +been less in love with his art, or had not perceived that Miss Wayne had +a continual reserved thought, he might have fallen in love with her. As +it was, he liked her so much that he cared for the society of no other +lady. He read Byron with her sometimes when they went in little parties +to the lake, and somehow he and Hope found themselves alone under the +trees in a secluded spot, and the book open in his hand. + +He also read to her one day a poem upon a cloud, so beautiful that Hope +Wayne's cheek flushed, and she asked, eagerly, + +"Whose is that?" + +"It is one of Shelley's, a friend of Byron's." + +"But how different!" + +"Yes, they were different men. Listen to this." + +And the young man read the ode to a Sky-lark. + +"How joyous it is!" said Hope; "but I feel the sadness." + +"Yes, I often feel that in people as well as in poems," replied Arthur, +looking at her closely. + +She colored a little--said that it was warm--and rose to go. + +The cold black eyes of Miss Fanny Newt suddenly glittered upon them. + +"Will you go home with us, Miss Wayne?" + +"Thank you, I am just coming;" and Hope passed into the wood. + +When Arthur Merlin was left alone he quietly lighted a cigar, opened his +port-folio and spread it before him, then sharpened a pencil and began to +sketch. But while he looked at the tree before him, and mechanically +transferred it to the paper, he puffed and meditated. + +He saw that Hope Wayne was constantly with other people, and yet he felt +that she was a woman who would naturally like her own society. He also +saw that there was no person then at Saratoga in whom she had such an +interest that she would prefer him to her own society. + +And yet she was always seeking the distraction of other people. + +Puff--puff--puff. + +Then there was something that made the society of her own thoughts +unpleasant--almost intolerable. + +Mr. Arthur Merlin vigorously rubbed out with a piece of stale bread a +false line he had drawn. + +What is that something--or some-bod-y? + +He stopped sketching, and puffed for a long time. + +As he returned at sunset Hope Wayne was standing upon the piazza of the +hotel. + +"Have you been successful?" asked she, dawning upon him. + +"You shall judge." + +He showed her his sketch of a tree-stump. + +"Good; but a little careless," she said. + +"Do you draw, Miss Wayne?" + +A curious light glimmered across her face, for she remembered where she +had last heard those words. She shrank a little, almost imperceptibly, as +if her eyes had been suddenly dazzled. Then a little more distantly--not +much more, but Arthur had remarked every thing--she said: + +"Yes, I draw a little. Good-evening." + +"Stop, please, Miss Wayne!" exclaimed Arthur, as he saw that she was +going. She turned and smiled--a smile that seemed to him like starlight, +it was so clear and cool and dim. + +"I have drawn this for you, Miss Wayne." + +She bent and took the sketch which he drew from his port-folio. + +"It is Manfred in the Coliseum," said he. + +She glanced at it; but the smile faded entirely. Arthur stared at her in +astonishment as the blood slowly ebbed from her cheeks, then streamed +back again. The head of Manfred was the head of Abel Newt. Hope Wayne +looked from the sketch to the artist, searching him with her eye to +discover if he knew what he was doing. Arthur was sincerely unconscious. + +Hope Wayne dropped the paper almost involuntarily. It floated into the +road. + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Merlin," said she, making a step to recover it. + +He was before her, and handed it to her again. + +"Thank you," said she, quietly, and went in. + +It was still twilight, and Arthur lighted a cigar and sat down to a +meditation. The result of it was clear enough. + +"That head looks like somebody, and that somebody is Hope Wayne's +secret." Puff--puff--puff. + +"Where did I get that head?" He could not remember. "Tut!" cried he, +suddenly bringing his chair down upon its legs with a force that knocked +his cigar out of his mouth, "I copied it from a head which Jim Greenidge +has, and which he says was one of his school-fellows." + +Meanwhile Hope Wayne had carefully locked the door of her room. Then she +hurriedly tore the sketch into the smallest possible pieces, laid them in +her hand, opened the window, and whiffed them away into the dark. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +BONIFACE NEWT, SON, AND CO., DRY GOODS ON COMMISSION. + + +Abel Newt smoked a great many cigars to enable him to see his position +clearly. + +When he told his mother that he could not accompany her to the Springs +because he was about entering his father's counting-room, it was not so +much because he was enamored of business as that his future relations +with Hope were entirely doubtful, and he did not wish to complicate them +by exposing himself to the chances of Saratoga. + +"Business, of course, is the only career in this country, my son," said +Boniface Newt. "What men want, and women too, is money. What is this city +of New York? A combination of men and machines for making money. Every +body respects a rich man. They may laugh at him behind his back. They +may sneer at his ignorance and awkwardness, and all that sort of thing, +but they respect his money. Now there's old Jacob Van Boozenberg. I say +to you in strict confidence, my son, that there was never a greater fool +than that man. He absolutely knows nothing at all. When he dies he will +be no more missed in this world than an old dead stage-horse who is made +into a manure heap. He is coarse, and vulgar, and mean. His daughter Kate +married his clerk, young Tom Witchet--not a cent, you know, but five +hundred dollars salary. 'Twas against the old man's will, and he shut his +door, and his purse, and his heart. He turned Witchet away; told his +daughter that she might lie in the bed she had made for herself; told +Witchet that he was a rotten young swindler, and that, as he had married +his daughter for her money, he'd be d----d if he wouldn't be up with him, +and deuce of a cent should they get from him. They live I don't know +where, nor how. Some of her old friends send her money--actually give +five-dollar bills to old Jacob Van Boozenberg's daughter, somewhere over +by the North River. Every body knows it, you know; but, for all that, we +have to make bows to old Van B. Don't we want accommodations? Look here, +Abel; if Jacob were not worth a million of dollars, he would be of less +consequence than the old fellow who sells apples at the corner of his +bank. But as it is, we all agree that he is a shrewd, sensible old +fellow; rough in some of his ways--full of little prejudices--rather +sharp; and as for Mrs. Tom Witchet, why, if girls will run away, and all +that sort of thing, they must take the consequences, you know. Of course +they must. Where should we be if every rich merchant's daughters were at +the mercy of his clerks? I'm sorry for all this. It's sad, you know. It's +positively melancholy. It troubles me. Ah, yes! where was I? Oh, I was +saying that money is the respectable thing. And mark, Abel, if this were +the Millennium, things would be very different. But it isn't the +Millennium. It's give one and take two, if you can get it. That's what it +is here; and let him who wants to, kick against the pricks." + +Abel hung his legs over the arms of the office-chairs in the +counting-room, and listened gravely. + +"I don't suppose, Sir, that 'tis money _as_ money that is worth having. +It is only money as the representative of intelligence and refinement, of +books, pictures, society--as a vast influence and means of charity; is it +not, Sir?" + +Upon which Mr. Abel Newt blew a prodigious cloud of smoke. + +Mr. Boniface Newt responded, "Oh fiddle! that's all very fine. But my +answer to that is Jacob Van Boozenberg." + +"Bless my soul! here he comes. Abel put your legs down! throw that cigar +away!" + +The great man came in. His clothes were snuffy and baggy--so was his +face. + +"Good-mornin', Mr. Newt. Beautiful mornin'. I sez to ma this mornin', ma, +sez I, I should like to go to the country to-day, sez I. Go 'long; pa! +sez she. Werry well, sez I, I'll go 'long if you'll go too. Ma she +laughed; she know'd I wasn't in earnest. She know'd 'twasn't only a +joke." + +Mr. Van Boozenberg drew out a large red bandana handkerchief, and blew +his nose as if it had been a trumpet sounding a charge. + +Messrs. Newt & Son smiled sympathetically. The junior partner observed, +cheerfully, + +"Yes, Sir." + +The millionaire stared at the young man. + +"Ma's going to Saratogy," remarked Mr. Van Boozenberg. "She said she +wanted to go. Werry well, sez I, ma, go." + +Messrs. Newt & Son smiled deferentially, and hoped Mrs. Van B. would +enjoy herself. + +"No, I ain't no fear of that," replied the millionaire. + +"Mr. Van Boozenberg," said Boniface Newt, half-hesitatingly, "you were +very kind to undertake that little favor--I--I--" + +"Oh! yes, I come in to say I done that as you wanted. It's all right." + +"And, Mr. Van Boozenberg, I am pleased to introduce to you my son Abel, +who has just entered the house." + +Abel rose and bowed. + +"Have you been in the store?" asked the old gentleman. + +"No, Sir, I've been at school." + +"What! to school till now? Why, you must be twenty years old!" exclaimed +Mr. Van Boozenberg, in great surprise. + +"Yes, Sir, in my twentieth year." + +"Why, Mr. Newt," said Mr. Van B., with the air of a man who is in entire +perplexity, "what on earth has your boy been doing at school until now?" + +"It was his grandfather's will, Sir," replied Boniface Newt. + +"Well, well, a great pity! a werry great pity! Ma wanted one of our boys +to go to college. Ma, sez I, what on earth should Corlaer go to college +for? To get learnin', pa, sez ma. To get learnin'! sez I. I'll get him +learnin', sez I, down to the store, Werry well, sez ma. Werry well, sez +I, and so 'twas; and I think I done a good thing by him." + +Mr. Van Boozenberg talked at much greater length of his general +intercourse with ma. Mr. Boniface Newt regarded him more and more +contemptuously. + +But the familiar style of the old gentleman's conversation begot a +corresponding familiarity upon the part of Mr. Newt. Mr. Van Boozenberg +learned incidentally that Abel had never been in business before. He +observed the fresh odor of cigars in the counting-room--he remarked the +extreme elegance of Abel's attire, and the inferential tailor's bills. +He learned that Mrs. Newt and the family were enjoying themselves at +Saratoga. He derived from the conversation and his observation that +there were very large family expenses to be met by Boniface Newt. + +Meanwhile that gentleman had continually no other idea of his visitor +than that he was insufferable. He had confessed to Abel that the old man +was shrewd. His shrewdness was a proverb. But he is a dull, ignorant, +ungrammatical, and ridiculous old ass for all that, thought Boniface +Newt; and the said ass sitting in Boniface Newt's counting-room, and +amusing and fatiguing Messrs. Newt & Son with his sez I's, and sez shes, +and his mas, and his done its, was quietly making up his mind that the +house of Newt & Son had received no accession of capital or strength by +the entrance of the elegant Abel into a share of its active management, +and that some slight whispers which he had heard remotely affecting the +standing of the house must be remembered. + +"A werry pretty store you have here, Mr. Newt. Find Pearl Street as good +as Beaver?" + +"Oh yes, Sir," replied Boniface Newt, bowing and rubbing his hands. "Call +again, Sir; it's a rare pleasure to see you here, Mr. Van Boozenberg." + +"Well, you know, ma, sez she, now pa you mustn't sit in draughts. It's so +sort of draughty down town in your horrid offices, pa, sez she--sez ma, +you know--that I'm awful 'fraid you'll catch your death, sez she, and I +must mind ma, you know. Good-mornin', Mr. Newt, a werry good-mornin', +Sir," said the old gentleman, as he stepped out. + +"Do you have much of that sort of thing to undergo in business, father?" +asked Abel, when Jacob Van Boozenberg had gone. + +"My dear son," replied the older Mr. Newt, "the world is made up of +fools, bores, and knaves. Some of them speak good grammar and use white +cambric pocket-handkerchiefs, some do not. It's dreadful, I know, and I +am rather tired of a world where you are busy driving donkeys with a +chance of their presently driving you." + +Mr. Boniface Newt shook his foot pettishly. + +"Father," said Abel. + +"Well." + +"Which is Uncle Lawrence--a fool, a bore, or a knave?" + +Mr. Boniface Newt's foot stopped, and, after looking at his son for a few +moments, he answered: + +"Abel, your Uncle Lawrence is a singular man. He's a sort of exception to +general rules. I don't understand him, and he doesn't help me to. When he +was a boy he went to India and lived there several years. He came home +once and staid a little while, and then went back again, although I +believe he was rich. It was mysterious, I never could quite understand +it--though, of course, I believe there was some woman in it. Neither your +mother nor I could ever find out much about it. By-and-by he came home +again, and has been in business here ever since. He's a bachelor, you +know, and his business is different from mine, and he has queer friends +and tastes, so that I don't often see him except when he comes to the +house, and that isn't very often." + +"He's rich, isn't he?" asked Abel. + +"Yes, he's very rich, and that's the curious part of it," answered his +father, "and he gives away a great deal of money in what seems to me a +very foolish way. He's a kind of dreamer--an impracticable man. He pays +lots of poor people's rents, and I try to show him that he is merely +encouraging idleness and crime. But I can't make him see it. He declares +that, if a sewing-girl makes but two dollars a week and has a helpless +mother and three small sisters to support besides rent and fuel, and so +on, it's not encouraging idleness to help her with the rent. Well, I +suppose it _is_ hard sometimes with some of those people. But you've no +right to go by particular cases in these matters. You ought to go by the +general rule, as I constantly tell him. 'Yes,' says he, in that smiling +way of his which does put me almost beside myself, 'yes, you shall go by +the general rule, and let people starve; and I'll go by particular cases, +and feed 'em.' Then he is just as rich as if he were an old flint like +Van Boozenberg. Well, it is the funniest, foggiest sort of world. I swear +I don't see into it at all--I give it all up. I only know one thing; that +it's first in first win. And that's extremely sad, too, you know. Yes, +very sad! Where was I? Ah yes! that we are all dirty scoundrels." + +Abel had relighted his cigar, after Mr. Van Boozenberg's departure, and +filled the office with smoke until the atmosphere resembled the fog in +which his father seemed to be floundering. + +"Abel, merchants ought not to smoke cigars in their counting-rooms," +said his father, in a half-pettish way. + +"No, I suppose not," replied Abel, lightly; "they ought to smoke other +people. But tell me, father, do you know nothing about the woman that you +say was mixed up with Uncle Lawrence's affairs?" + +"Nothing at all" + +"Not even her name?" + +"Not a syllable." + +"Pathetic and mysterious," rejoined Abel; "a case of unhappy love, I +suppose." + +"If it is so," said Mr. Newt, "your Uncle Lawrence is the happiest +miserable man I ever knew." + +"Well, there's a difference among men, you know, father. Some wear their +miseries like an order in their button-holes. Some do as the Spartan boy +did when the wolf bit him." + +"How'd the Spartan boy do?" asked Mr. Newt. + +"He covered it up, laughed, and dropped dead." + +"Gracious!" said Mr. Boniface Newt. + +"Or like Boccaccio's basil-pot," continued Abel, calmly; pouring forth +smoke, while his befogged papa inquired, + +"What on earth do you mean by Boccaccio's basil-pot?" + +"Why, a girl's lover had his head cut off, and she put it in a +flower-pot, and covered it up that way, and instead of laughing herself, +set flowers to blooming over it." + +"Goodness me, Abel, what are you talking about?" + +"Of Love, the canker-worm, Sir," replied Abel, imperturbable, and +emitting smoke. + +It was evidently not the busy season in the Dry-goods Commission House of +Boniface Newt & Son. + +When Mr. Van Boozenberg went home to dinner, he said: + +"Ma, you'd better improve this werry pleasant weather and start for +Saratogy as soon as you can. Mr. Boniface Newt tells me his wife and +family is there, and you'll find them werry pleasant folks. I jes' want +you to write me all about 'em. You see, ma, one of our directors to-day +sez to me, after board, sez he, 'The Boniface Newts is a going it +slap-dash up to Saratogy.' I laughed, and sez I, 'Why shouldn't they? +but I don't believe they be,' sez I. Sez he, 'I'll bet you a new shawl +for your wife they be,' sez he. Sez I, 'Done.' So you see ma, if so be +they be, werry well. A new shawl for some folks, you know; only jes' +write me all about it." + +Ma was not reluctant to depart at the earliest possible moment. Her son +Corlaer, whose education had been intercepted by his father, was of +opinion, when he heard that the Newts were at Saratoga, that his health +imperatively required Congress water. But papa had other views. + +"Corlaer, I wish you would make the acquaintance of young Mr. Newt. I +done it to-day. He is a well-edicated young man; I shall ask him to +dinner next Sunday. Don't be out of the way." + +Jacob Van Boozenberg having dined, arose from the table, seated himself +in a spacious easy-chair, and drawing forth the enormous red bandana, +spread it over his head and face, and after a few muscular twitches, and +a violent nodding of the head, which caused the drapery to fall off +several times, finally propped the refractory head against the back of +the chair, and bobbing and twitching no longer, dropped off into +temporary oblivion. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +"QUEEN AND HUNTRESS." + + +Hope Wayne leaned out of the window from which she had just scattered the +fragments of the drawing Arthur Merlin had given her. The night was soft +and calm, and trees, not far away, entirely veiled her from observation. + +She thought how different this window was from that other one at home, +also shaded by the trees; and what a different girl it was who looked +from it. She recalled that romantic, musing, solitary girl of Pinewood, +who lived alone with a silent, grave old nurse, and the quiet years that +passed there like the shadows and sunlight over the lawn. She remembered +the dark, handsome face that seemed to belong to the passionate poems +that girl had read, and the wild dreams she had dreamed in the still, old +garden. In the hush of the summer twilight she heard again the rich voice +that seemed to that other girl of Pinewood sweeter than the music of the +verses, and felt the penetrating glance, that had thrilled the heart of +that girl until her red cheek was pale. + +How well for that girl that the lips which made the music had never +whispered love! Because--because-- + +Hope raised herself from lightly leaning on the window-sill as the +thought flashed in her mind, and she stood erect, as if straightened by a +sudden, sharp, almost insupportable pain--"because," she went on saying +in her mind, "had they done so, that other romantic, solitary girl at +Pinewood"--dear child! Hope's heart trembled for her--"might have +confessed that she loved!" + +Hope Wayne clenched her hands, and, all alone in her dim room, flushed, +and then turned pale, and a kind of cold splendor settled on her face, so +that if Arthur Merlin could have seen her he would have called her Diana. + +During the moment in which she thought these things--for it was scarcely +more--the little white bits of paper floated and fell beneath her. She +watched them as they disappeared, conscious of them, but not thinking of +them. They looked like rose-leaves, they were so pure; and how silently +they sank into the darkness below! + +And if she had confessed she loved, thought Hope, how would it be with +that girl now? Might she not be standing in the twilight, watching her +young hopes scattered like rose-leaves and disappearing in the dark? + +She clasped her hands before her, and walked gently up and down the room. +The full moon was rising, and the tender, tranquil light streamed through +the trees into her chamber. + +But, she thought, since she did not--since the young girl dreamed, +perhaps only for a moment, perhaps so very vaguely, of what might have +been--she has given nothing, she has lost nothing. There was a pleasant +day which she remembers, far back in her childhood--oh! so pleasant! oh! +so sunny, and flowery, and serene! A pleasant day, when something came +that never comes--that never can come--but once. + +She stopped by the window, and looked out to see if she could yet +discover any signs of the scattered paper. She strained her eyes down +toward the ground. But it was entirely dark there. All the light was +above--all the light was peaceful and melancholy, from the moon. + +She laid her face in that moonlight upon the window-sill, and covered it +with her hands. The low wind shook the leaves, and the trees rustled +softly as if they whispered to her. She heard them in her heart. She knew +what they were saying. They sang to her of that other girl and her +wishes, and struggles and prayers. + +Then came the fierce, passionate, profuse weeping--the spring freshet of +a woman's soul. + +--She heard a low knock at the door. She remained perfectly silent. +Another knock. Still she did not move. + +The door was tried. + +Hope Wayne raised her head, but said nothing. + +There was a louder knock, and the voice of Fanny Newt: + +"Miss Wayne, are you asleep? Please let me in." + +It was useless to resist longer. Hope Wayne opened the door, and Fanny +Newt entered. Hope sat down with her back to the window. + +"I heard you come in," said Fanny, "and I did not hear you go out; so I +knew you were still here. But I was afraid you would oversleep yourself, +and miss the ball." + +Hope replied that she had not been sleeping. + +"Not sleeping, but sitting in the moonlight, all alone?" said Fanny. "How +romantic!" + +"Is it?" + +"Yes, of course it is! Why, Mr. Dinks and I are romantic every evening. +He _will_ come and sit in the moonlight, and listen to the music. What an +agreeable fellow he is!" And Fanny tried to see Hope's face, which was +entirely hidden. + +"He is my cousin, you know," replied Hope. + +"Oh yes, we all know that; and a dangerous relationship it is too," said +Fanny. + +"How dangerous?" + +"Why, cousins are such privileged people. They have all the intimacy of +brothers, without the brotherly right of abusing us. In fact, a cousin is +naturally half-way between a brother and a lover." + +"Having neither brother nor lover," said Hope, quietly, "I stop half-way +with the cousin." + +Fanny laughed her cold little laugh. "And you mean to go on the other +half, I suppose?" said she. + +"Why do you suppose so?" asked Hope. + +"It is generally understood, I believe," said Fanny, "that Mr. Alfred +Dinks will soon lead to the hymeneal altar his beautiful and accomplished +cousin, Miss Hope Wayne. At least, for further information inquire of +Mrs. Budlong Dinks." And Fanny laughed again. + +"I was not aware of the honor that awaited me," replied Hope. + +"Oh no! of course not. The family reasons, I suppose--" + +"My mind is as much in the dark as my body," said Hope. "I really do not +see the point of the joke." + +"Still you don't seem very much surprised at it." + +"Why should I be? Every girl is at the mercy of tattlers." + +"Exactly," said Fanny. "They've had me engaged to I don't know how many +people. I suppose they'll doom Alfred Dinks to me next. You won't be +jealous, will you?" + +"No," said Hope, "I'll congratulate him." + +Fanny Newt could not see Hope Wayne's face, and her voice betrayed +nothing. She, in fact, knew no more than when she came in. + +"Good-by, dear, _à ce soir!_" said she, as she sailed out of the room. + +Hope lingered for some time at the window. Then she rang for candles, and +sat down to write a letter. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +A STATESMAN--AND STATESWOMAN. + + +In the same twilight Mrs. Dinks and Alfred sat together in her room. + +"Alfred, my dear, I see that Bowdoin Beacon drives out your Cousin Hope +a good deal." + +Mrs. Dinks arranged her cap-ribbon as if she were at present mainly +interested in that portion of her dress. + +"Yes, a good deal," replied Mr. Alfred, in an uncertain tone, for he +always felt uncomfortably at the prospect of a conversation with his +mother. + +"I am surprised he should do so," continued Mrs. Dinks, with +extraordinary languor, as if she should undoubtedly fall fast asleep +before the present interview terminated. And yet she was fully awake. + +"Why shouldn't he drive her out if he wants to?" inquired Alfred. + +"Now, Alfred, be careful. Don't expose yourself even to me. It is too hot +to be so absurd. I suppose there is some sort of honor left among young +men still, isn't there?" + +And the languid mamma performed a very well-executed yawn. + +"Honor? I suppose there is. What do you mean?" replied Alfred. + +Mamma yawned again. + +"How drowsy one does feel here! I am so sleepy! What was I saying? Oh I +remember. Perhaps, however, Mr. Beacon doesn't know. That is probably the +reason. He doesn't know. Well, in that case it is not so extraordinary. +But I should think he must have seen, or inferred, or heard. A man may +be very stupid; but he has no right to be so stupid as that. How many +glasses do you drink at the spring in the morning, Alfred? Not more than +six at the outside, I hope. Well, I believe I'll take a little nap." + +She played with her cap string, somehow as if she were an angler playing +a fish. There is capital trouting at Saratoga--or was, thirty years ago. +You may see to this day a good many fish that were caught there, and with +every kind of line and bait. + +Alfred bit again. + +"I wish you wouldn't talk in such a puzzling kind of way, mother. What do +you mean about his knowing, and hearing, and inferring?" + +"Come, come, Alfred, you are getting too cunning. Why, you sly dog, do +you think you can impose upon me with an air of ignorance because I am +so sleepy. Heigh-ho." + +Another successful yawn. Sportsmen are surely the best sport in the +world. + +"Now, Alfred," continued his mother, "are you so silly as to suppose for +one moment that Bowdoin Beacon has not seen the whole thing and known it +from the beginning?" + +"Why," exclaimed Alfred, in alarm, "do you?" + +"Of course. He has eyes and ears, I suppose, and every body understood +it." + +"Did they?" asked Alfred, bewildered and wretched; "I didn't know it." + +"Of course. Every body knew it must be so, and agreed that it was highly +proper--in fact the only thing." + +"Oh, certainly. Clearly the only thing," replied Alfred, wondering +whether his mother and he meant the same thing. + +"And therefore I say it is not quite honorable in Beacon to drive her +out in such a marked manner. And I may as well say at once that I think +you had better settle the thing immediately. The world understands it +already, so it will be a mere private understanding among ourselves, much +more agreeable for all parties. Perhaps this evening even--hey, Alfred?" + +Mrs. Dinks adjusted herself upon the sofa in a sort of final manner, as +if the affair were now satisfactorily arranged. + +"It's no use talking that way, mother; it's all done." + +Mrs. Dinks appeared sleepy no longer. She bounced like an India-rubber +ball. Even the cap-ribbons were left to shift for themselves. She turned +and clasped Alfred in her arms. + +"My blessed son!" + +Then followed a moment of silent rapture, during which she moistened his +shirt-collar with maternal tears. + +"Alfred," whispered she, "are you really engaged?" + +"Yes'm." + +She squeezed him as if he were a bag of the million dollars of which she +felt herself to be henceforth mistress. + +"You dear, good boy! Then you _are_ sly after all!" + +"Yes'm, I'm afraid I am," rejoined Alfred very uncomfortably, and with +an extremely ridiculous and nervous impression that his mother was +congratulating him upon something she knew nothing about. + +"Dear, _dear_, DEAR boy!" said Mrs. Dinks, with a crescendo affection +and triumph. While she was yet embracing him, his father, the unemployed +statesman, the Honorable Budlong Dinks, entered. + +To the infinite surprise of that gentleman, his wife rose, came to him, +put her arm affectionately in his, and leaning her head upon his +shoulder, whispered exultingly, and not very softly, + +"It's done without the wagon. Our dear boy has justified our fondest +hopes, Budlong." + +The statesman slipped his shoulder from under her head. If there were +one thing of which he was profoundly persuaded it was that a really +great man--a man to whom important public functions may be properly +intrusted--must, under no circumstances, be wheedled by his wife. He +must gently, but firmly, teach her her proper sphere. She must _not_ +attempt to bribe that judgment to which the country naturally looks in +moments of difficulty. + +Having restored his wife to an upright position, the honorable gentleman +looked upon her with distinguished consideration; and, playing with the +seals that hung at the end of his watch-ribbon, asked her, with the most +protective kindness in the world, what she was talking about. + +She laid her cap-ribbons properly upon her shoulder, smoothed her dress, +and began to fan herself in a kind of complacent triumph, as she +answered, + +"Alfred is engaged as we wished." + +The honorable gentleman beamed approval with as much cordiality as +statesmen who are also fathers of private families, as well as of the +public, ought to indulge toward their children. Shaking the hand of his +son as if his shoulder wanted oiling, he said, + +"Marriage is a most important relation. Young men can not be too cautious +in regard to it. It is not an affair of the feelings merely; but common +sense dictates that when new relations are likely to arise, suitable +provision should be made. Hence every well-regulated person considers +the matter from a pecuniary point of view. The pecuniary point of view is +indispensable. We can do without sentiment in this world, for sentiment +is a luxury. We can not dispense with money, because money is a +necessity. It gives me, therefore, great pleasure to hear that the +choice of my son has evinced the good sense which, I may say without +affectation, I hope he has inherited, and has justified the pains and +expense which I have been at in his education. My son, I congratulate +you. Mrs. Dinks, I congratulate you." + +The honorable gentleman thereupon shook hands with his wife and son, as +if he were congratulating them upon having such an eloquent and dignified +husband and father, and then blew his nose gravely and loudly. Having +restored his handkerchief, he smiled in general, as it were--as if he +hung out signals of amity with all mankind upon condition of good +behavior on their part. + +Poor Alfred was more speechless than ever. He felt very warm and red, and +began to surmise that to be engaged was not necessarily to be free from +carking care. He was sorely puzzled to know how to break the real news to +his parents: + +"Oh! dear me," thought Alfred; "oh! dear me, I wonder if Fanny wouldn't +do it. I guess I'd better ask her. I wonder if Hope would have had me! +Oh! dear me. I wonder if old Newt is rich. How'd I happen to do it? Oh! +dear me." + +He felt very much depressed indeed. + +"Well, mother, I'm going down," said he. + +"My dear, dear son! Kiss me, Alfred," replied his mother. + +He stooped and kissed her cheek. + +"How happy we shall all be!" murmured she. + +"Oh, very, very happy!" answered Alfred, as he opened the door. + +But as he closed it behind him, the best billiard-player at the +Trimountain billiard-rooms said, ruefully, in his heart, while he +went to his beloved, + +"Oh! dear me! Oh!--dear--me! How'd I happen to do it?" + +Fanny Newt, of course, had heard from Alfred of the interview with his +mother on the same evening, as they sat in Mrs. Newt's parlor before +going into the ball. Fanny was arrayed in a charming evening costume. It +was low about the neck, which, except that it was very white, descended +like a hard, round beach from the low shrubbery of her back hair to the +shore of the dress. It was very low tide; but there was a gentle ripple +of laces and ribbons that marked the line of division. Mr. Alfred Dinks +had taken a little refreshment since the conversation with his mother, +and felt at the moment quite equal to any emergency. + +"The fact is, Fanny dear," said he, "that mother has always insisted that +I should marry Hope Wayne. Now Hope Wayne is a very pretty girl, a deuced +pretty girl; but, by George! she's not the only girl in the world--hey, +Fanny?" + +At this point Mr. Dinks made free with the lips of Miss Newt. + +"Pah! Alfred, my dear, you have been drinking wine," said she, moving +gently away from him. + +"Of course I have, darling; haven't I dined?" replied Alfred, renewing +the endearment. + +Now Fanny's costume was too careful, her hair too elaborately arranged, +to withstand successfully these osculatory onsets. + +"Alfred, dear, we may as well understand these little matters at once," +said she. + +"What little matters, darling?" inquired Mr. Dinks, with interest. He was +unwontedly animated, but, as he explained--he had dined. + +"Why, this kissing business." + +"You dear!" cried Alfred, impetuously committing a fresh breach of the +peace. + +"Stop, Alfred," said Fanny, imperiously. "I won't have this. I mean," +said she, in a mollified tone, remembering that she was only engaged, +not married--"I mean that you tumble me dreadfully. Now, dear, I'll make +a little rule. You know you don't want your Fanny to look mussed up, do +you, dear?" and she touched his cheek with the tip of one finger. Dinks +shook his head negatively. "Well, then, you shall only kiss me when I +am in my morning-dress, and one kiss, with hands off, when we say +good-night." + +She smiled a little cold, hard, black smile, smoothing her rumpled +feathers, and darting glances at herself in the large mirror opposite, +as if she considered her terms the most reasonable in the world. + +"It seems to me very little," said Alfred Dinks, discontentedly; +"besides, you always look best when you are dressed." + +"Thank you, love," returned Fanny; "just remember the morning-dress, +please, for I shall; and now tell me all about your conversation with +your mother." + +Alfred told the story. Fanny listened with alarm. She had watched Mrs. +Dinks closely during the whole summer, and she was sure--for Fanny knew +herself thoroughly, and reasoned accordingly--that the lady would stop at +nothing in the pursuit of her object. + +"What a selfish woman it is!" thought Fanny. "Not content with Alfred's +share of the inheritance, she wants to bring the whole Burt fortune into +her family. How insatiable some people are!" + +"Alfred, has your mother seen Hope since she talked with you?" + +"I'm sure I don't know." + +"Why didn't you warn her not to?" + +"I didn't think of it." + +"But why didn't you think of it? If you'd only have put her off, we could +have got time," said Fanny, a little pettishly. + +"Got time for what?" asked Alfred, blankly. + +"Alfred," said Fanny, coaxing herself to speak gently, "I'm afraid you +will be trying, dear. I am very much afraid of it." + +The lover looked doubtful and alarmed. + +"Don't look like a fool, Alfred, for Heaven's sake!" cried Fanny; but +she immediately recovered herself, and said, with a smile, "You see, +dear, how I can scold if I want to. But you'll never let me, I know." + +Mr. Dinks hoped certainly that he never should. "But I sha'n't be a very +hard husband, Fanny. I shall let you do pretty much as you want to." + +"Dearest, I know you will," rejoined his charmer. "But the thing is now +to know whether your mother has seen Hope Wayne." + +"I'll go and ask her," said Alfred, rising. + +"My dear fellow," replied Fanny, with her mouth screwed into a semblance +of smiling, "you'll drive me distracted. I must insist on common sense. +It is too delicate a question for you to ask." + +Mr. Dinks grinned and look bewildered. Then he assumed a very serious +expression. + +"It doesn't seem to me to be hard to ask my mother if she has seen my +cousin." + +"Pooh! you silly--I mean, my precious darling, your mother's too smart +for you. She'd have every thing out of you in a twinkling." + +"I suppose she would," said Alfred, meekly. + +Fanny Newt wagged her foot very rapidly, and looked fixedly upon the +floor. Alfred gazed at her admiringly--thought what a splendid Mrs. +Alfred Dinks he had secured, and smacked his lips as if he were tasting +her. He kissed his hand to her as he sat. He kissed the air toward her. +He might as well have blown kisses to the brown spire of Trinity Church. + +"Alfred, you must solemnly promise me one thing," she said, at length. + +"Sweet," said Alfred, who began to feel that he had dined very much, +indeed--"sweet, come here!" + +Fanny flushed and wrinkled her brow. Mr. Dinks was frightened. + +"Oh no, dear--no, not at all," said he. + +"My love," said she, in a voice as calm but as black as her eyes, "do you +promise or not? That's all." + +Poor Dinks! He said Yes, in a feeble way, and hoped she wouldn't be +angry. Indeed--indeed, he didn't know how much he had been drinking. But +the fellers kept ordering wine, and he had to drink on; and, oh! dear, he +wouldn't do so again if Fanny would only forgive him. Dear, dear Fanny, +please to forgive a miserable feller! And Miss Newt's betrothed sobbed, +and wept, and half writhed on the sofa in maudlin woe. + +Fanny stood erect, patting the floor with her foot and looking at this +spectacle. She thought she had counted the cost. But the price seemed +at this instant a little high. Twenty-two years old now, and if she +lived to be only seventy, then forty-eight years of Alfred Dinks! It +was a very large sum, indeed. But Fanny bethought her of the balm in +Gilead. Forty-eight years of married life was very different from an +engagement of that period. _Courage, ma chère!_ + +"Alfred," said she, at length, "listen to me. Go to your mother before +she goes to bed to-night, and say to her that there are reasons why she +must not speak of your engagement to any body, not even to Hope Wayne. +And if she begins to pump you, tell her that it is the especial request +of the lady--whom you may call 'she,' you needn't say Hope--that no +question of any kind shall be asked, or the engagement may be broken. +Do you understand, dear?" + +Fanny leaned toward him coaxingly as she asked the question. + +"Oh yes, I understand," replied Alfred. + +"And you'll do just as Fanny says, won't you, dear?" said she, even more +caressingly. + +"Yes, I will, I promise," answered Alfred. + +"You may kiss me, dear," said Fanny, leaning toward him, so that the +operation need not disarrange her toilet. + +Alfred Dinks kept his word; and his mother was perfectly willing to do +as she was asked. She smiled with intelligence whenever she saw her son +and his cousin together, and remarked that Hope Wayne's demeanor did +not in the least betray the engagement. And she smiled with the same +intelligence when she remarked how devoted Alfred was to Fanny Newt. + +"Can it possibly be that Alfred knows so much?" she asked herself, +wondering at the long time during which her son's cunning had lain +dormant. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +THE PORTRAIT AND THE MINIATURE. + + +The golden days of September glimmered through the dark sighing trees, +and relieved the white brightness that had burned upon the hills during +the dog-days. Mr. Burt drove into town and drove out. Dr. Peewee called +at short intervals, played backgammon with his parishioner, listened to +his stories, told stories of his own, and joined him in his little +excursions to the West Indies. Mrs. Simcoe was entirely alone. + +One day Hiram brought her a letter, which she took to her own room and +sat down by the window to read. + +"SARATOGA. + +"DEAR AUNTY,--We're about going away, and we have been so gay that you +would suppose I had had 'society' enough. Do you remember our talk? There +have been a great many people here from every part of the country; and +it has been nothing but bowling, walking, riding, dancing, dining at the +lake, and listening to music in the moonlight, all the time. Aunt Dinks +has been very kind, but although I have met a great many people I have +not made many friends. I have seen nobody whom I like as much as Amy +Waring or Mr. Lawrence Newt, of whom I wrote you from New York, and they +have neither of them been here. I think of Pinewood a great deal, but it +seems to me long and long ago that I used to live there. It is strange +how much older and different I feel. But I never forget you, dearest +Aunty, and I should like this very moment to stand by your side at your +window as I used to, and look out at the hills, or, better still, to lie +in your lap or on my bed, and hear you sing one of the dear old hymns. I +thought I had forgotten them until lately. But I remember them very often +now. I think of Pinewood a great deal, and I love you dearly; and yet +somehow I do not feel as if I cared to go back there to live. Isn't that +strange? Give my love to Grandpa, and tell him I am neither engaged to a +foreign minister, nor a New York merchant, nor a Southern planter--nor to +any body else. But he must keep up heart, for there's plenty of time yet. +Good-by, dear Aunty. I seem to hear you singing, + +"'Oh that I now the rest might know!' + +"Do you know how often you used to sing that? Good-by. + +"Your affectionate, HOPE." + +Mrs. Simcoe held the letter in her hand for a long time, looking, as +usual, out of the window. + +Presently she rose, and went to a bureau, and unlocked a drawer with +a key that she carried in her pocket. Taking out an ebony box like a +casket, she unlocked that in turn, and then lifted from it a morocco +case, evidently a miniature. She returned to her chair and seated herself +again, swaying her body gently to and fro as if confirming some difficult +resolution, but with the same inscrutable expression upon her face. Still +holding the case in her hands unopened, she murmured: + +"I want a sober mind, +A self-renouncing will, +That tramples down and casts behind +The baits of pleasing ill." + +She repeated the whole hymn several times, as if it were a kind of spell +or incantation, and while she was yet saying it she opened the miniature. + +The western light streamed over the likeness of a man of a gallant, +graceful air, in whom the fires of youth were not yet burned out, and +in whose presence there might be some peculiar fascination. The hair +was rather long and fair--the features were handsomely moulded, but +wore a slightly jaded expression, which often seems to a woman an air +of melancholy, but which a man would have recognized at once as the +result of dissipation. There was a singular cast in the eye, and a kind +of lofty, irresistible command in the whole aspect, which appeared to be +quite as much an assumption of manner as a real superiority. In fact it +was the likeness of what is technically called a man of the world, whose +frank insolence and symmetry of feature pass for manly beauty and +composure. + +The miniature was in the face of a gold locket, on the back of which +there was a curl of the same fair hair. It was so fresh and glossy that +it might have been cut off the day before. But the quaintness of the +setting and the costume of the portrait showed that it had been taken +many years previous, and that in the order of nature the original was +probably dead. + +As Mrs. Simcoe held the miniature in both hands and looked at it, her +body still rocked over it, and her lips still murmured. + +Then rocking and murmuring stopped together, and she seemed like one +listening to music or the ringing of distant bells. + +And as she sat perfectly still in the golden September sunshine, it was +as if it had shone into her soul; so that a softer light streamed into +her eyes, and the hard inscrutability of her face melted as by some +internal warmth, and a tender rejuvenescence somehow blossomed out upon +her cheeks until all the sweetness became sadness, and heavy tears +dropped from her eyes upon the picture. + +Then, with the old harshness stealing into her face again, she rose +calmly, carrying the miniature in her hand, and went out of the room, and +down the stairs into the library, which was opposite the parlor in which +Abel Newt had seen the picture of old Grandpa Burt at the age of ten, +holding a hoop and book. + +There were book-shelves upon every side but one--stately ranges of +well-ordered books in substantial old calf and gilt English bindings, +and so carefully placed upon the shelves, in such methodical distribution +of shapes and sizes, that the whole room had an air of preternatural +propriety utterly foreign to a library. It seemed the most select and +aristocratic society of books--much too fine to permit the excitement +of interest in any thing they contained--much too high-bred to be of the +slightest use in imparting information. Glass doors were carefully closed +over them and locked, as if the books were beatified and laid away in +shrines. And the same solemn order extended to the library table, which +was precisely in the middle of the room, with a large, solemn family +Bible precisely in the middle of the table, and smaller books, like +satellites, precisely upon the corners, and precisely on one side an +empty glass inkstand, innocent of ink spot or stain of any kind, with a +pen carefully mended and evidently carefully never used, and an exemplary +pen-wiper, which was as unsullied as might be expected of a wiper which +had only wiped that pen which was never dipped into that inkstand which +had been always empty. The inkstand was supported on the other side of +the Bible by an equally immaculate ivory paper-knife. + +The large leather library chairs were arranged in precisely the proper +angle at the corners of the table, and the smaller chairs stood under the +windows two by two. All was cold and clean, and locked up--all--except a +portrait that hung against the wall, and below which Mrs. Simcoe stopped, +still holding the miniature in her hand. + +It was the likeness of a lovely girl, whose rich, delicate loveliness, +full of tender but tremulous character, seemed to be a kind of +foreshadowing of Hope Wayne. The eyes were of a deep, soft darkness, +that held the spectator with a dreamy fascination. The other features +were exquisitely moulded, and suffused with an airy, girlish grace, +so innocent that the look became almost a pathetic appeal against the +inevitable griefs of life. + +As Mrs. Simcoe stood looking at it and at the miniature she held, the +sadness which had followed the sweetness died away, and her face resumed +the old rigid inscrutability. She held the miniature straight before her, +and directly under the portrait; and, as she looked, the apparent pride +of the one and the tremulous earnestness of the other indescribably +blended into an expression which had been long familiar to her, for it +was the look of Hope Wayne. + +While she thus stood, unconscious of the time that passed, the sun had +set and the room was darkening. Suddenly she heard a sound close at her +side, and started. Her hand instinctively closed over the miniature and +concealed it. + +There stood a man kindly regarding her. He was not an old man, but there +was a touch of quaintness in his appearance. He did not speak when she +saw him, and for several minutes they stood silent together. Then their +eyes rose simultaneously to the picture, met again, and Mrs. Simcoe, +putting out her hand, said, in a low voice, + +"Lawrence Newt!" + +He shook her hand warmly, and made little remarks, while she seemed to +be studying into his face, as if she were looking for something she did +not find there. Every body did it. Every body looked into Lawrence Newt's +face to discover what he was thinking of, and nobody ever saw. Mrs. +Simcoe remembered a time when she had seen. + +"It is more than twenty years since I saw you. Have I grown very old?" +asked he. + +"No, not old. I see the boy I remember; but your face is not so clear as +it used to be." + +Lawrence Newt laughed. + +"You compliment me without knowing it. My face is the lid of a chest full +of the most precious secrets; would you have the lid transparent? I am a +merchant. Suppose every body could look in through my face and see what I +really think of the merchandise I am selling! What profit do you think I +should make? No, no, we want no tell-tale faces in South Street." + +He said this in a tone that corresponded with the expression which +baffled Mrs. Simcoe, and perplexed her only the more. But it did not +repel her nor beget distrust. A porcupine hides his flesh in bristling +quills; but a magnolia, when its time has not yet come, folds its heart +in and in with over-lacing tissues of creamy richness and fragrance. +The flower is not sullen, it is only secret. + +"I suppose you are twenty years wiser than you were," said Mrs. Simcoe. + +"What is wisdom?" asked Lawrence Newt. + +"To give the heart to God," replied she. + +"That I have discovered," he said. + +"And have you given it?" + +"I hope so." + +"Yes, but haven't you the assurance?" asked she, earnestly. + +"I hope so," responded Lawrence Newt, in the same kindly tone. + +"But assurance is a gift," continued she. + +"A gift of what?" + +"Of Peace," replied Mrs. Simcoe. + +"Ah! well, I have that," said the other, quietly, as his eyes rested upon +the portrait. + +There was moisture in the eyes. + +"Her daughter is very like her," he said, musingly; and the two stood +together silently for some time looking at the picture. + +"Not entirely like her mother," replied Mrs. Simcoe, as if to assert some +other resemblance. + +"Perhaps not; but I never saw her father." + +As Lawrence Newt said this, Mrs. Simcoe raised her hand, opened it, and +held the miniature before his eyes. He took it and gazed closely at it. + +"And this is Colonel Wayne," said he, slowly. "This is the man who broke +another man's heart and murdered a woman." + +A mingled expression of pain, indignation, passionate regret, and +resignation suddenly glittered on the face of Mrs. Simcoe. + +"Mr. Newt, Mr. Newt," said she, hurriedly, in a thick voice, "let us at +least respect the dead!" + +Lawrence Newt, still holding the miniature in his hand, looked surprised +and searchingly at his companion. A lofty pity shot into his eyes. + +"Could I speak of her otherwise?" + +The sudden change in Mrs. Simcoe's expression conveyed her thought to him +before her words: + +"No, no! not of _her_, but--" + +She stopped, as if wrestling with a fierce inward agony. The veins on her +forehead were swollen, and her eyes flashed with singular light. It was +not clear whether she were trying to say something to conceal something, +or simply to recover her self-command. It was a terrible spectacle, and +Lawrence Newt felt as if he must veil his eyes, as if he had no right to +look upon this great agony of another. + +"But--" said he, mechanically, as if by repeating her last word to help +her in her struggle. + +The sad, severe woman stood before him in the darkening twilight, erect, +and more than erect, drawn back from him, and quivering and defiant. She +was silent for an instant; then, leaning forward and reaching toward him, +she took the miniature from Lawrence Newt, closed her hand over it +convulsively, and gasped in a tone that sounded like a low, wailing cry: + +"But of _him_." + +Lawrence Newt raised his eyes from the vehement woman to the portrait +that hung above her. + +In the twilight that lost loveliness glimmered down into his very +heart with appealing pathos. Perhaps those parted lips in their red +bloom had spoken to him--lips so long ago dust! Perhaps those eyes, in +the days forever gone--gone with hopes and dreams, and the soft lustre +of youth--had looked into his own, had answered his fond yearning with +equal fondness. By all that passionate remembrance, by a lost love, by +the early dead, he felt himself conjured to speak, nor suffer his silence +even to seem to shield a crime. + +"And why not of him?" he began, calmly, and with profound melancholy +rather than anger. "Why not of him, who did not hesitate to marry +the woman whom he knew loved another, and whom the difference of years +should rather have made his daughter than his wife? Why not of him, who +brutally confessed, when she was his wife, an earlier and truer love of +his own, and so murdered her slowly, slowly--not with blows of the hand, +oh no!--not with poison in her food, oh no!" cried Lawrence Newt, warming +into bitter vehemence, clenching his hand and shaking it in the air, "but +who struck her blows on the heart--who stabbed her with sharp icicles of +indifference--who poisoned her soul with the tauntings of his mean +suspicions--mean and false--and the meaner because he knew them to be +false? Why not of him, who--" + +"Stop! in the name of God!" she cried, fiercely, raising her hand as if +she appealed to Heaven. + +It fell again. The hard voice sank to a tremulous, pitiful tone: + +"Oh! stop, if you, are a man!" + +They stood opposite each other in utter silence. The light had almost +faded. The face in the picture was no longer visible. + +Bewildered and awed by the passionate grief of his companion, Lawrence +Newt said, gently, + +"Why should I stop?" + +The form before him had sunk into a chair. Both its hands were clasped +over the miniature. He heard the same strange voice like the wailing cry +of a child: + +"Because I am the woman he loved--because I loved him." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +GABRIEL AT HOME. + + +During all this time Gabriel Bennet is becoming a merchant. Every morning +he arrives at the store with the porter or before him. He helps him sweep +and dust; and it is Gabriel who puts Lawrence Newt's room in order, +laying the papers in place, and taking care of the thousand nameless +details that make up comfort. He reads the newspapers before the other +clerks arrive, and sits upon chests of tea or bales of matting in the +loft, that fill the air with strange, spicy, Oriental odors, and talks +with the porter. In the long, warm afternoons, too, when there is no +pressure of business, and the heat is overpowering, he sits also alone +among those odors, and his mind is busy with all kinds of speculations, +and dreams, and hopes. + +As he walks up Broadway toward evening, his clear, sweet eyes see every +thing that floats by. He does not know the other side of the fine dresses +he meets any more than of the fine houses, with the smiling, glittering +windows. The sun shines bright in his eyes--the street is gay--he nods +to his friends--he admires the pretty faces--he wonders at the fast men +driving fast horses--he sees the flowers in the windows, the smiling +faces between the muslin curtains--he gazes with a kind of awe at the +funerals going by, and marks the white bands of the clergymen and the +physicians--the elm-trees in the hospital yard remind him of the woods at +Delafield; and here comes Abel Newt, laughing, chatting, smoking, with an +arm in the arms of two other young men, who are also smoking. As Gabriel +passes Abel their eyes meet. Abel nods airily, and Gabriel quietly; the +next moment they are back to back again--one is going up street, the +other down. + +It is not one of the splendid houses before which Gabriel stops when he +has reached the upper part of the city. It is not a palace, nor is it +near Broadway. Nor are there curtains at the window, but a pair of +smiling faces, of friendly women's faces. One is mild and maternal, with +that kind of tender anxiety which softens beauty instead of hardening it. +It has that look which, after she is dead, every affectionate son thinks +he remembers to have seen in his mother's face; and the other is younger, +brighter--a face of rosy cheeks, and clustering hair, and blue eyes--a +beaming, loyal, loving, girlish face. + +They both smile welcome to Gabriel, and the younger face, disappearing +from the window, reappears at the door. Gabriel naturally kisses those +blooming lips, and then goes into the parlor and kisses his mother. Those +sympathetic friends ask him what has happened during the day. They see if +he looks unusually fatigued; and if so, why so? they ask. Gabriel must +tell the story of the unlading the ship _Mary B._, which has just come +in--which is Lawrence Newt's favorite ship; but why called _Mary B._ not +even Thomas Tray knows, who knows every thing else in the business. Then +sitting on each side of him on the sofa, those women wonder and guess +why the ship should be called _Mary B._ What Mary B.? Oh! dear, there +might be a thousand women with those initials. And what has ever happened +to Mr. Newt that he should wish to perpetuate a woman's name? Stop! +remembers mamma, his mother's name was Mary. Mary what? asks the +daughter. Mamma, _you_ remember, of course. + +Mamma merely replies that his mother's name was Bunley--Mary Bunley--a +famous belle of the close of the last century, when she was the most +beautiful woman at President Washington's levees--Mary Bunley, to whom +Aaron Burr paid his addresses in vain. + +"Yes, mamma; but who was Aaron Burr?" ask those blooming lips, as the +bright young eyes glance from under the clustering curls at her mother. + +"Ellen, do you remember this spring, as we were coming up Broadway, +we passed an old man with a keen black eye, who was rather carelessly +dressed, and who wore a cue, with thick hair of his own, white as snow, +whom a good many people looked at and pointed out to each other, but +nobody spoke to?--who gazed at you as we passed so peculiarly that you +pressed nearer to me, and asked who it was, and why such an old man +seemed to be so lonely, and in all that great throng, which evidently +knew him, was as solitary as if he had been in a desert?" + +"Perfectly--I remember it," replies Ellen. + +"That friendless old man, my dear, whom at this moment perhaps scarcely +a single human being in the world loves, was the most brilliant beau +and squire of dames that has ever lived in this country; handsome, +accomplished, and graceful, he has stepped many a stately dance with the +queenly Mary Bunley, mother of Lawrence Newt. But that was half a century +ago." + +"Mamma," asks Ellen, full of interest in her mother's words, "but why +does nobody speak to him? Why is he so alone? Had he not better have died +half a century ago?" + +"My dear, you have seen Mrs. Beriah Dagon, an aunt of Mr. Lawrence +Newt's? She was Cecilia Bunley, sister of Mary. When she was younger +she used to go to the theatre with a little green snake coiled around +her arm like a bracelet. It was the most lovely green--the softest color +you ever saw; it had the brightest eyes, the most sinuous grace; it had +a sort of fascination, but it filled you with fear; fortunately, it was +harmless. But, Ellen, if it could have stung, how dreadful it would have +been! Aaron Burr was graceful, and, accomplished, and brilliant; he +coiled about many a woman, fascinating her with his bright eyes and his +sinuous manner; but if he had stung, dear?" + +Ellen shakes her head as her mother speaks, and Gabriel involuntarily +thinks of Abel Newt. + +When Mrs. Bennet goes out of the room to attend to the tea, Gabriel says +that for his part he doesn't believe in the least that the ship was named +for old Mrs. Newt; people are not romantic about their mothers; and Miss +Ellen agrees with him. + +The room in which they sit is small, and very plain. There are only a +sofa, and table, and some chairs, with shelves of books, and a coarse +carpet. Upon the wall hangs a portrait representing a young and beautiful +woman, not unlike Mrs. Bennet; but the beauty of the face is flashing and +passionate, not thoughtful and mild like that of Gabriel's mother. But +although every thing is very plain, it is perfectly cheerful. There is +nothing forlorn in the aspect of the room. Roses in a glass upon the +table, and the voice and manner of the mother and daughter, tell every +thing. + +Presently they go in to tea, and Mr. Bennet joins them. His face is pale, +and of gentle expression, and he stoops a little in his walk. He wears +slippers and an old coat, and has the air of a clergyman who has made up +his mind to be disappointed. But he is not a clergyman, although his +white cravat, somewhat negligently tied, and his rusty black dress-coat, +favor that theory. There is a little weariness in his expression, and an +involuntary, half-deferential smile, as if he fully assented to every +thing that might be presented--not because he is especially interested in +it or believes it, but because it is the shortest way of avoiding +discussion and getting back to his own thoughts. + +"Gabriel, my son, I am glad to see you!" his father says, as he seats +himself, not opposite his wife, but at one side of the table. He inquires +if Mr. Newt has returned, and learns that he has been at home for several +days. He hopes that he has enjoyed his little journey; then sips his tea, +and looks to see if the windows are closed; shakes himself gently, and +says he feels chilly; that the September evenings are already autumnal, +and that the time is coming when we must begin to read aloud again after +tea. And what book shall we read? Perhaps the best of all we can select +is Irving's Life of Columbus; Mr. Bennet himself has read it in the +previous year, but he is sure his children will be interested and +delighted by it; and, for himself, he likes nothing better than to read +over and over a book he knows and loves. He puts down his knife as +he speaks, and plays with his tea-spoon on the edge of the cup. + +"I find myself enchanted with the description of the islands in the +Gulf, and the life of those soft-souled natives. As I read on, I smell +the sweet warm odors from the land; I pick up the branches of green +trees floating far out upon the water; I see the drifting sea-weed, +and the lights at night upon the shore; then I land, and lie under +the palm-trees, and hear the mellow tongue of the tropics; I taste the +luscious fruits; I bask in that rich, eternal sun--" His eyes swim with +tropical languor as he speaks. He still mechanically balances the spoon +upon the cup, while his mind is deep sunk in reverie. As his wife glances +at him, both the look of tenderness and of anxiety in her face deepen. +But the moment of silence rouses him, and with the nervous smile upon his +face, he says, "Oh--ah!--I--yes--let it be Irving's Columbus!" + +Toward his wife Mr. Bennet's manner is almost painfully thoughtful. His +eye constantly seeks hers; and when he speaks to her, the mechanical +smile which greets every body else is replaced by a kind of +indescribable, touching appeal for forgiveness. It is conveyed in +no particular thing that he says or does, but it pervades his whole +intercourse with her. As Gabriel and Ellen grow up toward maturity, Mrs. +Bennet observes that the same peculiarity is stealing into his manner +toward them. It is as if he were involuntarily asking pardon for some +great wrong that he has unconsciously done them. And yet his mildness, +and sweetness, and simplicity of nature are such, that this singular +manner does not disturb the universal cheerfulness. + +"You look a little tired to-night, father," says Gabriel, when they are +all seated in the front room again, by the table, with the lamp lighted. + +"Yes," replies the father, who sits upon the sofa, with his wife by his +side--"yes; Mr. Van Boozenberg was very angry to-day about some error he +thought he had discovered, and he was quite short with us book-keepers, +and spoke rather sharply." + +A slight flush passes over Mr. Bennet's face, as if he recalled something +extremely disagreeable. His eyes become dreamy again; but after a moment +the old smile returns, and, as if begging pardon, in a half bewildered +way, he resumes: + +"However, his position is trying. Fortunately there wasn't any mistake +except of his own." + +He is silent again. After a little while he asks, "Couldn't we have some +music? Ellen, can't you sing something?" + +Ellen thinks she can, if Gabriel will sing second; Gabriel says he will +try, with pleasure; but really--he is so overwhelmed--the state of his +voice--he feigns a little cough--if the crowded and fashionable audience +will excuse--he really--in fact, he will--but he is sure-- + +During this little banter Nellie cries, "Pooh, pooh!" mamma looks +pleased, and papa smiles gently. Then the fresh young voices of the +brother and sister mingle in "Bonnie Doon." + +The room is not very light, for there is but one lamp upon the table by +which the singers sit. The parents sit together upon the sofa; and as the +song proceeds the hand of the mother steals into that of the father, +which holds it closely, while his arm creeps noiselessly around her +waist. Their hearts float far away upon that music. His eyes droop as +when he was speaking of the tropic islands--as if he were hearing the +soft language of those shores. As his wife looks at him she sees on his +face, beneath the weariness of its expression, the light which shone +there in the days when they sang "Bonnie Doon" together. He draws her +closer to him, and his head bows as if by long habit of humility. Her +eyes gradually fill with tears; and when the song is over her head is +lying on his breast. + +While they are still sitting in silence there is a ring at the door, and +Lawrence Newt and Amy Waring enter the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +BORN TO BE A BACHELOR. + + +"The truth is, Madame," began Lawrence Newt, addressing Mrs. Bennet, +"that I am ashamed of myself--I ought to have called a hundred times. +I ask your pardon, Sir," he continued, turning to Mr. Bennet, who was +standing irresolutely by the sofa, half-leaning upon the arm. + +"Oh!--ah! I am sure," replied Mr. Bennet, with the nervous smile flitting +across his face and apparently breaking out all over him; and there he +remained speechless and bowing, while Mr. Newt hastened to seat himself, +that every body else might sit down also. + +Mrs. Bennet said that she was really, glad to see the face of an old +friend again whom she had not seen for so long. + +"But I see you every day in Gabriel, my dear Madame," replied Lawrence +Newt, with quaint dignity. Mother and son both smiled, and the father +bowed as if the remark had been addressed to him. + +Amy seated herself by Gabriel and Ellen, and talked very animatedly with +them, while the parents and Mr. Newt sat together. She praised the roses, +and smelled them very often; and whenever she did so, her eyes, having +nothing in particular to do at the moment, escaped, as it were, under her +brows through the petals of the roses as she bent over them, and wandered +away to Lawrence Newt, whose kind, inscrutable eyes, by the most +extraordinary chance in the world, seemed to be expecting hers, and were +ready to receive them with the warmest welcome, and a half-twinkle--or +was it no twinkle at all? which seemed to say, "Oh! you came--did you?" +And every time his eyes seemed to say this Amy burst out into fresh +praises of those beautiful roses to her younger cousins, and pressed them +close to her cheek, as if she found their moist, creamy coolness +peculiarly delicious and refreshing--pressed them so close, indeed, that +she seemed to squeeze some of their color into her cheeks, which Gabriel +and Ellen both thought, and afterward declared to their mother, to be +quite as beautiful as roses. + +Amy's conversation with her young cousins was very lively indeed, but it +had not a continuous interest. There were incessant little pauses, during +which the eyes slipped away again across the room, and fell as softly as +before, plump into the same welcome and the same little interrogation in +those other eyes, twinkling with that annoying "did you?" + +Amy Waring was certainly twenty-five, although Gabriel laughed and jeered +at any such statement. But mamma and the Family Bible were too much for +him. Lawrence Newt was certainly more than forty. But the Newt Family +Bible was under a lock of which the key lay in Mrs. Boniface Newt's +bureau, who, in a question of age, preferred tradition, which she could +judiciously guide, to Scripture. When Boniface Newt led Nancy Magot to +the altar, he recorded, in a large business hand, both the date of his +marriage and his wife's birth. She protested, it was vulgar. And when the +bridegroom inquired whether the vulgarity were in the fact of being born +or in recording it, she said: "Mr. Newt, I am ashamed of you," and locked +up the evidence. + +There was a vague impression in the Newt family--Boniface had already +mentioned it to his son Abel--that there was something that Uncle +Lawrence never talked about--many things indeed, of course, but still +something in particular. Outside the family nothing was suspected. +Lawrence Newt was simply one of those incomprehensibly pleasant, +eccentric, benevolent men, whose mercantile credit was as good as Jacob +Van Boozenberg's, but who perversely went his own way. One of these ways +led to all kinds of poor people's houses; and it was upon a visit to the +widow of the clergyman to whom Boniface Newt had given eight dollars for +writing a tract entitled "Indiscriminate Almsgiving a Crime," that +Lawrence Newt had first met Amy Waring. As he was leaving money with the +poor woman to pay her rent, Amy came in with a basket of comfortable +sugars and teas. She carried the flowers in her face. Lawrence Newt was +almost blushing at being caught in the act of charity; and as he was +sliding past her to get out, he happened to look at her face, and +stopped. + +"Bless my soul! my dear young lady, surely your name is Darro!" + +The dear young lady smiled and colored, and replied, + +"No, mine is not, but my mother's was." + +"Of course it was. Those eyes of yours are the Darro eyes. Do you think I +do not know the Darro eyes when I see them?" + +And he took Amy's hand, and said, "Whose daughter are you?" + +"My name is Amy Waring." + +"Oh! then you are Corinna's daughter. Your aunt Lucia married Mr. Bennet, +and--and--" Lawrence Newt's voice paused and hesitated for a moment, +"and--there was another." + +There was something so tenderly respectful in the tone that Amy, with +only a graver face, replied, + +"Yes, there was my Aunt Martha." + +"I remember all. She is gone; my dear young lady, you will forgive me, +but your face recalls other years." Then turning to the widow, he said, +"Mrs. Simmer, I am sure that you could have no kinder, no better friend +than this young lady." + +The young lady looked at him with a gentle inquiry in her eyes as who +should say, "What do you know about it?" + +Lawrence Newt's eyes understood in a moment, and he answered: + +"Oh, I know it as I know that a rose smells sweet." + +He bowed as he said it, and took her hand. + +"Will you remember to ask your mother if she remembers Lawrence Newt, and +if he may come and see her?" + +Amy Waring said Yes, and the gentleman, bending and touching the tips of +her fingers with his lips, said, "Good-by, Mrs. Simmer," and departed. + +He called at Mrs. Waring's within a few days afterward. He had known her +as a child, but his incessant absence from home when he was younger had +prevented any great intimacy with old acquaintances. But the Darros were +dancing-school friends and partners. Since those days they had become +women and mothers. He had parted with Corinna Darro, a black-eyed little +girl in short white frock and short curling hair and red ribbons. He met +her as Mrs. Delmer Waring, a large, maternal, good-hearted woman. + +This had happened two years before, and during all the time since then +Lawrence Newt had often called--had met Amy in the street on many +errands--had met her at balls whenever he found she was going. He did not +ask her to drive with him. He did not send her costly gifts. He did +nothing that could exclude the attentions of younger men. But sometimes +a basket of flowers came for Miss Waring--without a card, without any +clue. The good-hearted mother thought of various young men, candidates +for degrees in Amy's favor, who had undoubtedly sent the flowers. The +good-hearted mother, who knew that Amy was in love with none of them, +pitied them--thought it was a great shame they should lose their time in +such an utterly profitless business as being in love with Amy; and when +any of them called said, with a good-humored sigh, that she believed her +daughter would never be any thing but a Sister of Charity. + +Sometimes also a new book came, and on the fly-leaf was written, "To Miss +Amy Waring, from her friend Lawrence Newt." Then the good-hearted mother +remarked that some men were delightfully faithful to old associations, +and that it was really beautiful to see Mr. Newt keeping up the +acquaintance so cordially, and complimenting his old friend so delicately +by thinking of pleasing her daughter. What a pity he had never married, +to have had daughters of his own! "But I suppose, Amy, some men are born +to be bachelors." + +"I suppose they are, mother," Amy replied, and found immediately after +that she had left her scissors, she couldn't possibly remember where; +perhaps in your room, mamma, perhaps in mine. + +They must be looked for, however, and, O how curious! there they lay in +her own room upon the table. In her own room, where she opened the new +book and read in it for half an hour at a time, but always poring on the +same page. It was such a profound work. It was so full of weighty matter. +When would she ever read it through at this rate, for the page over which +she pored had less on it than any other page in the book. In fact it had +nothing on it but that very commonplace and familiar form of words, "To +Miss Amy Waring, from her friend Lawrence Newt." + +Amy was entirely of her mother's opinion. Some men are undoubtedly born +to be bachelors. Some men are born to be as noble as the heroes of +romances--simple, steadfast, true; to be gentle, intelligent, sagacious, +with an experience that has mellowed by constant and various intercourse +with men, but with a heart that that intercourse has never chilled, and +a faith which that experience has only confirmed. Some men are born to +possess every quality of heart, and mind, and person that can awaken and +satisfy the love of a woman. Yes, unquestionably, said Amy Waring in her +mind, which was so cool, so impartial, so merely contemplating the +subject as an abstract question, some men--let me see, shall I say like +Lawrence Newt, simply as an illustration?--well, yes--some men like +Lawrence Newt, for instance, are born to be all that some women dream of +in their souls, and they are the very ones who are born to be bachelors. + +It might be very sad not to be aware of it, thought Amy. What a profound +pity it would be if any young woman should not see it, for instance, +in the case of Lawrence Newt. But when a young woman is in no doubt at +all, when she knows perfectly well that such a man is not intended by +nature to be a marrying man, and therefore never thinks of such a thing, +but only with a grace, and generosity, and delicacy beyond expression +offers his general homage to the sex by giving little gifts to her, "why, +then--then," thought Amy, and she was thinking so at the very moment when +she sat with Gabriel and Ellen, talking in a half wild, lively, +incoherent way, "why, then--then," and her eyes leaped across the room +and fell, as it were, into the arms of Lawrence Newt's, which caressed +them with soft light, and half-laughed "You came again, did you?"--"why, +then--then," and Amy buried her face in the cool, damp roses, and did not +dare to look again, "then she had better go and be a Sister of Charity." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +MR. ABEL NEWT, GRAND STREET. + + +As the world returned to town and the late autumnal festivities began, +the handsome person and self-possessed style of Mr. Abel Newt became the +fashion. Invitations showered upon him. Mrs. Dagon proclaimed every where +that there had been nobody so fascinating since the days of the brilliant +youth of Aaron Burr, whom she declared that she well remembered, and +added, that if she could say it without blushing, or if any reputable +woman ought to admit such things, she should confess that in her younger +days she had received flowers and even notes from that fascinating man. + +"I don't deny, my dears, that he was a naughty man. But I can tell you +one thing, all the naughty men are not in disgrace yet, though he is. +And, if you please, Miss Fanny, with all your virtuous sniffs, dear, and +all your hugging of men in waltzing, darling, Colonel Burr was not sent +to Coventry because he was naughty. He might have been naughty all the +days of his life, and Mrs. Jacob Van Boozenberg and the rest of 'em would +have been quite as glad to have him at their houses. No, no, dears, +society doesn't punish men for being naughty--only women. I am older +than you, and I have observed that society likes spice in character. +It doesn't harm a man to have stories told about him." + +No ball was complete without Abel Newt. Ladies, meditating parties, +engaged him before they issued a single invitation. At dinners he was +sparkling and agreeable, with tact enough not to extinguish the other +men, who yet felt his superiority and did not half like it. They imitated +his manner; but what was ease or gilded assurance in him was open +insolence, or assurance with the gilt rubbed off, in them. The charm +and secret of his manner lay in an utter devotion, which said to every +woman, "There's not a woman in the world who can resist me, except you. +Have you the heart to do it?" Of course this manner was assisted by +personal magnetism and beauty. Wilkes said he was only half an hour +behind the handsomest man in the world. But he would never have overtaken +him if the handsome man had been Wilkes. + +In his dress Abel was costly and elegant. With the other men of his day, +he read "Pelham" with an admiration of which his life was the witness. +Pelham was the Byronic hero made practicable, purged of romance, and +adapted to society. Mr. Newt, Jun., was one of a small but influential +set of young men about town who did all they could to repair the +misfortune of being born Americans, by imitating the habits of foreign +life. + +It was presently clear to him that residence under the parental roof was +incompatible with the habits of a strictly fashionable man. + +"There are hours, you know, mother, and habits, which make a separate +lodging much more agreeable to all parties. I have friends to smoke, or +to drink a glass of punch, or to play a game of whist; and we must sing, +and laugh, and make a noise, as young men will, which is not seemly for +the paternal mansion, mother mine." With which he took his admiring +mother airily under the chin and kissed her--not having mentioned +every reason which made a separate residence desirable. + +So Abel Newt hired a pleasant set of rooms in Grand Street, near +Broadway, in the neighborhood of other youth of the right set. He +furnished them sumptuously, with the softest carpets, the most luxurious +easy-chairs, the most costly curtains, and pretty, bizarre little tables, +and bureaus, and shelves. Various engravings hung upon the walls; a +profile-head of Bulwer, with a large Roman nose and bushy whiskers, and +one of his Majesty George IV., in that famous cloak which Lord +Chesterfield bought at the sale of his Majesty's wardrobe for eleven +hundred dollars, and of which the sable lining alone originally cost four +thousand dollars. Then there were little vases, and boxes, and caskets +standing upon all possible places, with a rare flower in some one of them +often, sent by some kind dowager who wished to make sure of Abel at a +dinner or a select soiree. Pipes, of course, and boxes of choice cigars, +were at hand, and in a convenient closet such a beautiful set of English +cut glass for the use of a gentleman! + +It was no wonder that the rooms of Abel Newt became a kind of club-room +and elegant lounge for the gay gentlemen about town. He even gave little +dinners there to quiet parties, sometimes including two or three +extremely vivacious and pretty, as well as fashionably dressed, young +women, whom he was not in the habit of meeting in society, but who were +known quite familiarly to Abel and his friends. + +Upon other occasions these little dinners took place out of town, whither +the gentlemen drove alone in their buggies by daylight, and, meeting the +ladies there, had the pleasure of driving them back to the city in the +evening. The "buggy" of Abel's day was an open gig without a top, very +easy upon its springs, but dangerous with stumbling horses. The drive +was along the old Boston road, and the rendezvous, Cato's--Cato +Alexander's--near the present shot-tower. If the gentlemen returned +alone, they finished the evening at Benton's, in Ann Street, where +they played a game of billiards; or at Thiel's retired rooms over the +celebrated Stewart's, opposite the Park, where they indulged in faro. +Abel Newt lost and won his money with careless grace--always a little +glad when he won, for somebody had to pay for all this luxurious life. + +Boniface Newt remonstrated. His son was late at the office in the +morning. He drew large sums to meet his large expenses. Several times, +instead of instantly filling out the checks as Abel directed, the +book-keeper had delayed, and said casually to Mr. Newt during Abel's +absence at lunch, which was usually prolonged, that he supposed it was +all right to fill up a check of that amount to Mr. Abel's order? Mr. +Boniface Newt replied, in a dogged way, that he supposed it was. + +But one day when the sum had been large, and the paternal temper more +than usually ruffled, he addressed the junior partner upon his return +from lunch and his noontide glass with his friends at the Washington +Hotel, to the effect that matters were going on much too rapidly. + +"To what matters do you allude, father?" inquired Mr. Abel, with +composure, as he picked his teeth with one hand, and surveyed a cigar +which he held in the other. + +"I mean, Sir, that you are spending a great deal too much money." + +"Why, how is that, Sir?" asked his son, as he called to the boy in the +outer office to bring him a light. + +"By Heavens! Abel, you're enough to make a man crazy! Here I have put you +into my business, over the heads of the clerks who are a hundred-fold +better fitted for it than you; and you not only come down late and go +away early, and destroy all kind of discipline by smoking and lounging, +but you don't manifest the slightest interest in the business; and, above +all, you are living at a frightfully ruinous rate! Yes, Sir, ruinous! +How do you suppose I can pay, or that the business can pay, for such +extravagance?" + +Abel smoked calmly during this energetic discourse, and blew little rings +from his mouth, which he watched with interest as they melted in the air. + +"Certain things are inevitable, father." + +His parent, frowning and angry, growled at him as he made this remark, +and muttered, + +"Well, suppose they are." + +"Now, father," replied his son, with great composure, "let us proceed +calmly. Why should we pretend not to see what is perfectly plain? +Business nowadays proceeds by credit. Credit is based upon something, or +the show of something. It is represented by a bank-bill. Here now--" And +he opened his purse leisurely and drew out a five-dollar note of the Bank +of New York, "here is a promise to pay five dollars--in gold or silver, +of course. Do you suppose that the Bank of New York has gold and silver +enough to pay all those promises it has issued? Of course not." + +Abel knocked off the ash from his cigar, and took a long contemplative +whiff, as if he were about making a plunge into views even more profound. +Mr. Newt, half pleased with the show of philosophy, listened with less +frowning brows. + +"Well, now, if by some hocus-pocus the Bank of New York hadn't a cent in +coin at this moment, it could redeem the few claims that might be made +upon it by borrowing, could it not?" + +Mr. Newt shook his head affirmatively. + +"And, in fine, if it were entirely bankrupt, it could still do a +tremendous business for a very considerable time, could it not?" + +Mr. Newt assented. + +"And the managers, who knew it to be so, would have plenty of time to get +off before an explosion, if they wanted to?" + +"Abel, what do you mean?" inquired his father. + +The young man was still placidly blowing rings of smoke from his mouth, +and answered: + +"Nothing terrible. Don't be alarmed. It is only an illustration of the +practical value of credit, showing how it covers a retreat, so to speak. +Do you see the moral, father?" + +"No; certainly not. I see no moral at all." + +"Why, suppose that nobody wanted to retreat, but that the Bank was only +to be carried over a dangerous place, then credit is a bridge, isn't it? +If it were out of money, it could live upon its credit until it got the +money back again." + +"Clearly," answered Mr. Newt. + +"And if it extended its operations, it would acquire even more credit?" + +"Yes." + +"Because people, believing in the solvency of the Bank, would suppose +that it extended itself because it had more means?" + +"Yes." + +"And would not feel any dust in their eyes?" + +"No," said Mr. Newt, following his son closely. + +"Well, then; don't you see?" + +"No, I don't see," replied the father; "that is, I don't see what you +mean." + +"Why, father, look here! I come into your business. The fact is known. +People look. There's no whisper against the house. We extend ourselves; +we live liberally, but we pay the bills. Every body says, 'Newt & Son are +doing a thumping business.' Perhaps we are--perhaps we are not. We are +crossing the bridge of credit. Before people know that we have been +living up to our incomes--quite up, father dear"--Mr. Newt frowned an +entire assent--"we have plenty of money!" + +"How, in Heaven's name!" cried Boniface Newt, springing up, and in so +loud a tone that the clerks looked in from the outer office. + +"By my marriage," returned Abel, quietly. + +"With whom?" asked Mr. Newt, earnestly. + +"With an heiress." + +"What's her name?" + +"Just what I am trying to find out," replied Abel, lightly, as he threw +his cigar away. "And now I put it to you, father, as a man of the world +and a sensible, sagacious, successful merchant, am I not more likely to +meet and marry such a girl, if I live generously in society, than if I +shut myself up to be a mere dig?" + +Mr. Newt was not sure. Perhaps it was so. Upon the whole, it probably was +so. + +Mr. Abel did not happen to suggest to his father that, for the purpose of +marrying an heiress, if he should ever chance to be so fortunate as to +meet one, and, having met her, to become enamored so that he might be +justified in wooing her for his wife--that for all these contingencies +it was a good thing for a young man to have a regular business connection +and apparent employment--and very advantageous, indeed, that that +connection should be with a man so well known in commercial and +fashionable circles as his father. That of itself was one of the great +advantages of credit. It was a frequent joke of Abel's with his father, +after the recent conversation, that credit was the most creditable thing +going. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +CHECK. + + +During these brilliant days of young bachelorhood Abel, by some curious +chance, had not met Hope Wayne, who was passing the winter in New York +with her Aunt Dinks, and who had hitherto declined all society. It was +well known that she was in town. The beautiful Boston heiress was often +enough the theme of discourse among the youth at Abel's rooms. + +"Is she really going to marry that Dinks? Why, the man's a donkey!" said +Corlaer Van Boozenberg. + +"And are there no donkeys among your married friends?" inquired Abel, +with the air of a naturalist pursuing his researches. + +One day, indeed, as he was passing Stewart's, he saw Hope alighting from +a carriage. He was not alone; and as he passed their eyes met. He bowed +profoundly. She bent her head without speaking, as one acknowledges a +slight acquaintance. It was not a "cut," as Abel said to himself; "not at +all. It was simply ranking me with the herd." + +"Who's that stopping to speak with her?" asked Corlaer, as he turned back +to see her. + +"That's Arthur Merlin. Don't you know? He's a painter. I wonder how the +deuce he came to know her!" + +In fact, it was the painter. It was the first time he had met her +since the summer days of Saratoga; and as he stood talking with her +upon the sidewalk, and observed that her cheeks had an unusual flush, +and her manner a slight excitement, he could not help feeling a secret +pleasure--feeling, in truth, so deep a delight, as he looked into that +lovely face, that he found himself reflecting, as he walked away, how +very fortunate it was that he was so entirely devoted to his art. It +is very fortunate indeed, thought he. And yet it might be a pity, too, +if I should chance to meet some beautiful and sympathetic woman; because, +being so utterly in love with my art, it would be impossible for me to +fall in love with her! Quite impossible! Quite out of the question! + +Just as he thought this he bumped against some one, and looked up +suddenly. A calm, half-amused face met his glance, as Arthur said, +hastily, "I beg your pardon." + +"My pardon is granted," returned the gentleman; "but still you had better +look out for yourself." + +"Oh! I shall not hit any body else," said Arthur, as he bowed and was +passing on. + +"I am not speaking of other people," replied the other, with a look which +was very, friendly, but very puzzling. + +"Whom do you mean, then?" asked Arthur Merlin. + +"Yourself, of course," said the gentleman with the half-amused face. + +"How?" inquired Arthur. + +"To guard against Venus rising from the fickle sea, or Hope descending +from a carriage," rejoined his companion, putting out his hand. + +Arthur looked surprised, and, could he have resisted the face of his new +acquaintance, he would have added indignation to his expression. But it +was impossible. + +"To whom do I owe such excellent advice?" + +"To Lawrence Newt," answered that gentleman, putting out his hand. "I am +glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Arthur Merlin." + +The painter shook the merchant's hand cordially. They had some further +conversation, and finally Mr. Merlin turned, and the two men strolled +together down town. While they yet talked, Lawrence Newt observed that +the eyes of his companion studied every carriage that passed. He did it +in a very natural, artless way; but Lawrence Newt smiled with his eyes, +and at length said, as if Arthur had asked him the question, "There she +comes!" + +Arthur was a little bit annoyed, and said, suddenly, and with a fine air +of surprise, "Who?" + +Lawrence turned and looked him full in the face; upon which the painter, +who was so fanatically devoted to his art that it was clearly impossible +he should fall in love, said, "Oh!" as if somebody had answered his +question. + +The next moment both gentlemen bowed to Hope Wayne, who passed with Mrs. +Dinks in her carriage. + +"Who are those gentlemen to whom you are bowing, Hope?" Mrs. Dinks asked, +as she saw her niece lean forward and blush as she bowed. + +"Mr. Merlin and Mr. Lawrence Newt," replied Hope. + +"Oh, I did not observe." + +After a while she said, "Don't you think, Hope, you could make up your +mind to go to Mrs. Kingfisher's ball next week? You know you haven't been +out at all." + +"Perhaps," replied Hope, doubtfully. + +"Just as you please, dear. I think it is quite as well to stay away if +you want to. Your retirement is very natural, and proper, and beautiful, +under the circumstances, although it is unusual. Of course I don't fully +understand. But I have perfect confidence in the justice of your +reasons." + +Mrs. Dinks looked at Hope tenderly and sagaciously as she said this, and +smiled meaningly. + +Hope was entirely bewildered. Then a sudden apprehension shot through her +mind as she thought of what her aunt had said. She asked suddenly and a +little proudly, + +"What do you mean by 'circumstances,' aunt?" + +Mrs. Dinks was uneasy in her turn. But she pushed bravely on, and said +kindly, + +"Why on earth shouldn't I know why you are unwilling to have it known, +Hope? You know I am as still as the grave." + +"Have what known, aunt?" asked Hope. + +"Why, dear," replied Mrs. Dinks, confused by Hope's air of innocence, +"your engagement, of course." + +"My engagement?" said Hope, with a look of utter amazement; "to whom, I +should like to know?" + +Mrs. Dinks looked at her for an instant, and asked, in a clear, dry tone: + +"Are you not engaged to Alfred?" + +Hope Wayne's look of anxious surprise melted into an expression of +intense amusement. + +"To Alfred Dinks!" said she, in a slow, incredulous tone, and with her +eyes sparkling with laughter. "Why, my dear aunt?" + +Mrs. Dinks was overwhelmed by a sudden consciousness of bitter +disappointment, mingled with an exasperating conviction that she +had been somehow duped. The tone was thick in which she answered. + +"What is the meaning of this? Hope, are you deceiving me?" + +She knew Hope was not deceiving her as well as she knew that they were +sitting together in the carriage. + +Hope's reply was a clear, ringing, irresistible laugh. Then she said, + +"It's high time I went to balls, I see. I will go to Mrs. Kingfisher's. +But, dear aunt, have you seriously believed such a story?" + +"Do I think my son is a liar?" replied Mrs. Dinks, sardonically. + +The laugh faded from Hope's face. + +"Did he say so?" asked she. + +"Certainly he did." + +"Alfred Dinks told you I was engaged to him?" + +"Alfred Dinks told me you were engaged to him." + +They drove on for some time without speaking. + +"What does he mean by using my name in that way?" said Hope, with the +Diana look in her eyes. + +"Oh! that you must settle with him," replied the other. "I'm sure I don't +know." + +And Field-marshal Mrs. Dinks settled herself back upon the seat and said +no more. Hope Wayne sat silent and erect by her side. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +AT DELMONICO'S. + + +Lawrence Newt had watched with the warmest sympathy the rapid development +of the friendship between Amy Waring and Hope Wayne. He aided it in every +way. He called in the assistance of Arthur Merlin, who was in some doubt +whether his devotion to his art would allow him to desert it for a +moment. But as the doubt only lasted while Lawrence Newt was unfolding a +plan he had of reading books aloud with the ladies--and--in fact, a great +many other praiseworthy plans which all implied a constant meeting with +Miss Waring and Miss Wayne, Mr. Merlin did not delay his co-operation +in all Mr. Newt's efforts. + +And so they met at Amy Waring's house very often and pretended to read, +and really did read, several books together aloud. Ostensibly poetry was +pursued at the meetings of what Lawrence Newt called the Round Table. + +"Why not? We have our King Arthur, and our Merlin the Enchanter," he +said. + +"A speech from Mr. Merlin," cried Amy, gayly, while Hope looked up from +her work with encouraging, queenly eyes. Arthur looked at them eagerly. + +"Oh, Diana! Diana!" he thought, but did not say. That was the only speech +he made, and nobody heard it. + +The meetings of the Round Table were devoted to poetry, but of a very +practical kind. It was pure romance, but without any thing technically +romantic. Mrs. Waring often sat with the little party, and, as she +worked, talked with Lawrence Newt of earlier days--"days when you were +not born, dears," she said, cheerfully, as if to appropriate Mr. Newt. +And whenever she made this kind of allusion Amy's work became very +intricate indeed, demanding her closest attention. But Hope Wayne, +remembering her first evening in his society, raised her eyes again with +curiosity, and as she did so Lawrence smiled kindly and gravely, and his +eyes hung upon hers as if he saw again what he had thought never to see; +while Hope resolved that she would ask him under what circumstances he +had known Pinewood. But the opportunity had not yet arrived. She did +not wish to ask before the others. There are some secrets that we +involuntarily respect, while we only know that they are secrets. + +The more Arthur Merlin saw of Hope Wayne the more delighted he was to +think how impossible it was for him, in view of his profound devotion to +his art, to think of beautiful women in any other light than that of +picturesque subjects. + +"Really, Mr. Newt," Arthur said to him one evening as they were dining +together at Delmonico's--which was then in William Street--"if I were to +paint a picture of Diana when she loved Endymion--a picture, by-the-by, +which I intend to paint--I should want to ask Miss Wayne to sit to me for +the principal figure. It is really remarkable what a subdued splendor +there is about her--Diana blushing, you know, as it were--the moon +delicately veiled in cloud. It would be superb, I assure you." + +Lawrence Newt smiled--he often smiled--as he wiped his mouth, and asked, + +"Who would you ask to sit for Endymion?" + +"Well, let me see," replied Arthur, cheerfully, and pondering as if to +determine who was exactly the man. It was really beautiful to see his +exclusive enthusiasm for his art. "Let me see. How would it do to paint +an ideal figure for Endymion?" + +"No, no," said Lawrence Newt, laughing; "art must get its ideal out of +the real. I demand a good, solid, flesh-and-blood Endymion." + +"I can't just think of any body," replied Arthur Merlin, musingly, +looking upon the floor, and thinking so intently of Hope, in order to +image to himself a proper Endymion, that he quite forgot to think of the +candidates for that figure. + +"How would my young friend Hal Battlebury answer?" asked Lawrence Newt. + +"Oh, not at all," replied Arthur, promptly; "he's too light, you know." + +"Well, let me see," continued the other, "what do you think of that young +Southerner, Sligo Moultrie, who was at Saratoga? I used to think he had +some of the feeling for Hope Wayne that Diana wanted in Endymion, and he +has the face for a picture." + +"Oh, he's not at all the person. He's much too dark, you see," answered +Arthur, at once, with remarkable readiness. + +"There's Alfred Dinks," said Lawrence Newt, smiling. + +"Pish!" said Arthur, conclusively. + +"Really, I can not think of any body," returned his companion, with a +mock gravity that Arthur probably did not perceive. The young artist was +evidently very closely occupied with the composition of his picture. He +half-closed his eyes, as if he saw the canvas distinctly, and said, + +"I should represent her just lighting upon the hill, you see, with a +rich, moist flush upon her face, a cold splendor just melting into +passion, half floating, as she comes, so softly superior, so queenly +scornful of all the world but him. Jove! it would make a splendid +picture!" + +Lawrence Newt looked at his friend as he imagined the condescending +Diana. The artist's face was a little raised as he spoke, as if he saw +a stately vision. It was rapt in the intensity of fancy, and Lawrence +knew perfectly well that he saw Hope Wayne's Endymion before him. But at +the same moment his eye fell upon his nephew Abel sitting with a choice +company of gay youths at another table. There was instantly a mischievous +twinkle in Lawrence Newt's eye. + +"Eureka! I have Endymion." + +Arthur started and felt a half pang, as if Lawrence Newt had suddenly +told him of Miss Wayne's engagement. He came instantly out of the clouds +on Latinos, where he was dreaming. + +"What did you say?" asked he. + +"Why, of course, how dull I am! Abel will be your Endymion, if you can +get him." + +"Who is Abel?" inquired Arthur. + +"Why, my nephew, Abel Don Juan Pelham Newt, of Grand Street, and Boniface +Newt, Son, & Company, Dry Goods on Commission, Esquire," replied Lawrence +Newt, with perfect gravity. + +Arthur looked at him bewildered. + +"Don't you know my nephew, Abel Newt?" + +"No, not personally. I've heard of him, of course." + +"Well, he's a very handsome young man; and though he be dark, he may +also be Endymion. Why not? Look at him; there he sits. 'Tis the one just +raising the glass to his lips." + +Lawrence Newt bent his head as he spoke toward the gay revelers, who sat, +half a dozen in number, and the oldest not more than twenty-five, all +dandies, all men of pleasure, at a neighboring table spread with a +profuse and costly feast. Abel was the leader, and at the moment Arthur +Merlin and Lawrence Newt turned to look he was telling some anecdote to +which they all listened eagerly, while they sipped the red wine of +France, poured carefully from a bottle reclining in a basket, and +delicately coated with dust. Abel, with his glass in his hand and the +glittering smile in his eye, told the story with careless grace, as if +he were more amused with the listeners' eagerness than with the anecdote +itself. The extreme gayety of his life was already rubbing the boyish +bloom from his face, but it developed his peculiar beauty more strikingly +by removing that incongruous innocence which belongs to every boyish +countenance. + +As he looked at him, Arthur Merlin was exceedingly impressed by the air +of reckless grace in his whole appearance, which harmonized so entirely +with his face. Lawrence Newt watched his friend as the latter gazed at +Abel. Lawrence always saw a great deal whenever he looked any where. +Perhaps he perceived the secret dissatisfaction and feeling of sudden +alarm which, without any apparent reason, Arthur felt as he looked at +Abel. + +But the longer Arthur Merlin looked at Abel the more curiously +perplexed he was. The feeling which, if he had not been a painter so +utterly devoted to his profession that all distractions were impossible, +might have been called a nascent jealousy, was gradually merged in a +half-consciousness that he had somewhere seen Abel Newt before, but +where, and under what circumstances, he could not possibly remember. +He watched him steadily, puzzling himself to recall that face. + +Suddenly he clapped his hand upon the table. Lawrence Newt, who was +looking at him, saw the perplexity of his expression smooth itself away; +while Arthur Merlin, with an "oh!" of surprise, satisfaction, and alarm, +exclaimed--and his color changed-- + +"Why, it's Manfred in the Coliseum!" + +Lawrence Newt was confounded. Was Arthur, then, not deceiving himself, +after all? Did he really take an interest in all these people only as a +painter, and think of them merely as subjects for pictures? + +Lawrence Newt was troubled. He had seen in Arthur with delight what he +supposed the unconscious beginnings of affection for Hope Wayne. He had +pleased himself in bringing them together--of course Amy Waring must be +present too when he himself was, that any _tête-à-tête_ which arose might +not be interrupted--and he had dreamed the most agreeable dreams. He knew +Hope--he knew Arthur--it was evidently the hand of Heaven. He had even +mentioned it confidentially to Amy Waring, who was profoundly interested, +and who charitably did the same offices for Arthur with Hope Wayne that +Lawrence Newt did for the young candidates with her. The conversation +about the picture of Diana had only confirmed Lawrence Newt in his +conviction that Arthur Merlin really loved Hope Wayne, whether he himself +knew it or not. + +And now was he all wrong, after all? Ridiculous! How could he be? + +He tried to persuade himself that he was not. But he could not forget +how persistently Arthur had spoken of Hope only as a fine Diana; and how, +after evidently being struck with Abel Newt, he had merely exclaimed, +with a kind of suppressed excitement, as if he saw what a striking +picture he would make, "Manfred in the Coliseum!" + +Lawrence Newt drank a glass of wine, thoughtfully. Then he smiled +inwardly. + +"It is not the first time I have been mistaken," thought he. "I shall +have to take Amy Waring's advice about it." + +As he and his friend passed the other table, on their way out, Abel +nodded to his uncle; and as Arthur Merlin looked at him carefully, he was +very sure that he saw the person whose face so singularly resembled that +of Manfred's in the picture he had given Hope Wayne. + +"I am all wrong," thought Lawrence Newt, ruefully, as they passed out +into the street. + +"Abel Newt, then, is Hope Wayne's somebody," thought Arthur Merlin, as he +took his friend's arm. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +MRS. THEODORE KINGFISHER AT HOME. _On dansera._ + + +Society stared when it beheld Miss Hope Wayne entering the drawing-room +of Mrs. Theodore Kingfisher. + +"Really, Miss Wayne, I am delighted," said Mrs. Kingfisher, with a smile +that might have been made at the same shop with the flowers that nodded +over it. + +Mrs. Kingfisher's friendship for Miss Wayne and her charming aunt +consisted in two pieces of pasteboard, on which was printed, in German +text, "Mrs. Theodore Kingfisher, St. John's Square," which she had left +during the winter; and her pleasure at seeing her was genuine--not that +she expected they would solace each other's souls with friendly +intercourse, but that she knew Hope to be a famous beauty who had held +herself retired until now at the very end of the season, when she +appeared for the first time at her ball. + +This reflection secured an unusually ardent reception for Mrs. Dagon, who +followed Mrs. Dinks's party, and who, having made her salutation to the +hostess, said to Mr. Boniface Newt, her nephew, who accompanied her, + +"Now I'll go and stand by the pier-glass, so that I can rake the rooms. +And, Boniface, mind, I depend upon your getting me some lobster salad at +supper, with plenty of dressing--mind, now, plenty of dressing." + +Perched like a contemplative vulture by the pier, Mrs. Dagon declined +chairs and sofas, but put her eye-glass to her eyes to spy out the land. +She had arrived upon the scene of action early. She always did. + +"I want to see every body come in. There's a great deal in watching how +people speak to each other. I've found out a great many things in that +way, my dear, which were not suspected." + +Presently a glass at the other end of the room that was bobbing up +and down and about at everybody and thing--at the ceiling, and the +wall, and the carpet--discovering the rouge upon cheeks whose ruddy +freshness charmed less perceptive eyes--reducing the prettiest lace +to the smallest terms in substance and price--detecting base cotton with +one fell glance, and the part of the old dress ingeniously furbished to +do duty as new--this philosophic and critical glass presently encountered +Mrs. Dagon's in mid-career. The two ladies behind the glasses glared at +each other for a moment, then bowed and nodded, like two Chinese idols +set up on end at each extremity of the room. + +"Good-evening, dear, good Mrs. Winslow Orry," said the smiling eyes of +Mrs. Dagon to that lady. "How doubly scraggy you look in that worn-out +old sea-green satin!" said the smiling old lady to herself. + +"How do, darling Mrs. Dagon?" said the responsive glance of Mrs. Orry, +with the most gracious effulgence of aspect, as she glared across the +room--inwardly thinking, "What a silly old hag to lug that cotton lace +cape all over town!" + +People poured in. The rooms began to swarm. There was a warm odor of kid +gloves, scent-bags, and heliotrope. There was an incessant fluttering of +fans and bobbing of heads. One hundred gentlemen said, "How warm it is!" +One hundred ladies of the highest fashion answered, "Very." Fifty young +men, who all wore coats, collars, and waistcoats that seemed to have been +made in the lump, and all after the same pattern, stood speechless about +the rooms, wondering what under heaven to do with their hands. Fifty +older married men, who had solved that problem, folded their hands behind +their backs, and beamed vaguely about, nodding their heads whenever they +recognized any other head, and saying, "Good-evening," and then, after a +little more beaming, "How are yer?" Waiters pushed about with trays +covered with little glasses of lemonade and port-sangaree, which offered +favorable openings to the unemployed young men and the married gentlemen, +who crowded along with a glass in each hand, frightening all the ladies +and begging every body's pardon. + +All the Knickerbocker jewels glittered about the rooms. Mrs. Bleecker Van +Kraut carried not less than thirty thousand dollars' worth of diamonds +upon her person--at least that was Mrs. Orry's deliberate conclusion +after a careful estimate. Mrs. Dagon, when she heard what Mrs. Orry +said, merely exclaimed, "Fiddle! Anastatia Orry can tell the price of +lutestring a yard because Winslow Orry failed in that business, but she +knows as much of diamonds as an elephant of good manners." + +The Van Kraut property had been bowing about the drawing-rooms of New +York for a year or two, watched with palpitating hearts and longing eyes. +Until that was disposed of, nothing else could win a glance. There were +several single hundreds of thousands openly walking about the same rooms, +but while they were received very politely, they were made to feel that +two millions were in presence and unappropriated, and they fell humbly +back. + +Fanny Newt, upon her debut in society, had contemplated the capture of +the Van Kraut property; but the very vigor with which she conducted the +campaign had frightened the poor gentleman who was the present member for +that property, in society, so that he shivered and withdrew on the dizzy +verge of a declaration; and when he subsequently encountered Lucy Slumb, +she was immediately invested with the family jewels. + +"Heaven save me from a smart woman!" prayed Bleecker Van Kraut; and +Heaven heard and kindly granted his prayer. + +Presently, while the hot hum went on, and laces, silks, satins, brocades, +muslins, and broadcloth intermingled and changed places, so that Arthur +Merlin, whom Lawrence Newt had brought, declared the ball looked like a +shot silk or a salmon's belly--upon overhearing which, Mrs. Bleecker Van +Kraut, who was passing with Mr. Moultrie, looked unspeakable things--the +quick eyes of Fanny Newt encountered the restless orbs of Mrs. Dinks. + +Alfred had left town for Boston on the very day on which Hope Wayne +had learned the story of her engagement. Neither his mother nor Hope, +therefore, had had an opportunity of asking an explanation. + +"I am glad to see Miss Wayne with you to-night," said Fanny. + +"My niece is her own mistress," replied Mrs. Dinks, in a sub-acid tone. + +Fanny's eyes grew blacker and sharper in a moment. An Indian whose life +depends upon concealment from his pursuer is not more sensitive to the +softest dropping of the lightest leaf than was Fanny Newt's sagacity to +the slightest indication of discovery of her secret. There is trouble, +she said to herself, as she heard Mrs. Dinks's reply. + +"Miss Wayne has been a recluse this winter," remarked Fanny, with +infinite blandness. + +"Yes, she has had some kind of whim," replied Mrs. Dinks, shaking her +shoulders as if to settle her dress. + +"We girls have all suspected, you know, of course, Mrs. Dinks," said Miss +Newt, with a very successful imitation of archness and a little bend of +the neck. + +"Have you, indeed!" retorted Mrs. Dinks, in almost a bellicose manner. + +"Why, yes, dear Mrs. Dinks; don't you remember at Saratoga--you know?" +continued Fanny, with imperturbable composure. + +"What happened at Saratoga?" asked Mrs. Dinks, with smooth defiance +on her face, and conscious that she had never actually mentioned any +engagement between Alfred and Hope. + +"Dear me! So many things happen at Saratoga," answered Fanny, bridling +like a pert miss of seventeen. "And when a girl has a handsome cousin, +it's very dangerous." Fanny Newt was determined to know where she was. + +"Some girls are very silly and willful," tartly remarked Mrs. Dinks. + +"I suppose," said Fanny, with extraordinary coolness, continuing the +_rôle_ of the arch maid of seventeen--"I suppose, if every thing one +hears is true, we may congratulate you, dear Mrs. Dinks, upon an +interesting event?" And Fanny raised her bouquet and smelled at it +vigorously--at least, she seemed to be doing so, because the flowers +almost covered her face, but really they made an ambush from which she +spied the enemy, unseen. + +The remark she had made had been made a hundred times before to Mrs. +Dinks. In fact, Fanny herself had used it, under various forms, to assure +herself, by the pleased reserve of the reply which Mrs. Dinks always +returned, that the lady had no suspicion that she was mistaken. But this +time Mrs. Dinks, whose equanimity had been entirely disturbed by her +discovery that Hope was not engaged to Alfred, asked formally, and not +without a slight sneer which arose from an impatient suspicion that Fanny +knew more than she chose to disclose-- + +"And pray, Miss Newt, what do people hear? Really, if other people are as +unfortunate as I am, they hear a great deal of nonsense." + +Upon which Mrs. Budlong Dinks sniffed the air like a charger. + +"I know it--it is really dreadful," returned Fanny Newt. "People do say +the most annoying and horrid things. But this time, I am sure, there can +be nothing very vexatious." And Miss Newt fanned herself with persistent +complacency, as if she were resolved to prolong the pleasure which Mrs. +Dinks must undoubtedly have in the conversation. + +Hitherto it had been the policy of that lady to demur and insinuate, +and declare how strange it was, and how gossipy people were, and finally +to retreat from a direct reply under cover of a pretty shower of ohs! +and ahs! and indeeds! and that policy had been uniformly successful. +Everybody said, "Of course Alfred Dinks and his cousin are engaged, and +Mrs. Dinks likes to have it alluded to--although there are reasons why +it must be not openly acknowledged." So Field-marshal Mrs. Dinks +outgeneraled Everybody. But the gallant young private, Miss Fanny Newt, +was resolved to win her epaulets. + +As Mrs. Dinks made no reply, and assumed the appearance of a lady who, +for her own private and inscrutable reasons, had concluded to forego the +prerogative of speech for evermore, while she fanned herself calmly, and +regarded Fanny with a kind of truculent calmness that seemed to say, +"What are you going to do about that last triumphant move of mine?" Fanny +proceeded in a strain of continuous sweetness that fairly rivaled the +smoothness of the neck, and the eyes, and the arms of Mrs. Bleecker Van +Kraut: + +"I suppose there can be nothing very disagreeable to Miss Wayne's friends +in knowing that she is engaged to Mr. Alfred Dinks?" + +Alas! Mrs. Dinks, who knew Hope, knew that the time for dexterous +subterfuges and misleadings had passed. She resolved that people, when +they discovered what they inevitably soon must discover, should not +suppose that she had been deceived. So, looking straight into Fanny +Newt's eyes without flinching--and somehow it was not a look of profound +affection--she said, + +"I was not aware of any such engagement." + +"Indeed!" replied the undaunted Fanny, "I have heard that love is blind, +but I did not know that it was true of maternal love. Mr. Dinks's mother +is not his confidante, then, I presume?" + +The bad passions of Mr. Dinks's mother's heart were like the heathen, and +furiously raged together at this remark. She continued the fanning, and +said, with a sickly smile, + +"Miss Newt, you can contradict from me the report of any such +engagement." + +That was enough. Fanny was mistress of the position. If Mrs. Dinks were +willing to say that, it was because she was persuaded that it never would +be true. She had evidently discovered something. How much had she +discovered? That was the next step. + +As these reflections flashed through the mind of Miss Fanny Newt, and her +cold black eye shone with a stony glitter, she was conscious that the +time for some decisive action upon her part had arrived. To be or not to +be Mrs. Alfred Dinks was now the question; and even as she thought of it +she felt what must be done. She did not depreciate the ability of Mrs. +Dinks, and she feared her influence upon Alfred. Poor Mr. Dinks! he was +at that moment smoking a cigar upon the forward deck of the _Chancellor +Livingston_ steamer, that plied between New York and Providence. Mr. +Bowdoin Beacon sat by his side. + +"She's a real good girl, and pretty, and rich, though she is my cousin, +Bowdoin. So why don't you?" + +Mr. Beacon, a member of the upper sex, replied, gravely, "Well, perhaps!" + +They were speaking of Hope Wayne. + +At the same instant also, in Mrs. Kingfisher's swarming drawing-rooms, +looking on at the dancers and listening to the music, stood Hope Wayne, +Lawrence Newt, Amy Waring, and Arthur Merlin. They were chatting together +pleasantly, Lawrence Newt usually leading, and Hope Wayne bending her +beautiful head, and listening and looking at him in a way to make any +man eloquent. The painter had been watching for Mr. Abel Newt's entrance, +and, after he saw him, turned to study the effect produced upon Miss +Wayne by seeing him. + +But Abel, who saw as much in his way as Mrs. Dagon in hers, although +without the glasses, had carefully kept in the other part of the rooms. +He had planted his batteries before Mrs. Bleecker Van Kraut, having +resolved to taste her, as Herbert Octoyne had advised, notwithstanding +that she had no flavor, as Abel himself had averred. + +But who eats merely for the flavor of the food? + +That lady clicked smoothly as Abel, metaphorically speaking, touched her. +Louis Wilkottle, her cavalier, slipped away from her he could not tell +how: he merely knew that Abel Newt was in attendance, vice Wilkottle, +disappeared. So Wilkottle floated about the rooms upon limp pinions for +sometime, wondering where to settle, and brushed Fanny Newt in flying. + +"Oh! Mr. Wilkottle, you are just the man. Mr. Whitloe, Laura Magot, and +I were just talking about Batrachian reptiles. Which are the best toads, +the fattest?" + +"Or does it depend upon the dressing?" asked Mr. Whitloe. + +"Or the quantity of jewelry in the head?" said Laura Magot. + +Mr. Wilkottle smiled, bowed, and passed on. + +If they had called him an ass--as they were ladies of the best +position--he would have bowed, smiled, and passed on. + +"An amiable fellow," said Fanny, as he disappeared; "but quite a +remarkable fool." + +Mr. Zephyr Wetherley, still struggling with the hand problem, approached +Miss Fanny, and remarked that it was very warm. + +"You're cool enough in all conscience, Mr. Wetherley," said she. + +"My dear Miss Newt, 'pon honor," replied Zephyr, beginning to be very +red, and wiping his moist brow. + +"I call any man cool who would have told St. Lawrence upon the gridiron +that he was frying," interrupted Fanny. + +"Oh!--ah!--yes!--on the gridiron! Yes, very good! Ha! ha! Quite on the +gridiron--very much so! 'Tis very hot here. Don't you think so? It's +quite confusing, like--sort of bewildering. Don't you think so, Miss +Newt?" + +Fanny was leveling her black eyes at him for a reply, but Mr. Wetherley, +trying to regulate his hands, said, hastily, + +"Yes, quite on the gridiron--very!" and rapidly moved off it by moving +on. + +"Good evenin', Mrs. Newt," said a voice in another part of the room. +"Good-evenin', marm. I sez to ma, Now ma, sez I, you'd better go to Mrs. +Kingfisher's ball. Law, pa, sez she, I reckon 'twill be so werry hot to +Mrs. Kingfisher's that I'd better stay to home, sez she. So she staid. +Well, 'tis dreadful hot, Mrs. Newt. I'm all in a muck. As I was a-puttin' +on my coat, I sez, Now, ma, sez I, I hate to wear that coat, sez I. +A man does git so nasty sweaty in a great, thick coat, sez I. Whew! I'm +all sticky." + +And Mr. Van Boozenberg worked himself in his garments and stretched his +arms to refresh himself. + +Mrs. Boniface Newt, to whom he made this oration, had been taught by her +husband that Mr. Van Boozenberg was an oaf, but an oaf whose noise was to +be listened to with the utmost patience and respect. "He's a brute, my +dear; but what can we do? When I am rich we can get rid of such people." + +On the other hand, Jacob Van Boozenberg had his little theory of Boniface +Newt, which, unlike that worthy commission merchant, he did not impart to +his ma and the partner of his bosom, but locked up in the vault of his +own breast. Mr. Van B. gloried in being what he called a self-made man. +He was proud of his nasal twang and his want of grammar, and all +amenities and decencies of speech. He regarded them as inseparable +from his success. He even affected them in the company of those who were +peculiarly elegant, and was secretly suspicious of the mercantile paper +of all men who were unusually neat in their appearance, and who spoke +their native language correctly. The partner of his bosom was the +constant audience of his self-glorification. + +A little while before, her lord had returned one day to dinner, and said, +with a tone of triumph, + +"Well, ma, Gerald Bennet & Co. have busted up--smashed all to pieces. +Always knew they would. I sez to you, ma, a hundred times--don't you +remember?--Now, ma, sez I, 'tain't no use. He's been to college, and he +talks grammar, and all that; but what's the use? What's the use of +talkin' grammar? Don't help nothin'. A man feels kind o' stuck up when +he's been to college. But, ma, sez I, gi' me a self-made man--a man what +knows werry well that twice two's four. A self-made man ain't no time for +grammar, sez I. If a man expects to get on in this world he mustn't be +too fine. This is the second time Bennet's busted. Better have no grammar +and more goods, sez I. You remember--hey, ma?" + +When, a little while afterward, Mr. Bennet applied for a situation as +book-keeper in the bank of which Mr. Van Boozenberg was president, that +officer hung, drew, and quartered the English language, before the very +eyes of Mr. Bennet, to show him how he despised it, and to impress him +with the great truth that he, Jacob Van Boozenberg, a self-made man, who +had no time to speak correctly, nor to be comely or clean, was yet a +millionaire before whom Wall Street trembled--while he, Gerald Bennet, +with all his education, and polish, and care, and scrupulous neatness and +politeness, was a poverty-stricken, shiftless vagabond; and what good had +grammar done him? The ruined gentleman stood before the president--who +was seated in his large armchair at the bank--holding his hat +uncertainly, the nervous smile glimmering like heat lightning upon +his pale, anxious face, in which his eyes shone with that singular, +soft light of dreams. + +"Now, Mr. Bennet, I sez to ma this very mornin'--sez I, 'Ma, I s'pose Mr. +Bennet 'll be wantin' a place in our bank. If he hadn't been so wery +fine,' sez I, 'he might have got on. He talks be-youtiful grammar, ma,'" +said the worthy President, screwing in the taunt, as it were; "'but +grammar ain't good to eat,' sez I. 'He ain't a self-made man, as some +folks is,' sez I; 'but I suppose I'll have to stick him in somewheres,' +sez I--that's all of it." + +Gerald Bennet winced. Beggars mustn't be choosers, said he, feebly, in +his sad heart, and he thankfully took the broken victuals Jacob Van +Boozenberg threw him. But he advised Gabriel, as we saw, to try Lawrence +Newt. + +Mrs. Newt agreed with Mr. Van Boozenberg that it was very warm. + +"I heerd about you to Saratogy last summer, Mrs. Newt; but you ain't been +to see ma since you come home. 'Ma,' sez I, 'why don't Mrs. Newt call and +see us?' 'Law, pa,' sez she, 'Mrs. Newt can't call and see such folks as +we be!' sez she. 'We ain't fine enough for Mrs. Newt,'" said the great +man of Wall Street, and he laughed aloud at the excellent joke. + +"Mrs. Van Boozenberg is very much mistaken," replied Mrs. Newt, +anxiously. "I am afraid she did not get my card. I am very sorry. But +I hope you will tell her." + +The great Jacob knew perfectly well that Mrs. Newt had called, but he +liked to show himself how vast his power was. He liked to see fine ladies +in splendid drawing-rooms bowing, down before his ungrammatical throne, +and metaphorically kissing his knobby red hand. + +"Your son, Abel, seems to enjoy himself werry well, Mrs. Newt," said Mr. +Van Boozenberg, as he observed that youth, in sumptuous array, dancing +devotedly with Mrs. Bleecker Van Kraut. + +"Oh dear, yes," replied Mrs. Newt. "But you know what young sons are, Mr. +Van Boozenberg.'" + +The conversation was setting precisely as that gentleman wished, and as +he had intended to direct it. + +"Mercy, yes, Mrs. Newt! Ma sez to me, 'Pa, what a boy Corlear is! how he +does spend money!' And I sez to ma, 'Ma, he do.' Tut, tut! The bills. I +have to pay for that bay--! I s'pose, now, your Abel don't lay up no +money--ha! ha!" + +Mr. Van Boozenberg laughed again, and Mrs. Newt joined, but in a low and +rather distressed way, as if it were necessary to laugh, although nothing +funny had been said. + +"It's positively dreadful the way he spends money," replied she. "I don't +know where it will end." + +"Oh ho! it's the way with all young men, marm. I always sez to ma she +needn't fret her gizzard. Young men will sow their wild oats. Oh, 'tain't +nothin'. Mr. Newt knows that werry well. Every man do." + +He watched Mrs. Newt's expression as he spoke. She answered, + +"I don't know about that; but Mr. Newt shakes his head dismally nowadays +about something or other, and he's really grown old." + +In uttering these words Mrs. Newt had sealed the fate of a large offering +for discount made that very day by Boniface Newt, Son, & Co. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +ANOTHER TURN IN THE WALTZ. + + +The music streamed through the rooms in the soft, yearning, lingering, +passionate, persuasive measures of a waltz. Arthur Merlin had been very +intently watching Hope Wayne, because he saw Abel Newt approaching with +Mrs. Van Kraut, and he wished to catch the first look of Hope upon seeing +him. + +Mrs. Bleecker Van Kraut, when she waltzed, was simply a circular +advertisement of the Van Kraut property. Her slow rising and falling +motion displayed the family jewels to the utmost advantage. The same +insolent smoothness and finish prevailed in the whole performance. It +was almost as perfect as the Paris toys which you wind up, and which spin +smoothly round upon the table. Abel Newt, conscious master of the dance +and chief of brilliant youth, waltzed with an air of delicate deference +toward his partner, and, gay defiance toward the rest of the world. + +The performance was so novel and so well executed that the ball instantly +became a spectacle of which Abel and Mrs. Van Kraut were the central +figures. The crowd pressed around them, and Abel gently pushed them back +in his fluctuating circles. Short ladies in the back-ground stood upon +chairs for a moment to get a better view; while Mrs. Dagon and Mrs. Orry, +whom no dexterous waltzer would ever clasp in the dizzy whirl, spattered +their neighborhood with epithets of contempt and indignation, thanking +Heaven that in their day things had not quite come to such a pass as +that. Colonel Burr himself, my dears, never dared to touch more than +the tips of his partner's fingers in the contra-dance. + +Hope Wayne had not met Abel Newt since they had parted after the runaway +at Delafield, except in his mother's conservatory, and when she was +stepping from the carriage. In the mean while she had been learning +every thing at once. + +As her eyes fell upon him now she remembered that day upon the lawn +at Pinewood, when he stood suddenly beside her, casting a shadow upon +the page she was reading. The handsome boy had grown into this proud, +gallant, gay young man, surrounded by that social prestige which gives +graceful confidence to the bearing of any man. He knew that Hope had +heard of his social success; but he could not justly estimate its effect +upon her. + +Of all those who stood by her Arthur Merlin was the only one who knew +that she had ever known Abel, and Arthur only inferred it from Abel's +resemblance to the sketch of Manfred, which had evidently deeply affected +Hope. Lawrence Newt, who knew Delafield, had wondered if Abel and Hope +had ever met. Perhaps he had a little fear of their meeting, knowing +Abel to be audacious and brilliant, and Hope to be romantic. Perhaps +the anxiety with which he now looked upon the waltz arose from the +apprehension that Hope could not help, at least, fancying such a handsome +fellow. And then--what? + +Amy Waring certainly did not know, although Lawrence Newt's eyes seemed +to ask hers the question. + +Hope heard the music, and her heart beat time. As she saw Abel +and remembered the days that were no more, for a moment her cheek +flushed--not tumultuously, but gently--and Lawrence Newt and the painter +remarked it. The emotion passed, almost imperceptibly, and her eyes +followed the dancers calmly, with only a little ache in the heart--with +only a vague feeling that she had lived a long, long time. + +Abel Newt had not lost Hope Wayne from his attention for a single moment +during the evening; and before the interest in the dance was palled, +before people had begun to buzz again and turn away, while Mrs. Van Kraut +and he were still the spectacle upon which all eyes were directed, he +suddenly whirled his partner toward the spot where Hope Wayne and her +friends were standing, and stopped. + +It was no more necessary for Mrs. Van Kraut to fan herself than if +she had been a marble statue. But it is proper to fan one's self when +one has done dancing--so she waved the fan. Besides, it was a Van Kraut +heir-loom. It came from Amsterdam. It was studded with jewels. It was +part of the property. + +As for Abel, he turned and bowed profoundly to Miss Wayne. Of course she +knew that people were looking. She bowed as if to a mere acquaintance. +Abel said a few words, signifying nothing, to his partner, then he +remarked to Miss Wayne that he was very glad indeed to meet her again; +that he had not called because he knew she had been making a convent +of her aunt's house--making herself a nun--a Sister of Charity, he did +not doubt, doing good as she always did--making every body in the world +happy, as she could not help doing, and so forth. + +Abel rattled on, he did not know why; but he did know that his Uncle +Lawrence, and Amy Waring, and Mr. Merlin heard every thing he said. Hope +looked at him calmly, and listened to the gay cascade of talk. + +The music was still playing; Mr. Van Boozenberg spoke to Lawrence +Newt; Amy Waring said that she saw her Aunt Bennet. Would Mr. Merlin +take her to her aunt?--he should return to his worship in one moment. Mr. +Merlin was very gallant, and replied with spirit that when her worship +returned--here he made a low bow--his would. As they moved away Amy +Waring laughed at him, and said that men would compliment as long as--as +women are lovely, interpolated Mr. Merlin. Arthur also wished to know +what speech was good for, if not to say the sweetest things; and so they +were lost to view, still gayly chatting with the pleasant freedom of a +young man and woman who know that they are not in love with each other, +and are perfectly content not to be so, because--whether they know it or +not--they are each in love with somebody else. + +This movement had taken place as Abel was finishing his scattering volley +of talk. + +"Yes," said he, as he saw that he was not overheard, and sinking his +voice into that tone of tender music which Hope so well remembered--"yes, +making every body in the world happy but one person." + +His airy persiflage had not pleased Hope Wayne. The sudden modulation +into sentiment offended her. Before she replied--indeed she had no +intention of replying--the round eyes of Mrs. Van Kraut informed her +partner that she was ready for another turn, and forth they whirled upon +the floor. + +"I jes' sez to Mrs. Dagon, you know, ma'am, sez I, I don't like to see a +young man like Mr. Abel Newt, sez I, wasting himself upon married women. +No, sez I, ma'am, when you women have made your market, sez I, you +oughter stan' one side and give the t'others a chance, sez I." + +Mr. Van Boozenberg addressed this remark to Lawrence Newt. In the eyes +of the old gentleman it was another instance of imprudence on Abel's part +not to be already engaged to some rich girl. + +Lawrence Newt replied by looking round the room as if searching for some +one, and then saying: + +"I don't see your daughter, Mrs. Witchet, here to-night, Mr. Van +Boozenberg." + +"No," growled the papa, and moved on to talk with Mrs. Dagon. + +"My dear Sir," said the Honorable Budlong Dinks, approaching just as +Lawrence Newt finished his remark, and Van Boozenberg, growling, +departed: + +"That was an unfortunate observation. You are, perhaps, not aware--" + +"Oh! thank you, yes, I am fully aware," replied Lawrence Newt. "But one +thing I do not know." + +The Honorable Budlong Dinks bowed with dignity as if he understood Mr. +Newt to compliment him by insinuating that he was the man who knew all +about it, and would immediately enlighten him. + +"I do not know why, if a man does a mean and unfeeling, yes, an inhuman +act, it is bad manners to speak of it. Old Van Boozenberg ought to be +sent to the penitentiary for his treatment of his daughter, and we all +know it." + +"Yes; but really," replied the Honorable Budlong Dinks, "really--you +know--it would be impossible. Mr. Van Boozenberg is a highly respectable +man--really--we should lapse into chaos," and the honorable gentleman +rubbed his hands with perfect suavity. + +"When did we emerge?" asked Lawrence Newt, with such a kindly glimmer in +his eyes, that Mr. Dinks said merely, "really," and moved on, remarking +to General Arcularius Belch, with a diplomatic shrug, that Lawrence Newt +was a very odd man. + +"Odd, but not without the coin. He can afford to be odd," replied that +gentleman. + +While these little things were said and done, Lawrence moved through the +crowd and somehow found himself at the side of Amy Waring, who was +talking with Fanny Newt. + +"You young Napoleon," said Lawrence to his niece as he joined them. + +"What do you mean, you droll Uncle Lawrence?" demanded Fanny, her eyes +glittering with inquiry. + +"Where's Mrs. Wurmser--I mean Mrs. Dinks?" continued Lawrence. "Why, when +I saw you talking together a little while ago, I could think of nothing +but the young Bonaparte and the old Wurmser." + +"You droll Uncle Lawrence, aren't you ashamed of yourself?" + +It was an astuter young Napoleon than Uncle Lawrence knew. Even then +and there, in Mrs. Kingfisher's ball-room, had Fanny Newt resolved how +to carry her Mantua by a sudden coup. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +HEAVEN'S LAST BEST GIFT. + + +"My dear Alfred, I am glad to see you. You may kiss me--carefully, +carefully!" + +Mr. Alfred Dinks therewith kissed lips upon his return from Boston. + +"Sit down, Alfred, my dear, I wish to speak to you," said Fanny Newt, +with even more than her usual decision. The eyes were extremely round and +black. Alfred seated himself with vague trepidation. + +"My dear, we must be married immediately," remarked Fanny, quietly. + +The eyes of the lover shone with pleasure. + +"Dear Fanny!" said he, "have you told mother?" + +"No," answered she, calmly. + +"Well, but then you know--" rejoined Alfred. He would have said more, +but he was afraid. He wanted to inquire whether Fanny thought that her +father would supply the sinews of matrimony. Alfred's theory was that he +undoubtedly would. He was sure that a young woman of Fanny's calmness, +intrepidity, and profound knowledge of the world would not propose +immediate matrimony without seeing how the commissariat was to be +supplied. She has all her plans laid, of course, thought he--she is so +talented and cool that 'tis all right, I dare say. Of course she knows +that I have nothing, and hope for nothing except from old Burt, and he's +not sure for me, by any means. But Boniface Newt is rich enough. + +And Alfred consoled himself by thinking of the style in which that worthy +commission merchant lived, and especially of his son Abel's expense and +splendor. + +"Alfred, dear--just try not to be trying, you know, but think what you +are about. Your mother has found out that something has gone wrong--that +you are not engaged to Hope Wayne." + +"Yes--yes, I know," burst in Alfred; "she treated me like a porcupine +this morning--or ant-eater, which is it, Fanny--the thing with quills, +you know?" + +Miss Fanny Newt patted the floor with her foot. Alfred continued: + +"Yes, and Hope sent down, and she wanted to see me alone some time +to-day." + +Fanny's foot stopped. + +"Alfred, dear," said she, "you are a good fellow, but you are too +amiable. You must do just as I want you to, dearest, or something awful +will happen." + +"Pooh! Fanny; nothing shall happen. I love you like any thing." + +Smack! smack! + +"Well, then, listen, Alfred! Your mother doesn't like me. She would do +any thing to prevent your marrying me. The reasons I will tell you at +another time. If you go home and talk with her and Hope Wayne, you can +not help betraying that you are engaged to me; and--you know your mother, +Alfred--she would openly oppose the marriage, and I don't know what she +might not say to my father." + +Fanny spoke clearly and rapidly, but calmly. Alfred looked utterly +bewildered. + +"It's a great pity, isn't it?" said he, feebly. "What do you think we had +better do?" + +"We must be married, Alfred, dear!" + +"Yes; but when, Fanny?" + +"To-day," said Fanny, firmly, and putting out her hand to her beloved. + +He seized it mechanically. + +"To-day, Fanny?" asked he, after a pause of amazement. + +"Certainly, dear--to-day. I am as ready now as I shall be a year hence." + +"But what will my mother say?" inquired Alfred, in alarm. + +"It will be too late for her to say any thing. Don't you see, Alfred, +dear!" continued Fanny, in a most assuring tone, "that if we go to your +mother and say, 'Here we are, married!' she has sense enough to perceive +that nothing can be done; and after a little while all will be smooth +again?" + +Her lover was comforted by this view. He was even pleased by the audacity +of the project. + +"I swear, Fanny," said he, at length, in a more cheerful and composed +voice, "I think it's rather a good idea!" + +"Of course it is, dear. Are you ready?" + +Alfred gasped a little at the prompt question, despite his confidence. + +"Why, Fanny, you don't mean actually now--this very day? Gracious!" + +"Why not now? Since we think best to be married immediately and in +private, why should we put it off until to-night, or next week, when +we are both as ready now as we can be then?" asked Fanny, quietly; +"especially as something may happen to make it impossible then." + +Alfred Dinks shut his eyes. + +"What will your father say?" he inquired, at length, without raising his +eyelids. + +"Do you not see he will have to make up his mind to it, just as your +mother will?" replied Fanny. + +"And my father!" said Alfred, in a state of temporary blindness +continued. + +"Yes, and your father too," answered Fanny, both she and Alfred treating +the Honorable Budlong Dinks as a mere tender to that woman-of-war his +wife, in a way that would have been incredible to a statesman who +considered his wife a mere domestic luxury. + +There was a silence of several minutes. Then Mr. Dinks opened his eyes, +and said, + +"Well, Fanny, dear!" + +"Well, Alfred, dear!" and Fanny leaned toward him, with her head poised +like that of a black snake. Alfred was fascinated. Perhaps he was sorry +he was so; perhaps he wanted to struggle. But he did not. He was under +the spell. + +There was still a lingering silence. Fanny waited patiently. At length +she asked again, putting her hand in her lover's: + +"Are you ready?" + +"Yes!" said Alfred, in a crisp, resolute tone. + +Fanny raised her hand and rang the bell. The waiter appeared. + +"John, I want a carriage immediately." + +"Yes, Miss." + +"And, John, tell Mary to bring me my things. I am going out." + +"Yes, Miss." And hearing nothing farther, John disappeared. + +It was perhaps a judicious instinct which taught Fanny not to leave +Alfred alone by going up to array herself in her own chamber. The +intervals of delay between the coming of the maid and the coming of the +carriage the young woman employed in conversing dexterously about Boston, +and the friends he had seen there, and in describing to him the great +Kingfisher ball. + +Presently she was bonneted and cloaked, and the carriage was at the door. + +Her home had not been a Paradise to Fanny Newt--nor were Aunt Dagon, +Papa and Mamma Newt, and brother Abel altogether angels. She had no +superfluous emotions of any kind at any time; but as she passed +through the hall she saw her sister May--the youngest child--a girl of +sixteen--Uncle Lawrence's favorite--standing upon the stairs. + +She said nothing; the hall was quite dim, and as the girl stood in the +half light her childlike, delicate beauty seemed to Fanny more striking +than ever. If Uncle Lawrence had seen her at the moment he would have +thought of Jacob's ladder and the angels ascending and descending. + +"Good-by, May!" said Fanny, going up to her sister, taking her face +between her hands and kissing her lips. + +The sisters looked at each other, each inexplicably conscious that it was +not an ordinary farewell. + +"Good-by, darling!" said Fanny, kissing her again, and still holding her +young, lovely face. + +Touched and surprised by the unwonted tenderness of her sister's manner, +May threw her arms around her neck and burst into tears. + +"Oh! Fanny." + +Fanny did not disengage the arms that clung about her, nor raise the +young head that rested upon her shoulder. Perhaps she felt that somehow +it was a benediction. + +May raised her head at length, kissed Fanny gently upon the lips, +smoothed her black hair for a moment with her delicate hand, half smiled +through her tears as she thought that after this indication of affection +she should have such a pleasant intercourse with her sister, and then +pushed her softly away, saying, + +"Mr. Dinks is waiting for you, Fanny." + +Fanny said nothing, but drew her veil over her face, and Mr. Dinks handed +her into the carriage. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +MOTHER-IN-LAW AND DAUGHTER-IN-LAW. + + +Mrs. Dinks and Hope Wayne sat together in their lodgings, waiting +impatiently for Alfred's return. They were both working busily, and said +little to each other. Mrs. Dinks had resolved to leave New York at the +earliest possible moment. She waited only to have a clear explanation +with her son. Hope Wayne was also waiting for an explanation. She was +painfully curious to know why Alfred Dinks had told his mother that they +were engaged. As her Aunt Dinks looked at her, and saw how noble and +lofty her beauty was, yet how simple and candid, she was more than ever +angry with her, because she felt that it was impossible she should ever +have loved Alfred. + +They heard a carriage in the street. It stopped at the door. In a moment +the sound of a footstep was audible. + +"My dear, I wish to speak to Alfred alone. I hear his step," said Mrs. +Dinks. + +"Yes, aunt," answered Hope Wayne, rising, and taking her little basket +she moved toward the door. Just as she reached it, it opened, and Alfred +Dinks and Fanny Newt entered. Hope bowed, and was passing on. + +"Stop, Hope!" whispered Alfred, excitedly. + +She turned at the door and looked at her cousin, who, with uncertain +bravado, advanced with Fanny to his mother, who was gazing at them in +amazement, and said, in a thick, hurried voice, + +"Mother, this is your daughter Fanny--my wife--Mrs. Alfred Dinks." + +As she heard these words Hope Wayne went out, closing the door behind +her, leaving the mother alone with her children. + +Mrs. Dinks sat speechless in her chair for a few moments, staring at +Alfred, who looked as if his legs would not long support him, and at +Fanny, who stood calmly beside him. At length she said to Alfred, + +"Is that woman really your wife?" + +"Yes, 'm," replied the new husband. + +"What are you going to support her with?" + +"I have my allowance," said Alfred, in a very small voice. + +"Mrs. Alfred Dinks, your husband's allowance is six hundred dollars a +year from his father. I wish you joy." + +There was a sarcastic sparkle in her eyes. Mrs. Dinks had long felt that +she and Fanny were contesting a prize. At this moment, while she knew +that she had not won, she was sure that Fanny had lost. + +Fanny was prepared for such a reception. She did not shrink. She +remembered the great Burt fortune. But before she could speak Mrs. +Dinks rose, and, with an air of contemptuous defiance, inquired, + +"Where are you living, Mrs. Dinks?" + +Mr. Alfred looked at his wife in profound perplexity. He thought, for his +part, that he was living in that very house. But his wife answered, +quietly, + +"We are at Bunker's, where we shall be delighted to see you. +Good-morning, Mrs. Dinks." + +And Fanny took her husband by the arm and went out, having entirely +confounded her mother-in-law, who meant to have wished her children +good-morning, and then have left them to their embarrassment. But victory +seemed to perch upon Fanny's standards along the whole line. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +THE BACK WINDOW. + + +Lawrence Newt was not unmindful of the difference of age between Amy +Waring and himself; and instinctively he did nothing which could show to +others that he felt more for her than for a friend. Younger men, who +could not help yielding to the charm of her presence, never complained of +him. He was never "that infernal old bore, Lawrence Newt," to them. More +than one of them, in the ardor of young feeling, had confided his passion +to Lawrence, who said to him, bravely, "My dear fellow, I do not wonder +you feel so. God speed you--and so will I, all I can." + +And he did so. He mentioned the candidate kindly to Miss Waring. He +repeated little anecdotes that he had heard to his advantage. Lawrence +regarded the poor suitor as a painter does a picture. He took him up in +the arms of his charity and moved him round and round. He put him upon +his sympathy as upon an easel, and turned on the kindly lights and +judiciously darkened the apartment. + +His generosity was chivalric, but it was unavailing. Beautiful flowers +arrived from the aspiring youths. They were so lovely, so fragrant! +What taste that young Hal Battlebury has! remarks Lawrence Newt, +admiringly, as he smells the flowers that stand in a pretty vase upon +the centre-table. Amy Waring smiles, and says that it is Thorburn's +taste, of whom Mr. Battlebury buys the flowers. Mr. Newt replies that it +is at least very thoughtful in him. A young lady can not but feel kindly, +surely, toward young men who express their good feeling in the form of +flowers. Then he dexterously leads the conversation into some other +channel. He will not harm the cause of poor Mr. Battlebury by persisting +in speaking of him and his bouquets, when that persistence will evidently +render the subject a little tedious. + +Poor Mr. Hal Battlebury, who, could he only survey the Waring mansion +from the lower floor to the roof, would behold his handsome flowers that +came on Wednesday withering in cold ceremony upon the parlor-table--and +in Amy Waring's bureau-drawer would see the little book she received from +"her friend Lawrence Newt" treasured like a priceless pearl, with a +pressed rose laid upon the leaf where her name and his are written--a +rose which Lawrence Newt playfully stole one evening from one of the +ceremonious bouquets pining under its polite reception, and said gayly, +as he took leave, "Let this keep my memory fragrant till I return." + +But it was a singular fact that when one of those baskets without a card +arrived at the house, it was not left in superb solitary state upon the +centre-table in the parlor, but bloomed as long as care could coax it in +the strict seclusion of Miss Waring's own chamber, and then some choicest +flower was selected to be pressed and preserved somewhere in the depths +of the bureau. + +Could the bureau drawers give up their treasures, would any human being +longer seem to be cold? would any maiden young or old appear a voluntary +spinster, or any unmarried octogenarian at heart a bachelor? + +For many a long hour Lawrence Newt stood at the window of the loft in the +rear of his office, and looked up at the window where he had seen Amy +Waring that summer morning. He was certainly quite as curious about that +room as Hope about his early knowledge of her home. + +"I'll just run round and settle this matter," said the merchant to +himself. + +But he did not stir. His hands were in his pockets. He was standing as +firmly in one spot as if he had taken root. + +"Yes--upon the whole, I'll just run round," thought Lawrence, without the +remotest approach to motion of any kind. But his fancy was running round +all the time, and the fancies of men who watch windows, as Lawrence Newt +watched this window, are strangely fantastic. He imagined every thing in +that room. It was a woman with innumerable children, of course--some old +nurse of Amy's--who had a kind of respectability to preserve, which +intrusion would injure. No, no, by Heaven! it was Mrs. Tom Witchet, old +Van Boozenberg's daughter! Of course it was. An old friend of Amy's, +half-starving in that miserable lodging, and Amy her guardian angel. +Lawrence Newt mentally vowed that Mrs. Tom Witchet should never want +any thing. He would speak to Amy at the next meeting of the Round Table. + +Or there were other strange fancies. What will not an India merchant +dream as he gazes from his window? It was some old teacher of Amy's--some +music-master, some French teacher--dying alone and in poverty, or with a +large family. No, upon the whole, thought Lawrence Newt, he's not old +enough to have a large family--he is not married--he has too delicate a +nature to struggle with the world--he was a gentleman in his own country; +and he has, of course, it's only natural--how could he possibly help +it?--he has fallen in love with Miss Waring. These music-masters and +Italian teachers are such silly fellows. I know all about it, thought Mr. +Newt; and now he lies there forlorn, but picturesque and very handsome, +singing sweetly to his guitar, and reciting Petrarch's sonnets with +large, melancholy eyes. His manners refined and fascinating. His age? +About thirty. Poor Amy! Of course common humanity requires her to come +and see that he does not suffer. Of course he is desperately in love, and +she can only pity. Pity? pity? Who says something about the kinship of +pity? I really think, says Lawrence Newt to himself, that I ought to go +over and help that unfortunate young man. Perhaps he wishes to return to +his native country. I am sure he ought to. His native air will be balm +to him. Yes, I'll ask Miss Waring about it this very evening. + +He did not. He never alluded to the subject. They had never mentioned +that summer noontide exchange of glance and gesture which had so curious +an effect on Lawrence Newt that he now stood quite as often at his back +window, looking up at the old brick house, as at his front window, +looking out over the river and the ships, and counting the spires--at +least it seemed so--in Brooklyn. + +For how could Lawrence know of the book that was kept in the bureau +drawer--of the rose whose benediction lay forever fragrant upon those +united names? + +"I am really sorry for Hal Battlebury," said the merchant to himself. +"He is such a good, noble fellow! I should have supposed that Miss Waring +would have been so very happy with him. He is so suitable in every way; +in age, in figure, in tastes--in sympathy altogether. Then he is so manly +and modest, so simple and true. It is really very--very--" + +And so he mused, and asked and answered, and thought of Hal Battlebury +and Amy Waring together. + +It seemed to him that if he were a younger man--about the age of +Battlebury, say--full of hope, and faith, and earnest endeavor--a +glowing and generous youth--it would be the very thing he should do--to +fall in love with Amy Waring. How could any man see her and not love her? +His reflections grew dreamy at this point. + +"If so lovely a girl did not return the affection of such a young man, it +would be--of course, what else could it be?--it would be because she had +deliberately made up her mind that, under no conceivable circumstances +whatsoever, would she ever marry." + +As he reached this satisfactory conclusion Lawrence Newt paced up and +down before the window, with his hands still buried in his pockets, +thinking of Hal Battlebury--thinking of the foreign youth with the large, +melancholy eyes pining upon a bed of pain, and reciting Petrarch's +sonnets, in the miserable room opposite--thinking also of that strange +coldness of virgin hearts which not the ardors of youth and love could +melt. + +And, stopping before the window, he thought of his own boyhood--of the +first wild passion of his young heart--of the little hand he held--of +the soft darkness of eyes whose light mingled with his own--again the +palm-trees--the rushing river--when, at the very window upon which he +was unconsciously gazing, one afternoon a face appeared, with a black +silk handkerchief twisted about the head, and looking down into the +court between the houses. + +Lawrence Newt stared at it without moving. Both windows were closed, nor +was the woman at the other looking toward him. He had, indeed, scarcely +seen her fully before she turned away. But he had recognized that face. +He had seen a woman he had so long thought dead. In a moment Amy Waring's +visit was explained, and a more heavenly light shone upon her character +as he thought of her. + +"God bless you, Amy dear!" were the words that unconsciously stole to his +lips; and going into the office, Lawrence Newt told Thomas Tray that he +should not return that afternoon, wished his clerks good-day, and hurried +around the corner into Front Street. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +ABEL NEWT, _vice_ SLIGO MOULTRIE REMOVED. + + +The Plumers were at Bunker's. The gay, good-hearted Grace, full of fun +and flirtation, vowed that New York was life, and all the rest of the +world death. + +"You do not compliment the South very much," said Sligo Moultrie, +smiling. + +"Oh no! The South is home, and we don't compliment relations, you know," +returned Miss Grace. + +"Yes, thank Heaven! the South _is_ home, Miss Grace. New York is like a +foreign city. The tumult is fearful; yet it is only a sea-port after all. +It has no metropolitan repose. It never can have. It is a trading town." + +"Then I like trading towns, if that is it," returned Miss Grace, looking +out into the bustling street. + +Mr. Moultrie smiled--a quiet, refined, intelligent, and accomplished +smile. + +He smiled confidently. Not offensively, but with that half-shy sense of +superiority which gave the high grace of self-possession to his manner--a +languid repose which pervaded his whole character. The symmetry of his +person, the careless ease of his carriage, a sweet voice, a handsome +face, were valuable allies of his intellectual accomplishments; and when +all the forces were deployed they made Sligo Moultrie very fascinating. +He was not audacious nor brilliant. It was a passive, not an active +nature. He was not rich, although Mrs. Boniface Newt had a vague idea +that every Southern youth was _ex-officio_ a Croesus. Scion of a fine old +family, like the Newts, and Whitloes, and Octoynes of New York, Mr. Sligo +Moultrie, born to be a gentleman, but born poor, was resolved to maintain +his state. + +Miss Grace Plumer, as we saw at Mrs. Boniface Newt's, had bright black +eyes, profusely curling black hair, olive skin, pouting mouth, and pearly +teeth. Very rich, very pretty, and very merry was Miss Grace Plumer, who +believed with enthusiastic faith that life was a ball, but who was very +shrewd and very kindly also. + +Sligo Moultrie understood distinctly why he was sitting at the window +with Grace Plumer. + +"The roses are in bloom at your home, I suppose, Miss Grace?" said he. + +"Yes, I suppose they are, and a dreadfully lonely time they're having of +it. Southern life, of course, is a hundred times better than life here; +but it is a little lonely, isn't it, Mr. Moultrie?" + +Grace said this turning her neck slightly, and looking an arch +interrogatory at her companion. + +"Yes, it is lonely in some ways. But then there is so much going up to +town and travelling that, after all, it is only a few months that we are +at home; and a man ought to be at home a good deal--he ought not to be a +vagabond." + +"Thank you," said Grace, bowing mockingly. + +"I said 'a man,' you observe, Miss Grace." + +"Man includes woman, I believe, Mr. Moultrie." + +"In two cases--yes." + +"What are they?" + +"When he holds her in his arms or in his heart." + +Here was a sudden volley masked in music. Grace Plumer was charmed. She +looked at her companion. He had been "a vagabond" all winter in New York; +but there were few more presentable men. Moreover, she felt at home with +him as a _compatriot_. Yes, this would do very well. + +Miss Grace Plumer had scarcely mentally installed Mr. Sligo Moultrie as +first flirter in her corps, when a face she remembered looked up at the +window from the street, more dangerous even than when she had seen it in +the spring. It was the face of Abel Newt, who raised his hat and bowed to +her with an admiration which he concealed that he took care to show. + +The next moment he was in the room, perfectly _comme il faut_, sparkling, +resistless. + +"My dear Miss Plumer, I knew spring was coming. I felt it as I approached +Bunker's. I said to Herbert Octoyne (he's off with the Shrimp; Papa +Shrimp was too much, he was so old that he was rank)--I said, either I +smell the grass sprouting in the Battery or I have a sensation of spring. +I raise my eyes--I see that it is not grass, but flowers. I recognize the +dear, delicious spring. I bow to Miss Plumer." + +He tossed it airily off. It was audacious. It would have been outrageous, +except that the manner made it seem persiflage, and therefore allowable. +Grace Plumer blushed, bowed, smiled, and met his offered hand half-way. +Abel Newt knew perfectly what he was doing, and raised it respectfully, +bowed over it, kissed it. + +"Moultrie, glad to see you. Miss Plumer, 'tis astonishing how this man +always knows the pleasant places. If I want to know where the best fruits +and the earliest flowers are, I ask Sligo Moultrie." + +Mr. Moultrie bowed. + +"The first rose of the year blooms in Mr. Moultrie's button-hole," +continued Abel, who galloped on, laughing, and seating himself upon an +ottoman, so that his eyes were lower than the level of Grace Plumer's. + +She smiled, and joined the hunt. + +"He talks nothing but 'ladies' delights,'" said she. + +"Yes--two other things, please, Miss Grace," said Moultrie. + +"What, Mr. Moultrie, two other cases? You always have two more." + +"Better two more than too much," struck in Abel, who saw that Miss Plumer +had put out her darling little foot from beneath her dress, and therefore +had fixed his eyes upon it, with an admiration which was not lost upon +the lady. + +"Heavens!" cried Moultrie, laughing and looking at them. "You are both +two more and too much for me." + +"Good, good, good for Moultrie!" applauded Abel; "and now, Miss Plumer, I +submit that he has the floor." + +"Very well, Mr. Moultrie. What are the two other things that you talk?" + +"Pansies and rosemary," said the young man, rising and bowing himself +out. + +"Miss Plumer, you have been the inspiration of my friend Sligo, who was +never so brilliant in his life before. How generous in you to rise and +shine on this wretched town! It is Sahara. Miss Plumer descends upon it +like dew. Where have you been?" + +"At home, in Louisiana." + +"Ah! yes. Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle--I have never +been there; but it comes to me here when you come, Miss Plumer." + +Still the slight persiflage to cover the audacity. + +"And so, Mr. Newt, I have the honor of seeing the gentleman of whom I +have heard most this winter." + +"What will not our enemies say of us, Miss Plumer?" + +"You have no enemies," replied she, "except, perhaps--no, I'll not +mention them." + +"Who? who? I insist," said Abel, looking at Grace Plumer earnestly for a +moment, then dropping his eyes upon her very pretty and very be-ringed +white hands, where the eyes lingered a little and worshipped in the most +evident manner. + +"Except, then, your own sex," said the little Louisianian, half blushing. + +"I do them no harm," replied Abel. + +"No; but you make them jealous." + +"Jealous of what?" returned the young man, in a lower tone, and more +seriously. + +"Oh! it's only of--of--of--of what I hear from the girls," said Grace, +fluttering a little, as she remembered the conservatory at Mrs. Boniface +Newt's, which also Abel had not forgotten. + +"And what do you hear, Miss Grace?" he asked, in pure music. + +Grace blushed, and laughed. + +"Oh! only of your success with poor, feeble women," said she. + +"I have no success with women," returned Abel Newt, in a half-serious +way, and in his most melodious voice. "Women are naturally generous. They +appreciate and acknowledge an honest admiration, even when it is only +honest." + +"Only honest! What more could it be, Mr. Newt?" + +"It might be eloquent. It might be fascinating and irresistible. Even +when a man does not really admire, his eloquence makes him dangerous. If, +when he truly admires, he were also eloquent, he would be irresistible. +There is no victory like that. I should envy Alexander nothing and +Napoleon nothing if I thought I could really conquer one woman's heart. +My very consciousness of the worth of the prize paralyzes my efforts. It +is musty, but it is true, that fools rush in where angels fear to tread." + +He sat silent, gazing abstractedly at the two lovely feet of Miss Grace +Plumer, with an air that implied how far his mind had wandered in their +conversation from any merely personal considerations. Miss Grace Plumer +had not made as much progress as Mr. Newt since their last meeting. Abel +Newt seemed to her the handsomest fellow she had ever seen. What he had +said both piqued and pleased her. It pleased her because it piqued her. + +"Women are naturally noble," he continued, in a low, rippling voice. "If +they see that a man sincerely admires them they forgive him, although he +can not say so. Yes, and a woman who really loves a man forgives him +every thing." + +He was looking at her hands, which lay white, and warm, and glittering in +her lap. She was silent. + +"What a superb ruby, Miss Grace! It might be a dew-drop from a +pomegranate in Paradise." + +She smiled at the extravagant conceit, while he took her hand as he +spoke, and admired the ring. The white, warm hand remained passive in +his. + +"Let me come nearer to Paradise," he said, half-abstractedly, as if he +were following his own thoughts, and he pressed his lips to the fingers +upon which the ruby gleamed. + +Miss Grace Plumer was almost frightened. This was a very different +performance from Mr. Sligo Moultrie's--very different from any she had +known. She felt as if she suggested, in some indescribable way, strange +and beautiful thoughts to Abel Newt. He looked and spoke as if he +addressed himself to the thoughts she had evoked rather than to herself. +Yet she felt herself to be both the cause and the substance. It was very +sweet. She did not know what she felt; she did not know how much she +dared. But when he went away she knew that Abel Newt was appointed first +flirter, _vice_ Sligo Moultrie removed. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +THE DAY AFTER THE WEDDING. + + +"On the 23d instant, Alfred Dinks, Esq., of Boston, to Fanny, oldest +daughter of Boniface Newt, Esq., of this city." + +Fanny wrote the notice with her own hands, and made Alfred take it to the +papers. In this manner she was before her mother-in-law in spreading the +news. In this manner, also, as Boniface Newt, Esq., sat at breakfast, he +learned of his daughter's marriage. His face grew purple. He looked +apoplectic as he said to his wife, + +"Nancy, what in God's name does this mean?" + +His frightened wife asked what, and he read the announcement aloud. + +He rose from table, and walked up and down the room. + +"Did you know any thing of this?" inquired he. "What does it mean?" + +"Dear me! I thought he was engaged to Hope Wayne," replied Mrs. Newt, +crying. + +There was a moment's silence. Then Mr. Newt said, with a sneer, + +"It seems to me that a mother whose, daughter gets married without her +knowledge is a very curious kind of mother--an extremely competent kind +of mother." + +He resumed his walking. Mrs. Newt went on with her weeping. But Boniface +Newt was aware of the possibilities in the case of Alfred, and therefore +tried to recover himself and consider the chances. + +"What do you know about this fellow?" said he, petulantly, to his wife. + +"I don't know any thing in particular," she sobbed. + +"Do you know whether he has money, or whether his father has?" + +"No; but old Mr. Burt is his grandfather." + +"What! his mother's father?" + +"I believe so. I know Fanny always said he was Hope Wayne's cousin." + +Mr. Newt pondered for a little while. His brow contracted. + +"Why on earth have they run away? Did Mr. Burt's grandson suppose he +would be unwelcome to me? Has he been in the habit of coming here, +Nancy?" + +"No, not much." + +"Have you seen them since this thing?" + +"No, indeed," replied the mother, bursting into tears afresh. + +Her husband looked at her darkly. + +"Don't blubber. What good does crying do? G--! if any thing happens in +this world, a woman falls to crying her eyes out, as if that would help +it." + +Boniface Newt was not usually affectionate. But there was almost a +ferocity in his address at this moment which startled his wife into +silence. His daughter May turned pale as she saw and heard her father. + +"I thought Abel was trial enough!" said he, bitterly; "and now the girl +must fall to cutting up shines. I tell you plainly, Nancy, if Fanny has +married a beggar, a beggar she shall be. There is some reason for a +private marriage that we don't understand. It can't be any good reason; +and, daughter or no daughter, she shall lie in the bed she has made." + +He scowled and set his teeth as he said it. His wife did not dare to cry +any more. May went to her mother and took her hand, while the father of +the family walked rapidly up and down. + +"Every thing comes at once," said he. "Just as I am most bothered and +driven down town, this infernal business of Fanny's must needs happen. +One thing I'm sure of--if it was all right it would not be a private +wedding. What fools women are! And Fanny, whom I always thought so +entirely able to take care of herself, turns out to be the greatest +fool of all! This fellow's a booby, I believe, Mrs. Newt. I think I have +heard even you make fun of him. But to be poor, too! To run away with a +pauper-booby, by Heavens, it's too absurd!" + +Mr. Newt laughed mockingly, while the tears flowed fast from the eyes of +his wife, who said at intervals, "I vow," and "I declare," with such +utter weakness of tone and movement that her husband suddenly exclaimed, +in an exasperated tone, + +"Nancy, if you don't stop rocking your body in that inane way, and +shaking your hand and your handkerchief, and saying those imbecile +things, I shall go mad. I suppose this is the kind of sympathy a man +gets from a woman in his misfortunes!" + +May Newt looked shocked and indignant. "Mother, I am sorry for poor +Fanny," said she. + +She said it quietly and tenderly, and without the remotest reference in +look, or tone, or gesture to her father. + +He turned toward her suddenly. + +"Hold your tongue, Miss!" + +"Mamma, I shall go and see Fanny to-day," May continued, as if her +father had not spoken. Her mother looked frightened, and turned to her +deprecatingly with a look that said, "For Heaven's sake, don't!" Her +father regarded her for a moment in amazement. + +"What do you mean, you little vixen? Let me catch you disobeying me and +going to see that ungrateful wicked girl, if you think fit!" + +There was a moment in which May Newt turned pale, but she said, in a very +low voice, + +"I must go." + +"May, I forbid your going," said Mr. Newt, severely and loudly. + +"Father, you have no right to forbid me." + +"I forbid your going," roared her father, planting himself in front of +her, and quite white with wrath. + +May said no more. + +"A pretty family you have brought up, Mrs. Nancy Newt," said he, at +length, looking at his wife with all the contempt which his voice +expressed. "A son who ruins me by his extravagance, a daughter who runs +away with--with"--he hesitated to remember the exact expression--"with a +pauper-booby, and another daughter who defies and disobeys her father. +I congratulate you upon your charming family, upon your distinguished +success, Mrs. Newt. Is there no younger brother of your son-in-law whom +you might introduce to Miss May Newt? I beg your pardon, she is Miss +Newt, now that her sister is so happily married," said Boniface Newt, +bowing ceremoniously to his daughter. + +Mrs. Newt clasped her hands in an utterly helpless despair, and +unconsciously raised them in a beseeching attitude before her. + +"The husband's duty takes him away from home," continued Mr. Newt. +"While he is struggling for the maintenance of his family he supposes +that his wife is caring for his children, and that she has, at least, the +smallest speck of an idea of what is necessary to be done to make them +tolerably well behaved. Some husbands are doomed to be mistaken." + +Boniface Newt bowed, and smiled sarcastically. + +"Yes, and as if it were not enough to have my wife such a model +trainer--and my son so careful--and my daughter so obedient--and my +younger daughter so affectionate--I must also have trials in my business. +I expected a great loan from Van Boozenberg's bank, and I haven't got it. +He's an old driveling fool. Mrs. Newt, you must curtail expenses. There's +one mouth less, and one Stewart's bill less, at any rate." + +"Father," said May, as if she could not bear the cool cutting adrift of +her sister from the family, "Fanny is not dead." + +"No," replied her father, sullenly. "No, the more's the--" + +He stopped, for he caught May's eye, and he could not finish the +sentence. + +"Mr. Newt," said his wife, at length, "perhaps Alfred Dinks is not poor." + +That was the chance, but Mr. Newt was skeptical. He had an instinctive +suspicion that no rich young man, however much a booby, would have +married Fanny clandestinely. Men are forced to know something of their +reputations, and Boniface Newt was perfectly aware that it was generally +understood he had no aversion to money. He knew also that he was reputed +rich, that his family were known to live expensively, and he was quite +shrewd enough to believe that any youth in her own set who ran off with +his daughter did so because he depended upon her father's money. He was +satisfied that the Newt family was not to be a gainer by the new +alliance. The more he thought of it the more he was convinced, and the +more angry he became. He was still storming, when the door was thrown +open and Mrs. Dagon rushed in. + +"What does it all mean?" asked she. + +Mr. Newt stopped in his walk, smiled contemptuously, and pointed to his +wife, who sat with her handkerchief over her eyes. + +"Pooh!" said Mrs. Dagon, "I knew 'twould come to this. I've seen her +hugging him the whole winter, and so has every body else who has eyes." + +And she shook her plumage as she settled into a seat. + +"Mrs. Boniface Newt is unfortunately blind; that is to say, she sees +every body's affairs but her own," said Mr. Newt, tauntingly. + +Mrs. Dagon, without heeding him, talked on. + +"But why did they run away to be married? What does it mean? Fanny's not +romantic, and Dinks is a fool. He's rich, and a proper match enough, for +a woman can't expect to have every thing. I can't see why he didn't +propose regularly, and behave like other people. Do you suppose he was +actually engaged to his cousin Hope Wayne, and that our darling Fanny has +outwitted the Boston beauty, and the Boston beau too, for that matter? It +looks like it, really. I think that must be it. It's a pity a Newt should +marry a fool--" + +"It is not the first time," interrupted her nephew, making a low bow to +his wife. + +Mrs. Dagon looked a little surprised. She had seen little jars and rubs +before in the family, but this morning she seemed to have happened in +upon an earthquake. She continued: + +"But we must make the best of it. Are they in the house?" + +"No, Aunt Dagon," said Mr. Newt. "I knew nothing of it until, half an +hour ago, I read it in the paper with all the rest of the world. It seems +it was a family secret." And he bowed again to his wife, + +"Don't, don't," sobbed she. "You know I didn't know any thing about it. +Oh! Aunt Dagon, I never knew him so unjust and wicked as he is to-day. He +treats me cruelly." And the poor woman covered her red eyes again with +her handkerchief, and rocked herself feebly. Mr. Newt went out, and +slammed the door behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +A FIELD-DAY. + + +"Now, Nancy, tell me about this thing," said Mrs. Dagon, when the husband +was gone. + +But Nancy had nothing to tell. + +"I don't like his running away with her--that looks bad," continued Mrs. +Dagon. She pondered a few moments, and then said: + +"I can tell you one thing, Nancy, which it wasn't worth while to mention +to Boniface, who seems to be nervous this morning--but I am sure Fanny +proposed the running off. Alfred Dinks is too great a fool. He never +would have thought of it, and he would never have dared to do it if he +had." + +"Oh dear me!" responded Mrs. Newt. + +"Pooh! it isn't such a dreadful thing, if he is only rich enough," said +Aunt Dagon, in a consoling voice. "Every thing depends on that; and I +haven't much doubt of it. Alfred Dinks is a fool, my dear, but Fanny Newt +is not; and Fanny Newt is not the girl to marry a fool, except for +reasons. You may trust Fanny, Nancy. You may depend there was some +foolish something with Hope Wayne, on the part of Alfred, and Fanny has +cut the knot she was not sure of untying. Pooh! pooh! When you are as old +as I am you won't be distressed over these things. Fanny Newt is fully +weaned. She wants an establishment, and she has got it. There are plenty +of people who would have been glad to marry their daughters to Alfred +Dinks. I can tell you there are some great advantages in having a fool +for your husband. Don't you see Fanny never would have been happy with a +man she couldn't manage. It's quite right, my dear." + +At this moment the bell rang, and Mrs. Newt, not wishing to be caught +with red eyes, called May, who had looked on at this debate, and left the +room. + +While Mrs. Dagon had been so volubly talking she had also been busily +thinking. She knew that if Alfred were a fool his mother was not--at +least, not in the way she meant. There had been no love lost between the +ladies, so that Mrs. Dagon was disposed to criticise the other's conduct +very closely. She saw, therefore, that if Alfred Dinks were not rich--and +it certainly was a question whether he were so really, or only in +expectation from Mr. Burt--then also he might not be engaged to Hope +Wayne. But the story of his wealth and his engagement might very easily +have been the _ruse_ by which the skillful Mrs. Dinks meant to conduct +her campaign in New York. In that case, what was more likely than that +she should have improved Fanny's evident delusion in regard to her son, +and, by suggesting to him an elopement, have secured for him the daughter +of a merchant so universally reputed wealthy as Boniface Newt? + +Mrs. Dagon was clever--so was Mrs. Dinks; and it is the homage that one +clever person always pays to another to believe the other capable of +every thing that occurs to himself. + +In the matter of the marriage Mrs. Budlong Dinks had been defeated, but +she was not dismayed. She had lost Hope Wayne, indeed, and she could no +longer hope, by the marriage of Alfred with his cousin, to consolidate +the Burt property in her family. She had been very indignant--very deeply +disappointed. But she still loved her son, and the meditation of a night +refreshed her. + +Upon a survey of the field, Mrs. Dinks felt that under no circumstances +would Hope have married Alfred; and he had now actually married Fanny. So +much was done. It was useless to wish impossible wishes. She did not +desire her son to starve or come to social shame, although he had married +Fanny; and Fanny, after all, was rather a belle, and the daughter of a +rich merchant, who would have to support them. She knew, of course, that +Fanny supposed her husband would share in the great Burt property. But as +Mrs. Dinks herself believed the same thing, that did not surprise her. In +fact, they would all be gainers by it; and nothing now remained but to +devote herself to securing that result. + +The first step under the circumstances was clearly a visit to the Newts, +and the ring which had sent Mrs. Newt from the room was Mrs. Dinks's. + +Mrs. Dagon was alone when Mrs. Dinks entered, and Mrs. Dagon was by no +means sure, whatever she said to Nancy, that Mrs. Dinks had not outwitted +them all. As she entered Mrs. Dagon put up her glasses and gazed at her; +and when Mrs. Dinks saluted her, Mrs. Dagon bowed behind the glasses, as +if she were bowing through a telescope at the planet Jupiter. + +"Good-morning, Mrs. Dagon!" + +"Good-morning, Mrs. Dinks!" replied that lady, still contemplating +the other as if she were a surprising and incomprehensible phenomenon. + +Profound silence followed. Mrs. Dinks was annoyed by the insult which +Mrs. Dagon was tacitly putting upon her, and resolving upon revenge. +Meanwhile she turned over some illustrated books upon the table, as if +engravings were of all things those that afforded her the profoundest +satisfaction. + +But she was conscious that she could not deceive Mrs. Dagon by an +appearance of interest; so, after a few moments, Mrs. Dinks seated +herself in a large easy-chair opposite that lady, who was still looking +at her, shook her dress, glanced into the mirror with the utmost +nonchalance, and finally, slowly drawing out her own glasses, raised them +to her eyes, and with perfect indifference surveyed the enemy. + +The ladies gazed at each other for a few moments in silence. + +"How's your daughter, Mrs. Alfred Dinks?" asked Mrs. Dagon, abruptly. + +Mrs. Dinks continued to gaze without answering. She was resolved to put +down this dragon that laid waste society. The dragon was instantly +conscious that she had made a mistake in speaking, and was angry +accordingly. She said nothing more; she only glared. + +"Good-morning, my dear Mrs. Dinks," said Mrs. Newt, in a troubled voice, +as she entered the room. "Oh my! isn't it--isn't it--singular?" + +For Mrs. Newt was bewildered. Between her husband and Mrs. Dagon she had +been so depressed and comforted that she did not know what to think. She +was sure it was Fanny who had married Alfred, and she supposed, with all +the world, that he had, or was to have, a pretty fortune. Yet she felt, +with her husband, that the private marriage was suspicious. It seemed, at +least, to prove the indisposition of Mrs. Dinks to the match. But, as +they were married, she did not wish to alienate the mother of the rich +bridegroom. + +"Singular, indeed, Mrs. Newt!" rejoined Mrs. Dinks; "I call it +extraordinary!" + +"I call it outrageous," interpolated Mrs. Dagon. "Poor girl! to be run +away with and married! What a blow for our family!" + +Mrs. Dinks resumed her glasses, and looked unutterably at Mrs. Dagon. But +Mrs. Dinks, on her side, knowing the limitations of Alfred's income, and +believing in the Newt resources, did not wish to divert from him any +kindness of the Newts. So she outgeneraled Mrs. Dagon again. + +"Yes, indeed, it is an outrage upon all our feelings. We must, of course, +be mutually shocked at the indiscretion of these members of both our +families." + +"Yes, oh yes!" answered Mrs. Newt. "I do declare! what do people do so +for?" + +Neither cared to take the next step, and make the obvious and necessary +inquiries as to the future, for neither wished to betray the thought that +was uppermost. At length Mrs. Dinks ventured to say, + +"One thing, at least, is fortunate." + +"Indeed!" ejaculated Mrs. Dagon behind the glasses, as if she scoffed at +the bare suggestion of any thing but utter misfortune being associated +with such an affair. + +"I say one thing is fortunate," continued Mrs. Dinks, in a more decided +tone, and without the slightest attention to Mrs. Dagon's remark. + +"Dear me! I declare I don't see just what you mean, Mrs. Dinks," said +Mrs. Newt. + +"I mean that they are neither of them children," answered the other. + +"They may not be children," commenced Mrs. Dagon, in the most implacable +tone, "but they are both fools. I shouldn't wonder, Nancy, if they'd both +outwitted each other, after all; for whenever two people, without the +slightest apparent reason, run away to be married, it is because one of +them is poor." + +This was a truth of which the two mothers were both vaguely conscious, +and which by no means increased the comfort of the situation. It led to +a long pause in the conversation. Mrs. Dinks wished Aunt Dagon on the top +of Mont Blanc, and while she was meditating the best thing to say, Mrs. +Dagon, who had rallied, returned to the charge. + +"Of course," said she, "that is something that would hardly be said of +the daughter of Boniface Newt." + +And Mrs. Dagon resumed the study of Mrs. Dinks. + +"Or of the grand-nephew of Christopher Burt," said the latter, putting up +her own glasses and returning the stare. + +"Grand-nephew! Is Alfred Dinks not the grandson of Mr. Burt?" asked Mrs. +Newt, earnestly. + +"No, he is his grand-nephew. I am the niece of Mr. Burt--daughter of his +brother Jonathan, deceased," replied Mrs. Dinks. + +"Oh!" said Mrs. Newt, dolefully. + +"Not a very near relation," added Mrs. Dagon. "Grand-nephews don't +count." + +That might be true, but it was thin consolation for Mrs. Newt, who began +to take fire. + +"But, Mrs. Dinks, how did this affair come about?" asked she. + +"Exactly," chimed in Aunt Dagon; "how did it come about?" + +"My dear Mrs. Newt," replied Mrs. Dinks, entirely overlooking the +existence of Mrs. Dagon, "you know my son Alfred and your daughter Fanny. +So do I. Do you believe that Alfred ran away with Fanny, or Fanny with +Alfred. Theoretically, of course, the man does it. Do you believe Alfred +did it?" + +Mrs. Dinks's tone was resolute. Mrs. Newt was on the verge of hysterics. + +"Do you mean to insult my daughter to her mother's face?" exclaimed she. +"O you mean to insinuate that--" + +"I mean to insinuate nothing, my dear Mrs. Newt. I say plainly what I +mean to say, so let us keep as cool as we can for the sake of all +parties. They are married--that's settled. How are they going to live?" + +Mrs. Newt opened her mouth with amazement. + +"I believe the husband usually supports the wife," ejaculated the dragon +behind the glasses. + +"I understand you to say, then, my dear Mrs. Newt," continued Mrs. Dinks, +with a superb disregard of the older lady, who had made the remark, "that +the husband usually supports the family. Now in this matter, you know, we +are going to be perfectly cool and sensible. You know as well as I that +Alfred has no profession, but that be will by-and-by inherit a fortune +from his grand-uncle--" + +At this point Mrs. Dagon coughed in an incredulous and contemptuous +manner. Mrs. Dinks put her handkerchief to her nose, which she patted +gently, and waited for Mrs. Dagon to stop. + +"As I was saying--a fortune from his grand-uncle. Now until then +provision must be made--" + +"Really," said Mrs. Dagon, for Mrs. Newt was bewildered into silence by +the rapid conversation of Mrs. Dinks--"really, these are matters of +business which, I believe, are usually left to gentlemen." + +"I know, of course, Mrs. Newt," continued the intrepid Mrs. Dinks, +utterly regardless of Mrs. Dagon, for she had fully considered her part, +and knew her own intentions, "that such things are generally arranged by +the gentlemen. But I think sensible women like you and I, mothers, too, +are quite as much interested in the matter as fathers can be. Our honor +is as much involved in the happiness of our children as their fathers' +is. So I have come to ask you, in a purely friendly and private manner, +what the chances for our dear children are?" + +"I am sure I know nothing," answered Mrs. Newt; "I only know that Mr. +Newt is furious." + +"Perfectly lunatic," added Aunt Dagon, in full view of Mrs. Dinks. + +"Pity, pity!" returned Mrs. Dinks, with an air of compassionate +unconcern; "because these things can always be so easily settled. +I hope Mr. Newt won't suffer himself to be disturbed. Every thing +will come right." + +"What does Mr. Dinks say?" feebly inquired Mrs. Newt. + +"I really don't know," replied Mrs. Dinks, with a cool air of surprise +that any body should care what he thought--which made Mrs. Dagon almost +envious of her enemy, and which so impressed Mrs. Newt, who considered +the opinion of her husband as the only point of importance in the whole +affair, that she turned pale. + +"I mean that his mind is so engrossed with other matters that he rarely +attends to the domestic details," added Mrs. Dinks, who had no desire of +frightening any of her new relatives. "Have you been to see Fanny yet?" + +"No," returned Mrs. Newt, half-sobbing again, "I have only just heard of +it; and--and--I don't think Mr. Newt would wish me to go." + +Mrs. Dinks raised her eyebrows, and again touched her face gently with +the handkerchief. Mrs. Dagon rubbed her glasses and waited, for she knew +very well that Mrs. Dinks had not yet discovered what she had come to +learn. The old General was not deceived by the light skirmishing. + +"I am sorry not to have seen Mr. Newt before he went down town," began +Mrs. Dinks, after a pause. "But since we must all know these matters +sooner or later--that is to say, those of us whose business it is"--here +she glanced at Mrs. Dagon--"you and I, my dear Mrs. Newt, may talk +confidentially. How much will your husband probably allow Fanny until +Alfred comes into his property?" + +Mrs. Dinks leaned back and folded her shawl closely around her, and Mrs. +Dagon hemmed and smiled a smile of perfect incredulity. + +"Gracious, gracious! Mrs. Dinks, Mr. Newt won't give her a cent!" +answered Mrs. Newt. As she uttered the words Mrs. Dagon held the enemy +in full survey. + +Mrs. Dinks was confounded. That there would be some trouble in arranging +the matter she had expected. But the extreme dolefulness of Mrs. Newt had +already perplexed her; and the prompt, simple way in which she answered +this question precluded the suspicion of artifice. Something was clearly, +radically wrong. She knew that Alfred had six hundred a year from his +father. She had no profound respect for that gentleman; but men are +willful. Suppose he should take a whim to stop it? On the other side, she +knew that Boniface Newt was an obstinate man, and that fathers were +sometimes implacable. Sometimes, even, they did not relent in making +their wills. She knew all about Miss Van Boozenberg's marriage with Tom +Witchet, for it was no secret in society. Was it possible her darling +Alfred might be in actual danger of such penury--at least until he came +into his property? And what property was it, and what were the chances +that old Burt would leave him a cent? + +These considerations instantly occupied her mind as Mrs. Newt spoke; and +she saw more clearly than ever the necessity of propitiating old Burt. + +At length she asked, with an undismayed countenance, and with even a show +of smiling: + +"But, Mrs. Newt, why do you take so cheerless a view of your husband's +intentions in this matter?" + +The words that her husband had spoken in his wrath had rung in Mrs. +Newt's mind ever since, and they now fell, echo-like, from her tongue. + +"Because he said that, daughter or no daughter, she shall lie in the bed +she has made." + +Mrs. Dinks could not help showing a little chagrin. It was the sign for +Mrs. Newt to burst into fresh sorrow. Mrs. Dagon was as rigid as a bronze +statue. + +"Very well, then, Mrs. Newt," said her visitor, rising, "Mr. Newt will +have the satisfaction of seeing his daughter starve." + +"Oh, her husband will take care of that," said the bronze statue, +blandly. + +"My son Alfred," continued Mrs. Dinks, "has an allowance of six hundred +dollars a year, no profession, and expectations from his grand-uncle. +These are his resources. If his father chooses, he can cut off his +allowance. Perhaps he will. You can mention these facts to Mr. Newt." + +"Oh! mercy! mercy!" exclaimed Mrs. Newt. "What shall we do? What will +people say?" + +"Good-morning, ladies!" said Mrs. Dinks, with a comprehensive bow. She +was troubled, but not overwhelmed; for she believed that the rich Mr. +Newt would not, of course, allow his daughter to suffer. Mrs. Dagon was +more profoundly persuaded than ever that Mrs. Dinks had managed the whole +matter. + +"Nancy," said she, as the door closed upon Mrs. Dinks, "it is a scheming, +artful woman. Her son has no money, and I doubt if he ever will have any. +Boniface will be implacable. I know him. He is capable of seeing his +daughter suffer. Fanny has made a frightful mistake. Poor Fanny! she was +not so clever as she thought herself. There is only one hope--that is in +old Burt. I think we had better present that view chiefly to Boniface. We +must concede the poverty, but insist and enlarge upon the prospect. No +Newt ought to be allowed to suffer if we can help it. Poor Fanny! She was +always pert, but not quite so smart as she thought herself!" + +Mrs. Dagon indulged in a low chuckle of triumph, while Mrs. Newt was +overwhelmed with a vague apprehension that all her husband's wrath at +his daughter's marriage would be visited upon her. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +AT THE ROUND TABLE. + + +Mrs. Dinks had informed Hope that she was going home. That lady was +satisfied, by her conversation with Mrs. Newt, that it would be useless +for her to see Mr. Newt--that it was one of the cases in which facts and +events plead much more persuasively than words. She was sure the rich +merchant would not allow his daughter to suffer. Fathers do so in novels, +thought she. Of course they do, for it is necessary to the interest of +the story. And old Van Boozenberg does in life, thought she. Of course he +does. But he is an illiterate, vulgar, hard old brute. Mr. Newt is of +another kind. She had herself read his name as director of at least seven +different associations for doing good to men and women. + +But Mrs. Dinks still delayed her departure. She knew that there was no +reason for her staying, but she staid. She loved her son dearly. She was +unwilling to leave him while his future was so dismally uncertain; and +every week she informed Hope that she was on the point of going. + +Hope Wayne was not sorry to remain. Perhaps she also had her purposes. +At Saratoga, in the previous summer, Arthur Merlin had remarked her +incessant restlessness, and had connected it with the picture and the +likeness of somebody. But when afterward, in New York, he cleared up the +mystery and resolved who the somebody was, to his great surprise he +observed, at the same time, that the restlessness of Hope Wayne was gone. +From the months of seclusion which she had imposed upon herself he saw +that she emerged older, calmer, and lovelier than he had ever seen her. +The calmness was, indeed, a little unnatural. To his sensitive eye--for, +as he said to Lawrence Newt, in explanation of his close observation, it +is wonderful how sensitive an exclusive devotion to art will make the +eye--to his eye the calmness was still too calm, as the gayety had been +too gay. + +In the solitude of his studio, as he drew many pictures upon the +canvas, and sang, and smoked, and scuffled across the floor to survey +his work from a little distance--and studied its progress through his +open fist--or as he lay sprawling upon his lounge in a cotton velvet +Italian coat, inimitably befogged and bebuttoned--and puffed profusely, +following the intervolving smoke with his eye--his meditations were +always the same. He was always thinking of Hope Wayne, and befooling +himself with the mask of art, actually hiding himself from himself: +and not perceiving that when a man's sole thought by day and night +is a certain woman, and an endless speculation about the quality of +her feeling for another man, he is simply a lover thinking of his +mistress and a rival. + +The infatuated painter suddenly became a great favorite in society. He +could not tell why. Indeed there was no other secret than that he was a +very pleasant young gentleman who made himself agreeable to young women, +because he wished to know them and to paint them--not, as he wickedly +told Lawrence Newt, who winked and did not believe a word of it, because +the human being is the noblest subject of art--but only because he wished +to show himself by actual experience how much more charming in character, +and sprightly in intelligence, and beautiful in person and manner, Hope +Wayne was than all other young women. + +He proved that important point to his perfect satisfaction. He punctually +attended every meeting of the Round Table, as Lawrence called the +meetings at which he and Arthur read and talked with Hope Wayne and Amy +Waring, that he might lose no opportunity of pursuing the study. He found +Hope Wayne always friendly and generous. She frankly owned that he had +shown her many charming things in poetry that she had not known, and had +helped her to form juster opinions. It was natural she should think it +was Arthur who had helped her. She did not know that it was a very +different person who had done the work--a person whose name was Abel +Newt. For it was her changing character--changing in consequence of her +acquaintance with Abel--which modified her opinions; and Arthur arrived +upon her horizon at the moment of the change. + +She was always friendly and generous with him. But somehow he could +not divest himself of the idea that she must be the Diana of his great +picture. There was an indescribable coolness and remoteness about her. +Has it any thing to do with that confounded sketch at Saratoga, and +that--equally confounded Abel Newt? thought he. + +For the conversation at the Round Table sometimes fell upon Abel. + +"He is certainly a handsome fellow," said Amy Waring. "I don't wonder at +his success." + +"It's beauty that does it, then, Miss Waring?" asked Arthur. + +"Does what?" said she. + +"Why, that gives what you call social success." + +"Oh! I mean that I don't wonder such a handsome, bright, graceful; +accomplished young man, who lives in fine style, drives pretty horses, +and knows every body, should be a great favorite with the girls and +their mothers. Don't you see, Abel Newt is a sort of Alcibiades?" + +Lawrence Newt laughed. + +"You don't mean Pelham?" said he. + +"No, for he has sense enough to conceal the coxcomb. But you ought to +know your own nephew, Mr. Newt," answered Amy. + +"Perhaps; but I have a very slight acquaintance with him," said Mr. Newt. + +"I don't exactly like him," said Arthur Merlin, with perfect candor. + +"I didn't know you knew him," replied Amy, looking up. + +Arthur blushed, for he did not personally know him; but he felt as if he +did, so that he unwittingly spoke so. + +"No, no," said he, hastily; "I don't know him, I believe; but I know +about him." + +As he said this he looked at Hope Wayne, who had been sitting, working, +in perfect silence. At the same moment she raised her eyes to his +inquiringly. + +"I mean," said Arthur, quite confused, "that I don't--somehow--that is to +say, you know, there's a sort of impression you get about people--" + +Lawrence Newt interposed-- + +"I suppose that Arthur doesn't like Abel for the same reason that oil +doesn't like water; for the same reason that you, Miss Amy, and Miss +Wayne, would probably not like such a man." + +Arthur Merlin looked fixedly at Hope Wayne. + +"What kind of man is Mr. Newt?" asked Hope, faintly coloring. She was +trying herself. + +"Don't you know him?" asked Arthur, abruptly and keenly. + +"Yes," replied Hope, as she worked on, only a little more rapidly. + +"Well, what kind of man do you think him to be?" continued Arthur, +nervously. + +"That is not the question," answered Hope, calmly. + +Lawrence Newt and Amy Waring looked on during this little conversation. +They both wanted Hope to like Arthur. They both doubted how Abel might +have impressed her. Lawrence Newt had not carelessly said that neither +Amy nor Hope would probably like Abel. + +"Miss Hope is right, Arthur," said he. "She asks what kind of man my +nephew is. He is a brilliant man--a fascinating man." + +"So was Colonel Burr," said Hope Wayne, without looking up. + +"Exactly, Miss Hope. You have mentioned the reason why neither you nor +Amy would like my nephew." + +Hope and Amy understood. Arthur Merlin was bewildered. + +"I don't quite understand," said he; "I am such a great fool." + +Nobody spoke. + +"I am sorry for that poor little Grace Plumer," Lawrence Newt gravely +said. + +"Don't you be troubled about little Grace Plumer. She can take proper +care of herself," answered Arthur, merrily. + +Hope Wayne's busy fingers did not stop. She remembered Miss Grace Plumer, +and she did not agree with Arthur Merlin. Hope did not know Grace; but +she knew the voice, the manner, the magnetism to which the gay girl was +exposed, + +"If Mr. Godefroi Plumer is really as rich as I hear," said Lawrence, "I +think we shall have a Mrs. Abel Newt in the autumn. Poor Mrs. Abel Newt!" + +He shook his head with that look, mingled of feeling and irony, which +was very perplexing. The tone in which he spoke was really so full of +tenderness for the girl, that Hope, who heard every word and felt every +tone, was sure that Lawrence Newt pitied the prospective bride sincerely. + +"I beg pardon, Mr. Newt, and Miss Wayne," said Arthur Merlin; "but how +can a man have a high respect for women when he sees his sister do what +Fanny Newt has done?" + +"Why should a man complain that his sister does precisely what he is +trying to do himself?" asked Lawrence. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +A LITTLE DINNER. + + +When Mrs. Dinks told her husband of Alfred's marriage, the Honorable +Budlong said it was a great pity, but that it all came of the foolish +fondness of the boy's mother; that nothing was more absurd than for +mothers to be eternally coddling their children. Although who would +have attended to Mr. Alfred if his mother had not, the unemployed +statesman forgot to state, notwithstanding that he had just written +a letter upon public affairs, in which he eloquently remarked that he +had no aspirations for public life; but that, afar from the turmoils +of political strife, his modest ambition was satisfied in the performance +of the sweet duties which the wise Creator, who has set the children of +men in families, has imposed upon all parents. + +"However," said he, "Mr. Newt is a wealthy merchant. It's all right, my +dear! Women, and especially mothers, are peculiarly silly at such times. +Endeavor, Mrs. Dinks, to keep the absurdity--which, of course, you will +not be able to suppress altogether--within bounds. Try to control your +nerves, and rely upon Providence." + +Therewith the statesman stroked his wife's chin. He controlled his own +nerves perfectly, and went to dress for dinner with a select party at +General Belch's, in honor of the Honorable B. J. Ele, who, in his +capacity as representative in Washington, had ground an axe for his +friend the General. Therefore, when the cloth was removed, the General +rose and said: "I know that we are only a party of friends, but I can +not help indulging my feelings, and gratifying yours, by proposing the +health of our distinguished, able, and high-minded representative, whose +Congressional career proves that there is no office in the gift of a free +and happy people to which he may not legitimately aspire. I have the +honor and pleasure to propose, with three times three, the Honorable B. +Jawley Ele." + +The Honorable Budlong Dinks led off in gravely pounding the table with +his fork; and when the rattle of knives, and forks, and spoons, and +glasses had subsided, and when Major Scuppernong, of North Carolina--who +had dined very freely, and was not strictly following the order of +events, but cried out in a loud voice in the midst of the applause, +"Encore, encore! good for Belch!"--had been reduced to silence, then +the honorable gentleman who had been toasted rose, and expressed his +opinion of the state of the country, to the general effect that General +Jackson--Sir, and fellow-citizens--I mean my friends, and you, Mr. +Speaker--I beg pardon, General Belch, that General Jackson, gentlemen and +ladies, that is to say, the relatives here present--I mean--yes--is one +of the very greatest--I venture to say, and thrust it in the teeth and +down the throat of calumny--_the_ greatest human being that now lives, +or ever did live, or ever can live. + +Mr. Ele sat down amidst a fury of applause. Major Scuppernong, of North +Carolina, and Captain Lamb, of Pennsylvania, turned simultaneously to the +young gentleman who sat between them, and who had been introduced to them +by General Belch as Mr. Newt, son of our old Tammany friend Boniface +Newt, and said to him, with hysterical fervor, + +"By G--, Sir! that is one of the greatest men in this country. He does +honor, Sir, to the American name!" + +The gentlemen, without waiting for a reply, each seized a decanter and +filled their glasses. Abel smiled and bowed on each side of him, filled +his own glass and lighted a cigar. + +Of course, after General Belch had spoken and Mr. Ele had responded, it +was necessary that every body else should be brought to a speech. General +Belch mentioned the key-stone of the arch of States; and Captain Lamb, in +reply, enlarged upon the swarthy sons of Pennsylvania. General Smith, of +Vermont, when green mountains were gracefully alluded to by General +Belch, was proud to say that he came--or, rather, he might say--yes, he +_would_ say, _hailed_ from the hills of Ethan Allen; and, in closing, +treated the company to the tale of Ticonderoga. The glittering mouth of +the Father of Waters was a beautiful metaphor which brought Colonol le +Fay, of Louisiana, to his feet; and the Colonel said that really he did +not know what to say. "Say that the Mississippi has more water in its +mouth than ever you had!" roared Major Scuppernong, with great hilarity. +The company laughed, and the Colonel sat down. When General Belch +mentioned Plymouth Hock, the Honorable Budlong Dinks sprang upon it, and +congratulated himself and the festive circle he saw around him upon the +inestimable boon of religious liberty which, he might say, was planted +upon the rock of Plymouth, and blazed until it had marched all over the +land, dispensing from its vivifying wings the healing dew of charity, +like the briny tears that lave its base. + +"Beautiful! beautiful! My God, Sir, what a poetic idea!" murmured, or +rather gurgled, Major Scuppernong to Abel at his side. + +But when General Belch rose and said that eloquence was unnecessary when +he mentioned one name, and that he therefore merely requested his friends +to fill and pledge, without further introduction, "The old North State," +there was a prolonged burst of enthusiasm, during which Major Scuppernong +tottered on to his feet and wavered there, blubbering in maudlin woe, and +wiping his eyes with a napkin; while the company, who perceived his +condition, rattled the table, and shouted, and laughed, until Sligo +Moultrie, who sat opposite Abel, declared to him across the table that +it was an abominable shame, that the whole South was insulted, and that +he should say something. + +"Fiddle-de-dee, Moultrie," said Abel to him, laughing; "the South is no +more insulted because Major Scuppernong, of North Carolina, gets drunk +and makes a fool of himself than the North is insulted because General +Smith, of Vermont, and the Honorable Dinks, of Boston, make fools of +themselves without getting drunk. Do you suppose that, at this time of +night, any of these people have the remotest idea of the points of the +compass? Their sole interest at the present moment is to know whether +the gallant Major will tumble under the table before he gets through +his speech." + +But the gallant Major did not get through his speech at all, because he +never began it. The longer he stood the unsteadier he grew, and the more +profusely he wept. Once or twice he made a motion, as if straightening +himself to begin. The noise at table then subsided a little. The guests +cried "H'st." There was a moment of silence, during which the eloquent +and gallant Major mopped the lingering tears with his napkin, then his +mouth opened in a maudlin smile; the roar began again, until at last +the smile changed into a burst of sobbing, and to Abel Newt's extreme +discomfiture, and Sligo Moultrie's secret amusement, Major Scuppernong +suddenly turned and fell upon Abel's neck, and tenderly embraced him, +whispering with tipsy tenderness, "My dearest Belch, I love you! Yes, +by Heaven! I swear I love you!" + +Abel called the waiters, and had the gallant and eloquent Major removed +to a sofa. + +"He enjoys life, the Major, Sir," said Captain Lamb, of Pennsylvania, at +Abel's left hand; "a generous, large-hearted man. So is our host, Sir. +General Belch is a man who knows enough to go in when it rains." + +Captain Lamb, of Pennsylvania, cocked one eye at his glass, and then +opening his mouth, and throwing his head a little back, tipped the entire +contents down at one swallow. He filled the glass again, took a puff at +his cigar, scratched his head a moment with the handle of a spoon, then +opening his pocket-knife, proceeded to excavate some recesses in his +teeth with the blade. + +"Is Dinks a rising man in Massachusetts, do you know, Sir?" asked Captain +Lamb of Abel, while the knife waited and rested a moment on the outside +of the mouth. + +"I believe he is, Sir," said Abel, at a venture. + +"Wasn't there some talk of his going on a foreign mission? Seems to me +I heard something." + +"Oh! yes," replied Abel. "I've heard a good deal about it. But I am not +sure that he has received his commission yet." + +Captain Lamb cocked his eye at Abel as if he had been a glass of wine. + +Abel rose, and, seating himself by Sligo Moultrie, entered into +conversation. + +But his object in moving was not talk. It was to give the cue to the +company of changing their places, so that he might sit where he would. He +drifted and tacked about the table for some time, and finally sailed into +the port toward which he had been steering--an empty chair by Mr. Dinks. +They said, good-evening. Mr. Dinks added, with a patronizing air, + +"I presume you are not often at dinners of this kind, Mr. Newt?" + +"No," replied Abel; "I usually dine on veal and spring chickens." + +"Oh!" said Mr. Dinks, who thought Abel meant that he generally ate that +food. + +"I mean that men of my years usually feed with younger and softer people +than I see around me here," explained the young man. + +"Yes, of course, I understand," replied Mr. Dinks, loftily, who had not +the least idea what Abel meant; "young men must expect to begin at +women's dinners." + +"They must, indeed," replied Abel. "Now, Mr. Dinks, one of the +pleasantest I remember was this last winter, under the auspices of your +wife. Let me see, there were Mr. Moultrie there, Mr. Whitloe and Miss +Magot, Mr. Bowdoin Beacon and Miss Amy Waring--and who else? Oh! I beg +pardon, your son Alfred and my sister Fanny." + +As he spoke the young gentleman filled a glass of wine, and looked over +the rim at Mr. Dinks as he drained it. + +"Yes," returned the Honorable Mr. Dinks, "I don't go to women's dinners." + +He seemed entirely unconscious that he was conversing with the brother of +the young lady with whom his son had eloped. Abel smiled to himself. + +"I suppose," said he, "we ought to congratulate each other, Mr. Dinks." + +The honorable gentleman looked at Abel, paused a moment, then said: + +"My son marries at his own risk. Sir. He is of years of discretion, I +believe, and having an income of only six hundred dollars a year, which +I allow him, I presume he would not marry without some security upon the +other side. However, Sir, as that is his affair, and as I do not find it +very interesting--no offense, Sir, for I shall always be happy to see my +daughter-in-law--we had better, perhaps, find some other topic. The art +of life, my young friend, is to avoid what is disagreeable. Don't you +think Mr. Ele quite a remarkable man? I regard him as an honor to your +State, Sir." + +"A very great honor, Sir, and all the gentlemen at this charming dinner +are honors to the States from which they come, and to our common country, +Mr. Dinks. We younger men are content to dine upon veal and spring +chickens so long as we know that such intellects have the guidance +of public affairs." + +Mr. Abel Newt bowed to Mr. Dinks as he spoke, while that gentleman +listened with the stately gravity with which a President of the United +States hears the Latin oration in which he is made a Doctor of Laws. He +bowed in reply to the little speech of Abel's, as if he desired to return +thanks for the combined intellects that had been complimented. + +"And yet, Sir," continued Abel, "if my father should unhappily conceive a +prejudice in regard to this elopement, and decline to know any thing of +the happy pair, six hundred dollars, in the present liberal style of life +incumbent upon a man who has moved in the circles to which your son has +been accustomed, would be a very limited income for your son and +daughter-in-law--very limited." + +Abel lighted another cigar. Mr. Dinks was a little confounded by the +sudden lurch of the conversation. + +"Very, very," he replied, as if he were entirely loth to linger upon the +subject. + +"The father of the lady in these cases is very apt to be obdurate," said +Abel. + +"I think very likely," replied Mr. Dinks, with the polite air of a man +assenting to an axiom in a science of which, unfortunately, he has not +the slightest knowledge. + +"Now, Sir," persisted Abel, "I will not conceal from you--for I know a +father's heart will wish to know to what his son is exposed--that my +father is in quite a frenzy about this affair." + +"Oh! he'll get over it," interrupted Mr. Dinks, complacently. "They +always do; and now, don't you think that we had better--" + +"Exactly," struck in the other. "But I, who know my father well, know +that he will not relent. Oh, Sir, it is dreadful to think of a family +divided!" Abel puffed for a moment in silence. "But I think my dearest +father loves me enough to allow me to mould him a little. If, for +instance, I could say to him that Mr. Dinks would contribute say fifteen +hundred dollars a year, until Mr. Alfred comes into his fortune, I think +in that case I might persuade him to advance as much; and so, Sir, your +son and my dear sister might live somewhat as they have been accustomed, +and their mutual affection would sustain them, I doubt not, until the +grandfather died. Then all would be right." + +Abel blew his nose as if to command his emotion, and looked at Mr. Dinks. + +"Mr. Newt, I should prefer to drop the subject. I can not afford to give +my son a larger allowance. I doubt if he ever gets a cent from Mr. Burt, +who is not his grandfather, but only the uncle of my wife. Possibly Mrs. +Dinks may receive something. I repeat that I presume my son understands +what he is about. If he has done a foolish thing, I am sorry. I hope he +has not. Let us drink to the prosperity of the romantic young pair, Sir." + +"With all my heart," said Abel. + +He was satisfied. He had come to the dinner that he might discover, +in the freedom of soul which follows a feast, what Alfred Dinks's +prospects really were, and what his father would do for him. Boniface +Newt, upon coming to the store after the _tête-à-tête_ with his wife, +had told Abel of his sister's marriage. Abel had comforted his parent +by the representation of the probable Burt inheritance. But the father +was skeptical. Therefore, when General Arcularius Belch requested the +pleasure of Mr. Abel Newt's company at dinner, to meet the Honorable +B. Jawley Ele--an invitation which was dictated by General Belch's +desire to stand well with Boniface Newt, who contributed generously +to the expenses of the party--the father and son both perceived the +opportunity of discovering what they wished. + +"Mr. and Mrs. Alfred Dinks will have six hundred a year, as long as papa +Dinks chooses to pay it," said Abel to his father the day after the +dinner. + +Mr. Newt clenched his teeth and struck his fist upon the table. + +"Not a cent shall they have from me!" cried he. "What the devil does a +girl mean, by this kind of thing?" + +Abel was not discomposed. He did not clench his teeth or strike his fist. + +"I tell you what they can do, father," said he. + +His father looked at him inquiringly. + +"They can take Mr. and Mrs. Tom Witchet to board." + +Mr. Newt remembered every thing he had said of Mr. Van Boozenberg. But +of late, his hair was growing very gray, his brow very wrinkled, his +expression very anxious and weary. When he remembered the old banker, +it was with no self-reproach that he himself was now doing what, in the +banker's case, he had held up to Abel's scorn. It was only to remember +that the wary old man had shut down the portcullis of the bank vaults, +and that loans were getting to be almost impossible. His face darkened. +He swore a sharp oath. "That--old villain!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +CLEARING AND CLOUDY. + + +It was summer again, and Aunt Martha sat sewing in the hardest of wooden +chairs, erect, motionless. Yet all the bleakness of the room was +conquered by the victorious bloom of Amy's cheeks, and the tender +maidenliness of Amy's manner, and the winning, human, sympathetic +sweetness which was revealed in every word and look of Amy, who sat +beside her aunt, talking. + +"Amy, Lawrence Newt has been here." + +The young woman looked almost troubled. + +"No, Amy, I know you did not tell him," said Aunt Martha. "I was all +alone here, as usual, and heard a knock. I cried, 'Who's there?' for +I was afraid to open the door, lest I should see some old friend. 'A +friend,' was the reply. My knees trembled, Amy. I thought the time had +come for me to be exposed to the world, that the divine wrath might be +fulfilled in my perfect shame. I had no right to resist, and said, +'Come in!' The door opened, and a man entered whom I did not at first +recognize. He looked at me for a moment kindly--so kindly, that it seemed +to me as if a gentle hand were laid upon my head. Then he said, 'Martha +Darro.' 'I am ready,' I answered. But he came to me and took my hand, +and said, 'Why, Martha, have you forgotten Lawrence Newt?'" + +She stopped in her story, and leaned back in her chair. The work fell +from her thin fingers, and she wept--soft tears, like a spring rain. + +"Well?" said Amy, after a few moments, and her hand had taken Aunt +Martha's, but she let it go again when she saw that it helped her to +tell the story if she worked. + +"He said he had seen you at the window one day, and he was resolved to +find out what brought you into Front Street. But before he could make up +his mind to come, he chanced to see me at the same window, and then he +waited no longer." + +The tone was more natural than Amy had ever heard from Aunt Martha's +lips. She remarked that the severity of her costume was unchanged, except +that a little strip of white collar around the throat somewhat alleviated +its dense gloom. Was it Amy's fancy merely that the little line of white +was symbolical, and that she saw a more human light in her aunt's eyes +and upon her face? + +"Well?" said Amy again, after another pause. + +The solemn woman did not immediately answer, but went on sewing, and +rocking her body as she did so. Amy waited patiently until her aunt +should choose to answer. She waited the more patiently because she was +telling herself who it was that had brought that softer light into the +face, if, indeed, it were really there. She was thinking why he had been +curious to know the reason that she had come into that room. She was +remembering a hundred little incidents which had revealed his constant +interest in all her comings, and goings, and doings; and therefore she +started when Aunt Martha, still rocking and sewing, said, quietly, + +"Why did Lawrence Newt care what brought you here?" + +"I'm sure I don't know, Aunt Martha." + +Miss Amy looked as indifferent as she could, knowing that her companion +was studying her face. And it was a study that companion relentlessly +pursued, until Amy remarked that Lawrence Newt was such a generous +gentleman that he could get wind of no distress but he instantly looked +to see if he could relieve it. + +Finding the theme fertile, Amy Waring, looking, with tender eyes at her +relative, continued. + +And yet with all the freedom with which she told the story of Lawrence +Newt's large heart, there was an unusual softness and shyness in her +appearance. The blithe glance was more drooping. The clear, ringing voice +was lower. The words that generally fell with such a neat, crisp +articulation from her lips now lingered upon them as if they were somehow +honeyed, and so flowed more smoothly and more slowly. She told of her +first encounter with Mr. Newt at the Widow Simmers's--she told of all +that she had heard from her cousin, Gabriel Bennet. + +"Indeed, Aunt Martha, I should like to have every body think of me as +kindly as he thinks of every body." + +She had been speaking for some time. When she stopped, Aunt Martha said, +quietly, + +"But, Amy, although you have told me how charitable he is, you have not +told me why he wanted to come here because he saw you at the window." + +"I suppose," replied Amy, "it was because he thought there must be +somebody to relieve here." + +"Don't you suppose he thinks there is somebody to relieve in the next +house, and the next, and has been ever since he has had an office in +South Street?" + +Amy felt very warm, and replied, carelessly, that she thought it was +quite likely. + +"I have plenty of time to think up here, my child," continued Aunt +Martha. "God is so good that He has spared my reason, and I have +satisfied myself why Lawrence Newt wanted to come here." + +Amy sat without replying, as if she were listening to distant music. Her +head drooped slightly forward; her hands were clasped in her lap; the +delicate color glimmered upon her cheek, now deepening, now paling. The +silence was exquisite, but she must break it. + +"Why?" said she, in a low voice. + +"Because he loves you, Amy," said the dark woman, as her busy fingers +stitched without pausing. + +Amy Waring was perfectly calm. The words seemed to give her soul +delicious peace, and she waited to hear what her aunt would say next. + +"I know that he loves you, from the way in which he spoke of you. I know +that you love him for the same reason." + +Aunt Martha went on working and rocking. Amy turned pale. She had not +dared to say to herself what another had now said to her. But suddenly +she started as if stung. "If Aunt Martha has seen this so plainly, why +may not Lawrence Newt have seen it?" The apprehension frightened her. + +A long silence followed the last words of Aunt Martha. She did not look +at Amy, for she had no external curiosity to satisfy, and she understood +well enough what Amy was thinking. + +They were still silent, when there was a knock at the door. + +"Come in," said the clear, hard voice of Aunt Martha. + +The door opened--the two women looked--and Lawrence Newt walked into the +room. He shook hands with Aunt Martha, and then turned to Amy. + +"This time, Miss Amy, I have caught you. Have I not kept your secret +well?" + +Amy was thinking of another secret than Aunt Martha's living in Front +Street, and she merely blushed, without speaking. + +"I tried very hard to persuade myself to come up here after I saw you at +the window. But I did not until the secret looked out of the window and +revealed itself. I came to-day to say that I am going out of town in a +day or two, and that I should like, before I go, to know that I may do +what I can to take Aunt Martha out of this place." + +Aunt Martha shook her head slowly. "Why should it be?" said she. "Great +sin must be greatly punished. To die, while I live; to be buried alive +close to my nearest and dearest; to know that my sister thinks of me as +dead, and is glad that I am so--" + +"Stop, Aunt Martha, stop!" cried Amy, with the same firm tone in which, +upon a previous visit, in this room, she had dismissed the insolent +shopman, "how can you say such things?" and she stood radiant before +her aunt, while Lawrence Newt looked on. + +"Amy, dear, you can not understand. Sons and daughters of evil, when we +see that we have sinned, we must be brave enough to assist in our own +punishment. God's mercy enables me tranquilly to suffer the penalty which +his justice awards me. My path is very plain. Please God, I shall walk +in it." + +She said it very slowly, and solemnly, and sadly. Whatever her offense +was, she had invested her situation with the dignity of a religious duty. +It was clear that her idea of obedience to God was to do precisely what +she was doing. And this was so deeply impressed upon Amy Waring's mind +that she was perplexed how to act. She knew that if her aunt suspected +in her any intention of revealing the secret of her abode, she would +disappear at once, and elude all search. And to betray it while it was +unreservedly confided to her was impossible for Amy, even if she had not +solemnly promised not to do so. + +Observing that Amy meant to say nothing, Lawrence Newt turned to Aunt +Martha. + +"I will not quarrel with what you say, but I want you to grant me a +request." + +Aunt Martha bowed, as if waiting to see if she could grant it. + +"If it is not unreasonable, will you grant it?" + +"I will," said she. + +"Well, now please, I want you to go next Sunday and hear a man preach +whom I am very fond of hearing, and who has been of the greatest service +to me." + +"Who is it?" + +"First, do you ever go to church?" + +"Always." + +"Where?" + +Aunt Martha did not directly reply. She was lost in reverie. + +"It is a youth like an angel," said she at length, with an air of +curious excitement, as if talking to herself. "His voice is music, but +it strikes my soul through and through, and I am frightened and in agony, +as if I had been pierced with the flaming sword that waves over the +gate of Paradise. The light of his words makes my sin blacker and more +loathsome. Oh! what crowds there are! How he walks upon a sea of sinners, +with their uplifted faces, like waves white with terror! How fierce his +denunciation! How sweet the words of promise he speaks! 'The sacrifices +of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O God, thou +wilt not despise.'" + +She had risen from her chair, and stood with her eyes lifted in a +singular condition of mental exaltation, which gave a lyrical tone and +flow to her words. + +"That is Summerfield," said Lawrence Newt. "Yes, he is a wonderful youth. +I have heard him myself, and thought that I saw the fire of Whitfield, +and heard the sweetness of Charles Wesley. I have been into the old John +Street meeting-house, where the crowds hung out at the windows and doors +like swarming bees clustered upon a hive. He swayed them as a wind bends +a grain-field, Miss Amy. He swept them away like a mountain stream. He +is an Irishman, with all the fervor of Irish genius. But," continued +Lawrence Newt, turning again to Aunt Martha, "it is a very different +man I want you to hear." + +She looked at him inquiringly. + +"His name is Channing. He comes from Boston." + +"Does he preach the truth?" she asked. + +"I think he does," answered Lawrence, gravely. + +"Does he drive home the wrath of God upon the sinful, rebellious soul?" +exclaimed she, raising both hands with the energy of her words. + +"He preaches the Gospel of Christ," said Lawrence Newt, quietly; "and I +think you will like him, and that he will do you good. He is called--" + +"I don't care what he is called," interrupted Aunt Martha, "if he makes +me feel my sin." + +"That you will discover for yourself," replied Lawrence, smiling. "He +makes me feel mine." + +Aunt Martha, whose ecstasy had passed, seated herself, and said she would +go, as Mr. Newt requested, on the condition that neither he nor Amy, if +they were there, would betray that they knew her. + +This was readily promised, and Amy and Lawrence Newt left the room +together. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +WALKING HOME. + + +"Miss Amy," said Lawrence Newt, as they walked slowly toward Fulton +Street, "I hope that gradually we may overcome this morbid state of mind +in your aunt, and restore her to her home." + +Amy said she hoped so too, and walked quietly by his side. There was +something almost humble in her manner. Her secret was her own no longer. +Was it Lawrence Newt's? Had she indeed betrayed herself? + +"I didn't say why I was going out of town. Yet I ought to tell you," said +he. + +"Why should you tell me?" she answered, quickly. + +"Because it concerns our friend Hope Wayne," said Lawrence. "See, here is +the note which I received this morning." + +As he spoke he opened it, and read aloud: + +"MY DEAR MR. NEWT,--Mrs. Simcoe writes me that grandfather has had a +stroke of paralysis, and lies very ill. Aunt Dinks has, therefore, +resolved to leave on Monday, and I shall go with her. She seems very much +affected, indeed, by the news. Mrs. Simcoe writes that the doctor says +grandfather will hardly live more than a few days, and she wishes you +could go on with us. I know that you have some kind of association with +Pinewood--you have not told me what. In this summer weather you will find +it very beautiful; and you know how glad I shall be to have you for my +guest. My guest, I say; for while grandfather lies so dangerously ill I +must be what my mother would have been--mistress of the house. I shall +hardly feel more lonely than I always did when he was active, for we had +but little intercourse. In case of his death, which I suppose to be very +near, I shall not care to live at the old place. In fact, I do not very +clearly see what I am to do. But there is One who does; and I remember my +dear old nurse's hymn, 'On Thee I cast my care.' Come, if you can. + +"Your friend, + +"HOPE WAYNE." + +Lawrence Newt and Amy walked on for some time in silence. At length Amy +said, + +"It is just one of the cases in which it is a pity she is not married or +engaged." + +"Isn't that always a pity for a young woman?" asked Lawrence, shooting +entirely away from the subject. + +"Theoretically, yes," replied Amy, firmly, "but not actually. It may be +a pity that every woman is not married; but it might be a greater pity +that she should marry any of the men who ask her." + +"Of course," said Lawrence Newt, dryly, "if she didn't love him." + +"Yes, and sometimes even if she did." + +Amy Waring was conscious that her companion looked at her in surprise as +she said this, but she fixed her eyes directly before her, and walked +straight on. + +"Oh yes," said Mr. Newt; "I see. You mean when he does not love her." + +"No, I mean sometimes even when they do love each other," said the +resolute Amy. + +Lawrence Newt was alarmed. "Does she mean to convey to me delicately that +there may be cases of true mutual love where it is better not to marry?" +thought he. "Where, for instance, there is a difference of age perhaps, +or where there has been some other and earlier attachment?" + +"I mean," said Amy, as if answering his thoughts, "that there may +sometimes be reasons why even lovers should not marry--reasons which +every noble man and woman understand; and therefore I do not agree +with you that it is always a pity for a girl not to be married." + +Lawrence Newt said nothing. Amy Waring's voice almost trembled with +emotion, for she knew that her companion might easily misunderstand what +she said; and yet there was no way to help it. At any rate, thought she, +he will see that I do not mean to drop into his arms. + +They walked silently on. The people in the street passed them like +spectres. The great city hummed around them unheard. Lawrence Newt said +to himself, half bitterly, "So you have waked up at last, have you? You +have found that because a beautiful young woman is kind to you, it does +not follow that she will one day be your wife." + +Neither spoke. "She sees," thought Lawrence Newt, "that I love her, and +she wishes to spare me the pain of hearing that it is in vain." + +"At least," he thought, with tenderness and longing toward the beautiful +girl that walked beside him--"at least, I was not mistaken. She was +nobler and lovelier than I supposed." + +At length he said, + +"I have written to ask Hope Wayne to go and hear my preacher to-morrow. +Miss Amy, will you go too?" + +She looked at him and bowed. Her eyes were glistening with tears. + +"My dearest Miss Amy," said Lawrence Newt, impetuously, seizing her hand, +as her face turned toward him. + +"Oh! please, Mr. Newt--please--" she answered, hastily, in a tone of +painful entreaty, withdrawing her hand from his grasp, confused and very +pale. + +The words died upon his lips. + +"Forgive me--forgive me!" he said, with an air of surprise and sadness, +and with a voice trembling with tenderness and respect. "She can not bear +to give me the pain of plainly saying that she does not love me," thought +Lawrence; and he gently took her hand and laid her arm in his, as if to +show that now they understood each other perfectly, and all was well. + +"At least, Miss Amy," he said, by-and-by, tranquilly, and with the old +cheerfulness, "at least we shall be friends." + +Amy Waring bent her head and was silent. It seemed to her that she was +suffocating, for his words apprised her how strangely he had mistaken her +meaning. + +They said nothing more. Arm in arm they passed up Broadway. Every moment +Amy Waring supposed the merchant would take leave of her and return to +his office. But every moment he was farther from doing it. Abel Newt and +Grace Plumer passed them, and opened their eyes; and Grace said to Abel, + +"How long has Amy Waring been engaged to your Uncle Lawrence?" + +When they reached Amy's door Lawrence Newt raised her hand, bent over it +with quaint, courtly respect, held it a moment, then pressed it to his +lips. He looked up at her. She was standing on the step; her full, dark +eyes, swimming with moisture, were fixed upon his; her luxuriant hair +curled over her clear, rich cheeks--youth, love, and beauty, they were +all there. Lawrence Newt could hardly believe they were not all his. It +was so natural to think so. Somehow he and Amy had grown together. He +understood her perfectly. + +"Perfectly?" he said to himself. "Why you are holding her hand; you are +kissing it with reverence; you are looking into the face which is dearer +and lovelier to you than all other human faces; and you are as far off as +if oceans rolled between." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +CHURCH GOING. + + +The Sunday bells rang loud from river to river. Loud and sharp they rang +in the clear, still air of the summer morning, as if the voice of +Everardus Bogardus, the old Dominie of New Amsterdam, were calling the +people in many tones to be up and stirring, and eat breakfast, and wash +the breakfast things, and be in your places early, with bowed heads and +reverend minds, and demurely hear me tell you what sinners you always +have been and always will be, so help me God--I, Everardus Bogardus, in +the clear summer morning, ding, dong, bell, amen! + +So mused Arthur Merlin, between sleeping and waking, as the bells rang +out, loud and low--distant and near--flowing like a rushing, swelling +tide of music along the dark inlets of narrow streets--touching arid +hearts with hope, as the rising water touches dry spots with green. Come +you, too, out of your filthy holes and hovels--come to church as in the +days when you were young and had mothers, and you, grisly, drunken, +blear-eyed thief, lisped in your little lessons--come, all of you, come! +The day has dawned; the air is pure; the hammer rests--come and repent, +and be renewed, and be young again. The old, weary, restless, debauched, +defeated world--it shall sing and dance. You shall be lambs. I see the +dawn of the millennium on the heights of Hoboken--yea, even out of the +Jerseys shall a good thing come! It is I who tell you--it is I who order +you--I, Everardus Bogardus, Dominie of New Amsterdam--ding, dong, bell, +amen! + +The streets were quiet and deserted. A single hack rattled under his +window, and Arthur could hear its lessening sound until it was lost in +the sweet clangor of the bells. He lay in bed, and did not see the people +in the street; but he heard the shuffling and the slouching, the dragging +step and the bright, quick footfall. There were gay bonnets and black +hats already stirring--early worshippers at the mass at St. Peter's or +St. Patrick's--but the great population of the city was at home. + +Except, among the rest, a young man who comes hastily out of Thiel's, +over Stewart's--a young man of flowing black hair and fiery black eyes, +which look restlessly and furtively up and down Broadway, which seems to +the young man odiously and unnaturally bright. He gains the street with a +bound. He hurries along, restless, disordered, excited--the black eyes +glancing anxiously about, as if he were jealous of any that should see +his yesterday was not over, and that somehow his wild, headlong night had +been swept into the serene, open bay of morning. He hurries up the +street; tossing many thoughts together--calculating his losses, for the +black-haired young man has lost heavily at Thiel's faro-table--wondering +about payments--remembering that it is Sunday morning, and that he is to +attend a young lady from the South to church--a young lady whose father +has millions, if universal understanding be at all correct--thinking of +revenge at the table, of certain books full of figures in a certain +counting-room, and the story they tell--story known to not half a dozen +people in the world; the black-eyed youth, in evening dress, alert, +graceful, but now meandering and gliding swiftly like a snake, darts up +Broadway, and does not seem to hear the bells, whose first stroke +startled him as he sat at play, and which are now ringing strange changes +in the peaceful air: Come, Newt! Come, Newt! Abel Newt! Come, Newt! It is +I, Everardus, Dominie Bogardus--come, come, come! and be d----d, ding, +dong, bell, amen-n-n-n! + +Later in the morning the bells rang again. The house doors opened, and +the sidewalk swarmed with well-dressed people. Boniface Newt and his wife +sedately proceeded to church--not a new bonnet escaping Mrs. Nancy, while +May walked tranquilly behind--like an angel going home, as Gabriel Bennet +said in his heart when he passed her with his sister Ellen leaning on his +arm. The Van Boozenberg carriage rolled along the street, conveying Mr. +and Mrs. Jacob to meditate upon heavenly things. Mrs. Dagon and Mrs. Orry +passed, and bowed sweetly, on their way to learn how to love their +neighbors as themselves. And among the rest walked Lawrence Newt with +Amy Waring, and Arthur Merlin with Hope Wayne. + +The painter had heard the voice of the Dominie Bogardus, which his fancy +had heard in the air; or was he obeying another Dominie, of a wider +parish, whose voice he heard in his heart? It was not often that the +painter went to church. More frequently, in his little studio at the top +of a house in Fulton Street, he sat smoking meditative cigars during the +Sunday hours; or, if the day were auspicious, even touching his canvas! + +In vain his sober friends remonstrated. Aunt Winnifred, with whom he +lived, was never weary of laboring with him. She laid good books upon the +table in his chamber. He returned late at night, often, and found little +tracts upon his bureau, upon the chair in which he usually laid his +clothes when he retired--yes, even upon his pillow. "Aunt Winnifred's +piety leaves its tracts all over my room," he said, smilingly, to +Lawrence Newt. + +But when the good lady openly attacked him, and said, + +"Arthur, how can you? What will people think? Why don't you go to +church?" + +Arthur replied, with entire coolness, + +"Aunt Winnifred, what's the use of going to church when Van Boozenberg +goes, and is not in the least discomposed? I'm afraid of the morality of +such a place!" + +Aunt Winnifred's eyes dilated with horror. She had no argument to throw +at Arthur in return, and that reckless fellow always had to help her out. + +"However, dear aunt, you go; and I suppose you ought to be quite as good +a reason for going as Van Boozenberg for staying away." + +After such a conversation it fairly rained tracts in Arthur's room. The +shower was only the signal for fresh hostilities upon his part; but for +all the hostility Aunt Winnifred was not able to believe her nephew to +be a very bad young man. + +As he and his friends passed up Broadway toward Chambers Street they met +Abel Newt hastening down to Bunker's to accompany Miss Plumer to Grace +Church. The young man had bathed and entirely refreshed himself during +the hour or two since he had stepped out of Thiel's. There was not a +better-dressed man upon Broadway; and many a hospitable feminine eye +opened to entertain him as long and as much as possible as he passed by. +He had an unusual flush in his cheek and spring in his step. Perhaps he +was excited by the novelty of mixing in a throng of church-goers. He +had not done such a thing since on summer Sunday mornings he used to +stroll with the other boys along the broad village road, skirted with +straggling houses, to Dr. Peewee's. Heavens! in what year was that? he +thought, unconsciously. Am I a hundred years old? On those mornings he +used to see--Precisely the person he saw at the moment the thought +crossed his mind--Hope Wayne--who bowed to him as he passed her party. +How much calmer, statelier, and more softly superior she was than in +those old Delafield days! + +She remembered, too; and as the lithe, graceful figure of the handsome +and fascinating Mr. Abel Newt bent in passing, Arthur Merlin, who felt, +at the instant Abel passed, as if his own feet were very large, and his +clothes ugly, and his movement stupidly awkward--felt, in fact, as if he +looked like a booby--Arthur Merlin observed that his companion went on +speaking, that she did not change color, and that her voice was neither +hurried nor confused. + +Why did the young painter, as he observed these little things, feel as if +the sun shone with unusual splendor? Why did he think he had never heard +a bird sing so sweetly as one that hung at an open window they passed? +Nay, why in that moment was he almost willing to paint Abel Newt as the +Endymion of his great picture? + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +IN CHURCH. + + +They turned into Chambers Street, in which was the little church where +Dr. Channing was to preach. Lawrence Newt led the way up the aisle to +his pew. The congregation, which was usually rather small, to-day quite +filled the church. There was a general air of intelligence and shrewdness +in the faces, which were chiefly of the New England type. Amy Waring +saw no one she had ever seen before. In fact, there were but few present +in whose veins New England blood did not run, except some curious hearers +who had come from a natural desire to see and hear a celebrated man. + +When our friends entered the church a slow, solemn voluntary was playing +upon the organ. The congregation sat quietly in the pews. Chairs and +benches were brought to accommodate the increasing throng. Presently the +house was full. The bustle and distraction of entering were over--there +was nothing heard but the organ. + +In a few moments a slight man, wrapped in a black silk gown, slowly +ascended the pulpit stairs, and, before seating himself, stood for a +moment looking down at the congregation. His face was small, and thin, +and pale; but there was a pure light, an earnest, spiritual sweetness +in the eyes--the irradiation of an anxious soul--as they surveyed the +people. After a few moments the music stopped. There was perfect silence +in the crowded church. Then, moving like a shadow to the desk, the +preacher, in a voice that was in singular harmony with the expression +of his face, began to read a hymn. His voice had a remarkable cadence, +rising and falling with yearning tenderness and sober pathos. It seemed +to impart every feeling, every thought, every aspiration of the hymn. +It was full of reverence, gratitude, longing, and resignation: + +"While Thee I seek, protecting Power, + Be my vain wishes stilled; +And may this consecrated hour + With better hopes be filled." + +When he had read it and sat down again, Hope Wayne felt as if a religious +service had already been performed. + +The simplicity, and fervor, and long-drawn melody with which he had read +the hymn apparently inspired the choir with sympathy, and after a few +notes from the organ they began to sing an old familiar tune. It was +taken up by the congregation until the church trembled with the sound, +and the saunterers in the street outside involuntarily ceased laughing +and talking, and, touched by some indefinable association, raised their +hats and stood bareheaded in the sunlight, while the solemn music filled +the air. + +The hymn was sung, the prayer was offered, the chapter was read; then, +after a little silence, that calm, refined, anxious, pale, yearning face +appeared again at the desk. The preacher balanced himself for a few +moments alternately upon each foot--moved his tongue, as if tasting the +words he was about to utter--and announced his text: "Peace I leave with +you: my peace I give unto you." + +He began in the same calm, simple way. A natural, manly candor certified +the truth of every word he spoke. The voice--at first high in tone, and +swinging, as it were, in long, wave-like inflections--grew gradually +deeper, and more equally sustained. There was very little movement of +the hands or arms; only now and then the finger was raised, or the hand +gently spread and waved. As he warmed in his discourse a kind of +celestial grace glimmered about his person, and his pale, thoughtful face +kindled and beamed with holy light. His sentences were entirely simple. +There was no rhetoric, no declamation or display. Yet the soul of the +hearer seemed to be fused in a spiritual eloquence which, like a white +flame, burned all the personality of the speaker away. The people sat +as if they were listening to a disembodied soul. + +But the appeal and the argument were never to passion, or prejudice, or +mere sensibility. Fear and horror, and every kind of physical emotion, so +to say, were impossible in the calmness and sweetness of the assurance of +the Divine presence. It was a Father whose message the preacher brought. +Like as a father so the Lord pitieth His children, said he, in tones that +trickled like tears over the hearts of his hearers, although his voice +was equable and unbroken. He went on to show what the children of such a +Father must needs be--to show that, however sinful, and erring, and lost, +yet the Father had sent to tell them that the doctrine of wrath was of +old time; that the eye for the eye, and the tooth for the tooth, was +the teaching of an imperfect knowledge; that a faith which was truly +childlike knew the Creator only as a parent; and that out of such faith +alone arose the life that was worthy of him. + +Wandering princes are we! cried the preacher, with a profound ecstasy +and exultation in his tone, while the very light of heaven shone in his +aspect--wandering princes are we, sons of the Great King. In foreign +lands outcast and forlorn, groveling with the very swine in the mire, and +pining for the husks that the swine do eat; envying, defying, hating, +forgetting--but never hated nor forgot; in the depths of our rage, and +impotence, and sin--in the darkest moment of our moral death, when we +would crucify the very image of that Parent who pities us--there is one +voice deeper and sweeter than all music, the voice of our elder brother +pleading with that common Father--"Forgive them, forgive them, for they +know not what they do!" + +He sat down, but the congregation did not move. Leaning forward, with +upraised eyes glistening with tears and beaming with sympathy, with hope, +with quickened affection, they sat motionless, seemingly unwilling to +destroy the holy calm in which, with him, they had communed with their +Father. There were those in the further part of the church who did not +hear; but their mouths were open with earnest attention; their eyes +glittered with moisture; for they saw afar off that slight, rapt figure; +and so strong was the common sympathy of the audience that they seemed to +feel what they could not hear. + +Lawrence Newt did not look round for Aunt Martha. But he thought of her +listening to the discourse, as one thinks of dry fields in a saturating +summer rain. She sat through the whole--black, immovable, silent. The +people near her looked at her compassionately. They thought she was an +inconsolable widow, or a Rachel refusing comfort. Nor, had they watched +her, could they have told if she had heard any thing to comfort or +relieve her sorrow. From the first word to the last she gazed fixedly at +the speaker. With the rest she rose and went out. But as she passed by +the pulpit stairs she looked up for a moment at that pallid face, and a +finer eye than any human saw that she longed, like another woman of old +looking at another teacher, to kiss the hem of his garment. Oh! not by +earthquake nor by lightning, but by the soft touch of angels at midnight, +is the stone rolled away from the door of the sepulchre. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +IN ANOTHER CHURCH. + + +While thus one body of Christian believers worshipped, another was +assembled in the Methodist chapel in John Street, where Aunt Martha +usually went. + +A vast congregation crowded every part of the church. They swarmed upon +the pulpit stairs, upon the gallery railings, and wherever a foot could +press itself to stand, or room be found to sit. As the young preacher, +Summerfield, rose in the pulpit, every eye in the throng turned to him +and watched his slight, short figure--his sweet blue eye, and his face of +earnest expression and a kind of fiery sweetness. He closed his eyes and +lifted his hands in prayer; and the great responsibility of speaking to +that multitude of human beings of their most momentous interests +evidently so filled and possessed him, that in the prayer he seemed to +yearn for strength and the gifts of grace so earnestly--he cried, so as +if his heart were bursting, "Help, Lord, or I perish!" that the great +congregation, murmuring with sobs, with gasps and sighs, echoed solemnly, +as if it had but one voice, and it were muffled in tears, "Help, Lord, or +I perish!" + +When the prayer was ended a hymn was sung by all the people, to a quick, +martial melody, and seemed to leave them nervously awake to whatever +should be said. The preacher, with the sweet boyish face, began his +sermon gently, and in a winning voice. There was a kind of caressing +persuasion in his whole manner that magnetized the audience. He grew +more and more impassioned as he advanced, while the people sat +open-mouthed, and responding at intervals, "Amen!" + +"Ah! sinner, sinner, it is he, our God, who shoots us through and +through with the sharp sweetness of his power. It is our God who +scatters the arrows of his wrath; but they are winged with the plumes +of the dove, the feathers of softness, and the Gospel. Oh! the promises! +the promises!--Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and +I will give you rest. Yes, patriarch of white hairs, of wasted cheeks, +and tottering step! the burden bears you down almost to the ground +to-day--into the ground to-morrow. Here stands the Judge to give you +rest. Yes, mother of sad eyes and broken spirit! whose long life is a +sorrowful vigil, waiting upon the coming of wicked sons, of deceitful +daughters--weary, weary, and heavy laden with tribulation, here is the +Comforter who shall give you rest. And you, young man, and you, young +maiden, sitting here to-day in the plenitude of youth, and hope, and +love, Remember your Creator in the days of your youth, for the dark day +cometh--yea, it is at hand!" + +So fearfully did his voice, and look, and manner express apprehension, as +if something were about to fall upon the congregation, that there was a +sudden startled cry of terror. There were cries of "Lord! Lord! have +mercy!" Smothered shrieks and sobs filled the air; pale faces stared at +each other like spectres. People fell upon their knees, and cried out +that they felt the power of the Lord. "My soul sinks in deep waters, +Selah;" cried the preacher, "but they are the waters of grace and faith, +and I am convicted of all my sins." Then pausing a moment, while the vast +crowd swayed and shook with the tumult of emotion, with his arms +outspread, the veins on his forehead swollen, and the light flashing in +his eyes, he raised his arms and eyes to heaven, and said, with +inexpressible sweetness, in tones which seemed to trickle with balm into +the very soul, as soft spring rains ooze into the ground, "Yea, it is at +hand, but so art thou! Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly; and when youth, +and hope, and love have become dead weights and burdens in these young +hearts, teach them how to feel the peace that passeth understanding. Draw +them to thee, for they, wearily labor: they are heavily laden, gracious +Father! Oh, give them rest!" + +"Come!" he exclaimed, "freely come! It is the eternal spring of living +water. It is your life, and it flows for you. Come! come! it is the good +shepherd who calls his flock to wander by the still waters and in the +green pastures. Will you abide outside? Then, woe! woe! when the night +cometh, and the shepherd folds his flock, and you are not there. Will +you seek Philosophy, and confide in that? It is a ravening wolf, and ere +morning you are consumed. Will you lean on human pride--on your own +sufficiency? It is a broken reed, and your fall will be forever fatal. +Will you say there is no God?"--his voice sank into a low, menacing +whisper--"will you say there is no God?" He raised his hands warningly, +and shook them over the congregation while he lowered his voice. "Hush! +hush! lest he hear--lest he mark--lest the great Jehovah"--his voice +swelling suddenly into loud, piercing tones--"Maker of heaven and earth, +Judge of the quick and the dead, the Alpha and the Omega, the Beginning +and the End, the eternal Godhead from everlasting to everlasting, should +know that you, pitiable, crawling worm--that you, corrupt in nature and +conceived in sin! child of wrath and of the devil! say that there is no +God! Woe, woe! for the Judge cometh! Woe, woe! for the gnashing of teeth +and the outer darkness! Woe, woe! for those who crucified him, and +buffeted him, and pierced him with thorns! Woe, woe! for the Lord our +God is a just God, slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy. But oh! when +the day of mercy is past! Oh! for the hour--sinner, sinner, beware! +beware!--when that anger rises like an ingulfing fiery sea, and sweeps +thee away forever!" + +It seemed as if the sea had burst into the building; for the congregation +half rose, and a smothered cry swept over the people. Many rose upright +with clasped hands and cried, "Hallelujah!" "Praise be to God!" Others +lay cowering and struggling upon the seats; others sobbed and gazed with +frantic earnestness at the face of the young apostle. Children with +frightened eyes seized the cold hands of their mothers. Some fainted, but +could not be borne out, so solid was the throng. Their neighbors loosened +their garments and fanned them, repeating snatches of hymns, and waiting +for the next word of the preacher. "The Lord is dealing with his people," +they said; "convicting sinners, and calling the lost sheep home." + +The preacher stood as if lifted by an inward power, beholding with joy +the working of the Word, but with a total unconsciousness of himself. The +young man seemed meek and lowly while he was about his Father's business. +And after waiting for a few moments, the music of his voice poured out +peace upon that awakened throng. + +"'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give +you rest.' Yes, fellow-sinners, rest. For all of us, rest. For the +weariest, rest. For you who, just awakened, tremble in doubt, rest. For +you, young woman, who despairest of heaven, rest. For you, young man, so +long in the bondage of sin, rest. Oh! that I had the wings of a dove, +for then would I fly away and be at rest. Brother, sister, it shall be +so. To your weary soul those wings shall be fitted. Far from the world of +grief and sin, of death and disappointment, you shall fly away. Deep in +the bosom of your God, you shall be at rest. That dove is his holy grace. +Those wings are his tender promises. That rest is the peace of heaven. + +"Come, O thou all-victorious Lord, + Thy power to us make known; + Strike with the hammer of thy word, + And break these hearts of stone. + +"Oh that we all might now begin + Our foolishness to mourn; + And turn at once from every sin, + And to the Saviour turn. + +"Give us ourselves and thee to know, + In this our gracious day: + Repentance unto life bestow, + And take our sins away. + +"Convince us first of unbelief, + And freely then release; + Fill every soul with sacred grief, + And then with sacred peace." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +DEATH. + + +The clover-blossom perfumed the summer air. The scythe and the sickle +still hung in the barn. Grass and grain swayed and whispered and sparkled +in the sun and wind. June loitered upon all the gentle hills, and +peaceful meadows, and winding brook sides. June breathed in the +sweet-brier that climbed the solid stone posts of the gate-way, and +clustered along the homely country stone wall. June blossomed in the +yellow barberry by the road-side, and in the bright rhodora and the pale +orchis in the dark woods. June sang in the whistle of the robin swinging +on the elm and the cherry, and the gushing warble of the bobolink +tumbling, and darting, and fluttering in the warm meadow. June twinkled +in the keen brightness of the fresh green of leaves, and swelled in the +fruit buds. June clucked and crowed in the cocks and hens that stepped +about the yard, followed by the multitudinous peep of little chickens. +June lowed in the cattle in the pasture. June sprang, and sprouted, and +sang, and grew in all the sprouting and blooming, in all the sunny new +life of the world. + +White among the dark pine-trees stood the old house of Pinewood--a temple +of silence in the midst of the teeming, overpowering murmur of new life; +of silence and darkness in the midst of jubilant sunshine and universal +song, that seemed to press against the very windows over which the green +blinds were drawn. + +But that long wave of rich life, as it glided across the lawn and in +among the solemn pine-trees, was a little hushed and subdued. The birds +sang in the trees beyond--the bobolinks gushed in the meadows below. But +there was a little space of silence about the house. + +In the large drawing-room, draped in cool-colored chintz, where once +Gabriel Bennet and Abel Newt had seen Hope Wayne, on the table where +books had lain like porcelain ornaments, lay a strange piece of +furniture, long, and spreading at one end, smelling of new varnish, +studded with high silver-headed nails, and with a lid. It was lined +with satin. Yes, it was a casket. + +The room was more formal, and chilly, and dim than ever. Puffs of air +crept through it as if frightened--frightened to death before they +got out again. The smell of the varnish was stronger than that of the +clover-blossoms, or the roses or honey-suckles outside in the fields and +gardens, and about the piazzas. + +Upon the wall hung the portrait of Christopher Burt at the age of ten, +standing in clean clothes, holding a hoop in one hand and a book in the +other. It was sixty-four years before that the portrait was painted, and +if one had come searching for that boy he would have found him--by +lifting that lid he would have seen him; but in those sunken features, +that white hair, that startling stillness of repose, would he have +recognized the boy of the soft eyes and the tender heart, whose June +clover had not yet blossomed? + +There was a creaking, crackling sound upon the gravel in the avenue, and +then a carriage emerged from behind the hedge, and another, and another. +They were family carriages, and stopped at the front door, which was +swung wide open. There was no sound but the letting down of steps and +slamming of doors, and the rolling away of wheels. People with grave +faces, which they seemed to have put on for the occasion as they put on +white gloves for weddings, stepped out and came up the steps. They were +mostly clad in sober colors, and said nothing, or conversed in a low, +murmuring tone, or in whispers. They entered the house and seated +themselves in the library, with the large, solemn Family Bible, and +the empty inkstand, and the clean pen-wiper, and the paper knife, and +the melancholy recluses of books locked into their cells. + +Presently some one would come to the door and beckon with his finger to +some figure sitting in the silent library. The sitter arose and walked +out quietly, and went with the beckoner and looked in at the lid, and saw +what had once been a boy with soft eyes and tender heart. Coming back to +the library the smell of varnish was for a moment blown out of the wide +entry by the breath of the clover that wandered in, and reminded the +silent company of the song and the sunshine and bloom that were outside. + +At length every thing was waiting. No more carriages came--no more +people. There was no more looking into the casket--no more whispering +and moving. The rooms were full of a silent company, and they were all +waiting. The clock ticked audibly. The wind rustled in the pine-trees. +What next? Would not the master of the house appear to welcome +his guests? + +He did not come; but from the upper entry, at the head of the stairs, +near a room in which sat Hope Wayne, and Lawrence Newt, and Mrs. Simcoe, +and Fanny Dinks, and Alfred, and his parents, and a few others, was heard +the voice of Dr. Peewee, saying, "Let us pray!" + +And he prayed a long prayer. He spoke of the good works of this life, and +the sweet promises of the next; of the Christian hero, who fights the +good fight encompassed by a crowd of witnesses; of those who do justice +and love mercy, and walk in the way of the Lord. He referred to our dear +departed brother, and eulogized Christian merchants, calling those +blessed who, being rich, are almoners of the Lord's bounty. He prayed for +those who remained, reminding them, that the Lord chastens whom he loves, +and that they who die, although full of years and honors, do yet go where +the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest, and at last +pass beyond to enter into the joy of their Lord. + +His voice ceased, and silence fell again upon the house. Every body sat +quietly; the women fanned themselves, and the men looked about. Here was +again the sense of waiting--of vague expectation. What next? + +Three or four workmen went into the parlor. One of them put down the lid +and screwed it tight. The casket was closed forever. They lifted it, and +carried it out carefully down the steps. They rolled it into a hearse +that stood upon the gravel, and the man who closed the lid buttoned a +black curtain over the casket. + +The same man went to the front door and read several names from a paper +in a clear, dry voice. The people designated came down stairs, went out +of the door, and stepped into carriages. The company rose in the library +and drawing-room, and, moving toward the hall, looked at the mourners--at +Hope Wayne and Mrs. Simcoe, at Mr. and Mrs. Budlong Dinks, Mr. and Mrs. +Alfred Dinks, and others, as they passed out. + +Presently the procession began to move slowly along the avenue. Those who +remained stepped out upon the piazza and watched it; then began to bustle +about for their own carriages. One after another they drove away. Mr. +Kingo said to Mr. Sutler that he believed the will was in the hands of +Mr. Budlong Dinks, and would be opened in the morning. They looked around +the place, and remarked that Miss Wayne would probably become its +mistress. + +"Mrs. Alfred Dinks seems to be a very--a very--" said Mr. Kingo, gravely, +pausing upon the last word. + +"Very much so, indeed," replied Mr. Sutler, with equal gravity. + +"And yet," said Mr. Grabeau, "if it had been so ordered that young Mr. +Dinks should marry his cousin, Miss Wayne, he would--that is, I suppose +he would--;" and he too hesitated. + +"Undoubtedly," replied both the other gentlemen, seriously, "without +question it would have been a very good thing. Mr. Burt must have left a +very large property." + +"He made every cent tell," said Mr. Sutler, taking the reins and stepping +into his carriage. + +"Rather--rather--a screw, perhaps?" inquired Mr. Grabeau, gravely, as he +took out his whip. + +"Awful!" replied Mr. Kingo, as he drove away. + +The last carriage went, and the stately old mansion stood behind its +trees deserted. The casket and its contents had been borne away forever; +but somebody had opened all the windows of the house, and June, with its +song, and perfume, and sunshine, overflowed the silent chambers, and +banished the smell of the varnish and every thought of death. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + +THE HEIRESS. + + +The next morning it was hard to believe in the spectacle of the preceding +day. The house of Pinewood was pleasantly open to the sun and air. Hope +Wayne, in a black dress of the lightest possible texture, so thin that +her arms could be seen through the sleeves, sat by a window. Lawrence +Newt sat beside her. Dr. Peewee was talking with Mrs. Dinks. Her son +Alfred was sitting alone in a chair, looking at his mother, and Mrs. +Fanny Newt Dinks was looking out at a window upon the lawn. Mrs. Simcoe +sat near Hope Wayne. There was a table in the middle of the room, from +which every thing had been removed. The Honorable Budlong Dinks was +walking slowly up and down the room; and several legal-looking gentlemen, +friends of his, were conversing and smiling among themselves. + +Mr. Dinks stopped in his walk, and, leaning upon the table with the tips +of two fingers and the thumb of his left hand, he thrust the right hand +into his waistcoat, by the side of the ruffle of his shirt, as if he were +about to address the house upon a very weighty question. + +"In accordance," said he, with an air of respect and resignation, "with +the wishes of the late Christopher Burt, as expressed in a paper found in +his secretary drawer after his decease, I am about to open his will." + +The Honorable Mr. Dinks cleared his throat. Mrs. Fanny Newt Dinks turned +back from the window, and conversation ceased. All eyes were fixed upon +the speaker, who became more pigeon-breasted every moment. He took out +his glasses and placed them upon his nose, and slowly surveyed the +company. He then drew a sealed paper from his pocket, clearing his throat +with great dignity as he did so: + +"This is the document," said he, again glancing about the room. At this +point Hiram stepped gently in, and stood by the door. + +Mr. Dinks proceeded to break the seal as if it had been sacramental +bread, and with occasional looks at the groups around him, opened the +document--shook it--creased it back--smoothed it--and held it carefully +in the attitude of reading. + +When the audience had been sufficiently impressed with this ceremony, and +with a proper conviction of the fact that he of all other men had been +selected to reveal the contents of that important paper to mankind, he +began, and read that, being of sound mind and body, etc., etc., +Christopher Burt, etc., etc., as an humble Christian, and loving the old +forms, gave his body to the ground, his soul to his God, in the hope of a +happy resurrection, etc., etc.; and devised and bequeathed his property, +etc., etc., in the manner following, to wit; that is to say: + +At this point Mr. Dinks paused, and blew his nose with profound gravity. +He proceeded: + +"_First_. I give to my housekeeper, Jane Simcoe, the friend of my +darling daughter Mary, and the life-long friend and guardian of my +dear grand-daughter, Hope Wayne, one thousand dollars per annum, as +hereinafter specified." + +Mrs. Simcoe's face did not change; nobody moved except Alfred Dinks, who +changed the position of his legs, and thought within himself--"By Jove!" + +"_Second._ I give to Almira Dinks, the daughter of my brother Jonathan +Burt, and the wife of Budlong Dinks, of Boston, the sum of five thousand +dollars." + +The voice of Mr. Dinks faltered. His wife half rose and sat down +again--her face of a dark mahogany color. Fanny Newt sat perfectly still +and looked narrowly at her father-in-law, with an expression which was +very black and dangerous. Alfred had an air of troubled consternation, +as if something fearful were about to happen. The whole company were +disturbed. They seemed to be in an electrical condition of apprehension, +like the air before a thunder-burst. + +Mr. Dinks continued: + +"_Third_. I give to Alfred Dinks, my grand-nephew, my silver +shoe-buckles, which belonged to his great-grandfather Burt." + +"_Fourth._ And all the other estate, real and personal, of which I may +die seized, I give, devise, and bequeath to Budlong Dinks, Timothy Kingo, +and Selah Sutler, in trust, nevertheless, and for the sole use, behoof, +and benefit of my dearly-beloved grand-daughter, Hope Wayne." + +Mr. Dinks stopped. There were some papers annexed, containing directions +for collecting the annuity to be paid to Mrs. Simcoe, and a schedule of +the property. The Honorable B. Dinks looked hastily at the schedule. + +"Miss Wayne's property will be at least a million of dollars," said he, +in a formal voice. + +There were a few moments of utter silence. Even the legal gentlemen +ceased buzzing; but presently the forefinger of one of them was laid in +the palm of his other hand, and as he stated his proposition to his +neighbor, a light conversation began again. + +Mrs. Fanny Dinks Newt seemed to have been smitten. She sat crushed up, as +it were, biting her nails nervously; her brow wrinkled incredulously, and +glaring at her father-in-law, as he folded the paper. Her face grew +altogether as black as her hair and her eyes; as if she might discharge a +frightful flash and burst of tempest if she were touched or spoken to, +or even looked at. + +But Mrs. Dinks the elder did look at her, not at all with an air of +sullen triumph, but, on the contrary, with a singularly inquisitive +glance of apprehension and alarm, as if she felt that the petty trial of +wits between them was insignificant compared with the chances of Alfred's +happiness. In one moment it flashed upon her mind that the consequences +of this will to her Alfred--to her son whom she loved--would be +overwhelming. Good Heavens! she turned pale as she thought of him and +Fanny together. + +The young man had merely muttered "By Jove, that's too d---- bad!" and +flung himself out of the room. + +His wife did not observe that her mother-in-law was regarding her; she +did not see that her husband had left the room; she thought of no contest +of wits, of no game she had won or lost. She thought only of the tragical +mistake she had made--the dull, blundering crime she had committed; and +still bowed over, and gnawing her nails, she looked sideways with her +hard, round, black eyes, at Hope Wayne. + +The heiress sat quietly by the side of her friend Lawrence Newt. She +was holding the hand of Mrs. Simcoe, who glanced sometimes at Lawrence, +calmly, and with no sign of regretful or revengeful remembrance. The +Honorable Budlong Dinks was walking up and down the room, stroking his +chin with his hand, not without a curiously vague indignation with the +late lamented proprietor of Pinewood. + +It was a strange spectacle. A room full of living men and women who had +just heard what some of them considered their doom pronounced by a dead +man. They had carried him out of his house, cold, powerless, screwed into +the casket. They had laid him in the ground beneath the village spire, +and yet it was his word that troubled, enraged, disappointed, surprised, +and envenomed them. Beyond their gratitude, reproaches, taunts, or fury, +he lay helpless and dumb--yet the most terrible and inaccessible of +despots. + +The conversation was cool and indifferent. The legal gentlemen moved +about with a professional and indifferent air, as if they assisted at +such an occasion as medical students at dissections. It was in the way +of business. As Mr. Quiddy, the confidential counsel of the late +lamented Mr. Burt, looked at Mrs. Alfred Dinks, he remarked to Mr. +Baze, a younger member of the bar, anxious to appear well in the eyes +of Quiddy, that it was a pity the friends of deceased parties permitted +their disappointments to overpower them upon these occasions. Saying +which, Mr. Quiddy waved his forefinger in the air, while Mr. Baze, in +a deferential manner and tone, answered, Certainly, because they could +not help themselves. There was no getting round a will drawn as that +will was--here a slight bow to Mr. Quiddy, who had drawn the will, was +interpolated--and if people didn't like what they got, they had better +grin and bear it. Mr. Quiddy further remarked, with the forefinger still +wandering in the air as if restlessly seeking for some argument to point, +that the silver shoe-buckles which had so long been identified with the +quaint costume of Mr. Burt, would be a very pretty and interesting +heir-loom in the family of young Mr. Dinks. + +Upon which the eminent confidential counsel took snuff, and while he +flirted the powder from his fingers looked at his young friend Baze. + +Young Mr. Baze said, "Very interesting!" and continued the attitude of +listening for further wisdom from his superior. + +Lawrence Newt meanwhile had narrowly watched his niece Fanny. Nobody else +cared to approach her; but he went over to her presently. + +"Well, Fanny." + +"Well, Uncle Lawrence." + +"Beautiful place, Fanny." + +"Is it?" + +"So peaceful after the city." + +"I prefer town." + +"Fanny!" + +"Uncle Lawrence." + +"What are you going to do?" + +She had not looked at him before, but now she raised her eyes to his. She +might as well have closed them. Dropping them, she looked upon the floor +and said nothing. + +"I'm sorry for you, Fanny." + +She looked fierce. There was a snake-like stealthiness in her appearance, +which Alfred's mother saw across the room and trembled. Then she raised +her eyes again to her uncle's, and said, with a kind of hissing sneer, + +"Indeed, Uncle Lawrence, thank you for nothing. It's not very hard for +you to be sorry." + +Not dismayed, not even surprised by this speech, Lawrence was about to +reply, but she struck in, + +"No, no; I don't want to hear it. I've been cheated, and I'll have my +revenge. As for you, my respected uncle, you have played your cards +better." + +He was surprised and perplexed. + +"Why, Fanny, what cards? What do you mean?" + +"I mean that an old fox is a sly fox," said she, with the hissing sneer. + +Lawrence looked at her in amazement. + +"I mean that sly old foxes who have lined their own nests can afford to +pity a young one who gets a silver shoe-buckle," hissed Fanny, with +bitter malignity. "If Alfred Dinks were not a hopeless fool, he'd break +the will. Better wills than this have been broken by good lawyers before +now. Probably," she added suddenly, with a sarcastic smile, "my dear +uncle does not wish to have the will broken?" + +Lawrence Newt was pondering what possible interest she thought he could +have in the will. + +"What difference could it make to me in any case, Fanny?" + +"Only the difference of a million of dollars," said she, with her teeth +set. + +Gradually her meaning dawned upon Lawrence Newt. With a mingled pain, and +contempt, and surprise, and a half-startled apprehension that others +might have thought the same thing, and that all kinds of disagreeable +consequences might flow from such misapprehension, he perceived what she +was thinking of, and said, so suddenly and sharply that even Fanny +started, + +"You think I want to marry Hope Wayne?" + +"Of course I do. So does every body else. Do you suppose we have not +known of your intimacies? Do you think we have heard nothing of your +meetings all winter with that artist and Amy Waring, and your reading +poetry, and your talking poetry?" said Fanny, with infinite contempt. + +There was a look of singular perplexity upon the face of Lawrence Newt. +He was a man not often surprised, but he seemed to be surprised and even +troubled now. He looked musingly across the room to Hope Wayne, who was +sitting engaged in earnest conversation with Mrs. Simcoe. In her whole +bearing and aspect there was that purity and kindliness which are always +associated with blue eyes and golden hair, and which made the painters +paint the angels as fair women. A lambent light played all over her form, +and to Lawrence Newt's eyes she had never seemed so beautiful. The +girlish quiet which he had first known in her had melted into a sweet +composure--a dignified serenity which comes only with experience. The +light wind that blew in at the window by which she sat raised her hair +gently, as if invisible fingers were touching her with airy benedictions. +Was it so strange that such a woman should be loved? Was it not strange +that any man should see much of her, be a great deal with her, and not +love her? Was Fanny's suspicion, was the world's gossip, unnatural? + +He asked himself these questions as he looked at her, while a cloud of +thoughts and memories floated through his mind. + +Yet a close observer, who could read men's hearts in their faces--and +that could be more easily done with every one else than with him--would +have seen another expression gradually supplanting the first, or mingling +with it rather: a look as of joy at some unexpected discovery--as if, for +instance, he had said to himself, "She must be very dear whom I love so +deeply that it has not occurred to me I could love this angel!" + +Something of that kind, perhaps; at least, something that brought a +transfigured cheerfulness into his face. + +"Believe me, Fanny," he said, at length, "I am not anxious to marry Miss +Wayne; nor would she marry me if I asked her." + +Then he rose and passed across the room to her side. + +"We were talking about the future life of the mistress of this mansion," +said Hope Wayne to Lawrence as he joined them. + +"What does she wish?" asked he; "that is always the first question." + +"To go from here," said she, simply. + +"Forever?" + +"Forever!" + +Hope Wayne said it quietly. Mrs. Simcoe sat holding her hand. The three +seemed to be all a little serious at the word. + +"Aunty says she has no particular desire to remain here," said Hope. + +"It is like living in a tomb," said Mrs. Simcoe, turning her calm face to +Lawrence Newt. + +"Would you sell it outright?" asked he. Hope Wayne bent her head in +assent. + +"Why not? My own remembrances here are only gloomy. I should rather find +or make another home. We could do it, aunty and I." + +She said it simply. Lawrence shook his head smilingly, and replied, + +"I don't think it would be hard." + +"I am going to see my trustees this morning, Uncle Dinks says," continued +Hope, "and I shall propose to them to sell immediately." + +"Where will you go?" asked Lawrence. + +"My best friends are in New York," replied she, with a tender color. + +Lawrence Newt thought of Arthur Merlin. + +"With my aunty," continued she, looking fondly at Mrs. Simcoe, "I think I +need not be afraid." + +Lunch was brought in; and meanwhile Mr. Kingo and Mr. Sutler had been +sent for, and arrived. Mr. Burt had not apprised them of his intention +of making them trustees. + +They fell into conversation with Mr. Quiddy, and Mr. Baze, and Mr. +Dinks. Dr. Peewee took his leave, "H'm ha! yes. My dear Miss Wayne, I +congratulate you; congratulate you! h'm ha, yes, oh yes--congratulate +you." The other legal gentlemen, friends of Mr. Dinks, drove off. Nobody +was left behind but the trustees and the family and Lawrence Newt--the +Dinks were of the family. + +After business had been discussed, and the heiress--the owner of +Pinewood--had announced her wishes in regard to that property, she also +invited the company to remain to dinner, and to divert themselves as they +chose meanwhile. + +Mrs. Fanny Newt Dinks declined to stay. She asked her husband to call +their carriage, and when it came to the door she made a formal courtesy, +and did not observe--at least she did not take--the offered hand of Hope +Wayne. But as she bowed and looked at Hope that young lady visibly +changed color, for in the glance which Fanny gave her she seemed to +see the face of her brother Abel; and she was not glad to see it. + +Toward sunset of that soft June day, when Uncle and Aunt Dinks--the +latter humiliated and alarmed--were gone, and the honest neighbors were +gone, Hope Wayne was sitting upon the very bench where, as she once sat +reading, Abel Newt had thrown a shadow upon her book. But not even +the memory of that hour or that youth now threw a shadow upon her heart +or life. The eyes with which she watched the setting sun were as free +from sorrow as they were from guile. + +Lawrence Newt was standing near the window in the library, looking up at +the portrait that hung there, and deep into the soft, dark eyes. He had a +trustful, candid air, as if he were seeking from it a benediction or +consolation. As the long sunset light swept across the room, and touched +tenderly the tender girl's face of the portrait, it seemed to him to +smile tranquilly and trustingly, as if it understood and answered his +confidence, and a deep peace fell upon his heart. + +And high above, from her window that looked westward--with a clearer, +softer gaze, as if Time had cleared and softened the doubts and +obscurities of life--Mrs. Simcoe's face was turned to the setting sun. + +Behind the distant dark-blue hills the June sun set--set upon three +hearts, at least, that Time and Life had taught and tempered--upon three +hearts that were brought together then and there, not altogether +understanding each other, but ready and willing to understand. As it +darkened within the library and the picture was hidden, Lawrence Newt +stood at the window and looked upon the lawn where Hope was sitting. He +heard a murmuring voice above him, and in the clear, silent air Hope +heard it too. It was only a murmur mingling with the whisper of the +pine-trees. But Hope knew what it was, though she could not hear the +words. And yet the words were heard: + +"I hold Thee with a trembling hand, + And will not let Thee go; +Till steadfastly by faith I stand, + And all Thy goodness know." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +A SELECT PARTY. + + +On a pleasant evening in the same month of June Mr. Abel Newt entertained +a few friends at supper. The same June air, with less fragrance, perhaps, +blew in at the open windows, which looked outside upon nothing but the +street and the house walls opposite, but inside upon luxury and ease. + +It mattered little what was outside, for heavy muslin curtains hung over +the windows; and the light, the beauty, the revelry, were all within. + +The boyish look was entirely gone now from the face of the lord of the +feast. It was even a little sallow in hue and satiated in expression. +There was occasionally that hard, black look in his eyes which those who +had seen his sister Fanny intimately had often remarked in her--a look +with which Alfred Dinks, for instance, was familiar. But the companions +of his revels were not shrewd of vision. It was not Herbert Octoyne, nor +Corlaer Van Boozenberg, nor Bowdoin Beacon, nor Sligo Moultrie, nor any +other of his set, who especially remarked his expression; it was, oddly +enough, Miss Grace Plumer, of New Orleans. + +She sat there in the pretty, luxurious rooms, prettier and more +luxurious than they. For, at the special solicitation of Mr. Abel Newt, +Mrs. Plumer had consented to accept an invitation to a little supper at +his rooms--very small and very select; Mrs. Newt, of course, to be +present. + +The Plumers arrived, and Laura Magot; but a note from mamma excused her +absence--papa somewhat indisposed, and so forth; and Mr. Abel himself so +sorry--but Mrs. Plumer knows what these husbands are! Meanwhile the +ladies have thrown off their shawls. + +The dinner is exquisite, and exquisitely served. Prince Abel, with royal +grace, presides. By every lady's plate a pretty bouquet; the handsomest +of all not by Miss, but by Mrs. Plumer. Flowers are every where. It is +Grand Street, indeed, in the city; but the garden at Pinewood, perhaps, +does not smell more sweetly. + +"There is, indeed, no perfume of the clover, which is the very breath of +our Northern June, Mrs. Plumer; but clover does not grow in the city, +Miss Grace." + +Prince Abel begins the little speech to the mother, but his voice and +face turn toward the daughter as it ends. + +Flowers are in glasses upon the mantle, and in vases of many-colored +materials and of various shapes upon tables about the room. The last new +books, in English editions often, and a few solid classics, are in sight. +Pictures also. + +"What a lovely Madonna!" says Miss Plumer, as she raises her eyes to a +beautiful and costly engraving that hangs opposite upon the wall; which, +indeed, was intended to be observed by her. + +"Yes. It is the Sistine, you know," says the Prince, as he sees that the +waiter pours wine for Mrs. Plumer. + +The Prince forgets to mention that it is not the engraving which usually +hangs there. Usually it is a pretty-colored French print representing +"Lucille," a young woman who has apparently very recently issued from the +bath. Indeed there is a very choice collection of French prints which the +young men sometimes study over their cigars, but which are this evening +in the port-folio, which is not in sight. + +The waiters move very softly. The wants of the guests are revealed to +them by being supplied. Quiet, elegance, luxury prevail. + +"Really, Mr. Newt"--it is Mrs. Plumer, of New Orleans, who speaks--"you +have created Paris in Grand Street!" + +"Ah! madame, it is you who graciously bring Versailles and the Tuileries +with you!" + +He speaks to the mother; he looks, as he ends, again at the daughter. + +The daughter for the first time is in the sanctuary of a bachelor--of a +young man about town. It is a character which always interests her--which +half fascinates her. Miss Plumer, of New Orleans, has read more French +literature of the lighter sort--novels and romances, for instance--than +most of the young women whom Abel Newt meets in society. Her eyes are +very shrewd, and she is looking every where to see if she shall not light +upon some token of bachelor habits--something that shall reveal the man +who occupies those pretty rooms. + +Every where her bright eyes fall softly, but every where upon quiet, +elegance, and luxury. There is the Madonna; but there are also the +last winner at the Newmarket, the profile of Mr. Bulwer, and a French +landscape. The books are good, but not too good. There is an air of +candor and honesty in the room, united with the luxury and elegance, that +greatly pleased Miss Grace Plumer. The apartment leads naturally up to +that handsome, graceful, dark-haired, dark-eyed gentleman whose eye is +following hers, while she does not know it; but whose mind has preceded +hers in the very journey around the room it has now taken. + +Sligo Moultrie sits beyond Miss Plumer, who is at the left of Mr. Newt. +Upon his right sits Mrs. Plumer. The friendly relations of Abel and Sligo +have not been disturbed. They seem, indeed, of late to have become even +strengthened. At least the young men meet oftener; not infrequently in +Mrs. Plumer's parlor. Somehow they are aware of each other's movements; +somehow, if one calls upon the Plumers, or drives with them, or walks +with them alone, the other knows it. And they talk together freely of all +people in the world, except the Plumers of New Orleans. In Abel's room of +an evening, at a late hour, when a party of youth are smoking, there +are many allusions to the pretty Plumer--to which it happens that Newt +and Moultrie make only a general reply. + +As the dinner proceeds from delicate course to course, and the wines of +varying hue sparkle and flow, so the conversation purls along--a gentle, +continuous stream. Good things are said, and there is that kind of happy +appreciation which makes the generally silent speak and the clever more +witty. + +Mrs. Godefroi Plumer has traveled much, and enjoys the world. She is a +Creole, with the Tropics in her hair and complexion, and Spain in her +eyes. She wears a Parisian headdress, a brocade upon her ample person, +and diamonds around her complacent neck and arms. Diamonds also flash in +the fan which she sways gently, admiring Prince Abel. Diamonds--huge +solitaires--glitter likewise in the ears of Miss Grace. She wears also a +remarkable bracelet of the same precious stones; for the rest, her dress +is a cloud of Mechlin lace. She has quick, dark eyes, and an olive skin. +Her hands and feet are small. She has filbert nails and an arched instep. +Prince Abel, who hangs upon his wall the portrait of the last Newmarket +victor, has not omitted to observe these details. He thinks how they +would grace a larger house, a more splendid table. + +Sligo Moultrie remembers a spacious country mansion, surrounded by a +silent plantation, somewhat fallen from its state, whom such a mistress +would superbly restore. He looks a man too refined to wed for money, +perhaps too indolently luxurious to love without it. + +Half hidden under the muslin drapery by the window hangs a cage with +a canary. The bird sits silent; but as the feast proceeds he pours a +shrill strain into the murmur of the guests. For the noise of the +golden-breasted bird Sligo Moultrie can not hear something that is +said to him by the ripe mouth between the solitaires. He asks pardon, +and it is repeated. + +Then, still smiling and looking toward the window, he says, and, as he +says it, his eyes--at which he knows his companion is looking--wander +over the room, + +"A very pretty cage!" + +The eyes drop upon hers as they finish the circuit of the room. They say +no more than the lips have said. And Miss Grace Plumer answers, + +"I thought you were going to say a very noisy bird." + +"But the bird is not very noisy," says the young man, his dark eyes still +holding hers. + +There is a moment of silence, during which Miss Plumer may have her fancy +of what he means. If so, she does not choose to betray it. If her eyes +are clear and shrewd, the woman's wit is not less so. It is with an air +of the utmost simplicity that she replies, + +"It was certainly noisy enough to drown what I was saying." + +There is a sound upon her other side as if a musical bell rang. + +"Miss Plumer!" + +Her head turns. This time Mr. Sligo Moultrie sees the massive dark braids +of her hair behind. The ripe mouth half smiles upon Prince Abel. + +He holds a porcelain plate with a peach upon it, and a silver fruit-knife +in his hand. She smiles, as if the music had melted into a look. Then she +hears it again: + +"Here is the sunniest side of the sunniest peach for Miss Plumer." + +Sligo Moultrie can not help hearing, for the tone is not low. But, while +he is expecting to catch the reply, Miss Magot, who sits beyond him, +speaks to him. The Prince Abel, who sees many things, sees this; and, in +a tone which is very low, Miss Plumer hears, and nobody else in the room +hears: + +"May life always be that side of a sweet fruit to her!" + +It is the tone and not the words which are eloquent. + +The next instant Sligo Moultrie, who has answered Miss Magot's question, +hears Miss Plumer say: + +"Thank you, with all my heart." + +It seems to him a warm acknowledgment for a piece of fruit. + +"I did not speak of the bird; I spoke of the cage," are the words that +Miss Plumer next hears, and from the other side. + +She turns to Sligo Moultrie and says, with eyes that expect a reply, + +"Yes, you are right; it is a very pretty cage." + +"Even a cage may be a home, I suppose." + +"Ask the canary." + +"And so turned to the basest uses," says Mr. Moultrie, as if thinking +aloud. + +He is roused by a little ringing laugh: + +"A pleasant idea of home you suggest, Mr. Moultrie." + +He smiles also. + +"I do not wonder you laugh at me; but I mean sense, for all that," he +says. + +"You usually do," she says, sincerely, and eyes and solitaires glitter +together. + +Sligo Moultrie is happy--for one moment. The next he hears the musical +bell of that other voice again. Miss Plumer turns in the very middle of a +word which she has begun to address to him. + +"Miss Grace?" + +"Well, Mr. Newt." + +"You observe the engraving of the Madonna?" + +"Yes." + +"You see the two cherubs below looking up?" + +"Yes." + +"You see the serene sweetness of their faces?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you know what it is?" + +Grace Plumer looks as if curiously speculating. Sligo Moultrie can not +help hearing every word, although he pares a peach and offers it to Miss +Magot. + +"Miss Grace, do you remember what I said once of honest admiration--that +if it were eloquent it would be irresistible?" + +Grace Plumer bows an assent. + +"But that its mere consciousness--a sort of silent eloquence--is pure +happiness to him who feels it?" + +She thinks she remembers that too, although the Prince apparently +forgets that he never said it to her before. + +"Well, Miss Plumer, it seems to me the serene sweetness of that picture +is the expression of the perfect happiness of entire admiration--that is +to say, of love; whoever loves is like those cherubs--perfectly happy." + +He looks attentively at the picture, as if he had forgotten his own +existence in the happiness of the cherubs. Grace Plumer glances at him +for a few moments with a peculiar expression. It is full of admiration, +but it is not the look with which she would say, as she just now said to +Sligo Moultrie, "You always speak sincerely." + +She is still looking at the Prince, when Mr. Moultrie begins again: + +"I ought to be allowed to explain that I only meant that as a cage is a +home, so it is often used as a snare. Do you know, Miss Grace, that the +prettiest birds are often put into the prettiest cages to entice other +birds? By-the-by, how lovely Laura Magot is this evening!" + +He cuts a small piece of the peach with his silver knife and puts it into +his mouth, + +"Peaches are luxuries in June," he says, quietly. + +This time it is at Sligo Moultrie that Miss Grace Plumer looks fixedly. + +"What kind of birds, Mr. Moultrie?" she says, at length. + +"Miss Grace, do you know the story of the old Prince of Este?" answers +he, as he lays a bunch of grapes upon her plate. She pulls one carelessly +and lets it drop again. He takes it and puts it in his mouth. + +"No; what is the story?" + +"There was an old Prince of Este who had a beautiful villa and a +beautiful sister, and nothing else in the world but a fiery eye and +an eloquent tongue." + +Sligo Moultrie flushes a little, and drinks a glass of wine. Grace Plumer +is a little paler, and more serious. Prince Abel plies Madame Plumer with +fruit and compliments, and hears every word. + +"Well." + +"Well, Miss Grace, she was so beautiful that many a lady became her +friend, and many of those friends sighed for the brother's fiery eyes and +blushed as they heard his honeyed tongue. But he was looking for a queen. +At length came the Princess of Sheba--" + +"Are you talking of King Solomon?" + +"No, Miss Plumer, only of Alcibiades. And when the Princess of Sheba came +near the villa the Prince of Este entreated her to visit him, promising +that the sister should be there. It was a pretty cage, I think; the +sister was a lovely bird. And the Princess came." + +He stops and drinks more wine. + +"Very well! And then?" + +"Why, then, she had a very pleasant visit," he says, gayly. + +"Mr. Moultrie, is that the whole of the story?" + +"No, indeed, Miss Plumer; but that is as far as we have got." + +"I want to hear the rest." + +"Don't be in such a hurry; you won't like the rest so well." + +"Yes; but that is my risk." + +"It _is_ your risk," says Sligo Moultrie, looking at her; "will you take +it?" + +"Of course I will," is the clear-eyed answer. + +"Very well. The Princess came; but she did not go away." + +"How curious! Did she die of a peach-stone at the banquet?" + +"Not at all. She became Princess of Este instead of Sheba." + +"Oh-h-h," says Grace Plumer, in a long-drawn exclamation. "And then?" + +"Why, Miss Grace, how insatiable you are!--then I came away." + +"You did? I wouldn't have come away." + +"No, Miss Grace, you didn't." + +"How--I didn't? What does that mean, Mr. Moultrie?" + +"I mean the Princess remained." + +"So you said. Is that all?" + +"No." + +"Well." + +"Oh! the rest is nothing. I mean nothing new." + +"Let me hear the old story, then, Mr. Moultrie." + +"The rest is merely that the Princess found that the fiery eyes burned +her and the eloquent tongue stung her, and truly that is the whole. Isn't +it a pretty story? The moral is that cages are sometimes traps." + +Sligo Moultrie becomes suddenly extremely attentive to Miss Magot. Grace +Plumer ponders many things, and among others wonders how, when, where, +Sligo Moultrie learned to talk in parables. She does not ask herself +_why_ he does so. She is a woman, and she knows why. + + + + +CHAPTER L. + +WINE AND TRUTH. + + +The conversation takes a fresh turn. Corlaer Van Boozenberg is talking of +the great heiress, Miss Wayne. He has drunk wine enough to be bold, and +calls out aloud from his end of the table, + +"Mr. Abel Newt!" + +That gentleman turns his head toward his guest. + +"We are wondering down here how it is that Miss Wayne went away from New +York unengaged." + +"I am not her confidant," Abel answers; and gallantly adds, "I am sure, +like every other man, I should be glad to be so." + +"But you had the advantage of every body else." + +"How so?" asks Abel, conscious that Grace Plumer is watching him closely. + +"Why, you were at school in Delafield until you were no chicken." + +Abel bows smilingly. + +"You must have known her." + +"Yes, a little." + +"Well, didn't you know what a stunning heiress she was, and so handsome! +How'd you, of all men in the world, let her slip through your fingers?" + +A curious silence follows this effusion. Corlaer Van Boozenberg is +slightly flown with wine. Hal Battlebury, who sits near him, looks +troubled. Herbert Octoyne and Mellish Whitloe exchange meaning glances. +The young ladies--Mrs. Plumer is the only matron, except Mrs. Dagon, who +sits below--smile pleasantly. Sligo Moultrie eats grapes. Grace Plumer +waits to hear what Abel says, or to observe what he does. Mrs. Dagon +regards the whole affair with an approving smile, nodding almost +imperceptibly a kind of Freemason's sign to Mrs. Plumer, who thinks that +the worthy young Van Boozenberg has probably taken too much wine. + +Abel Newt quietly turns to Grace Plumer, saying, + +"Poor Corlaer! There are disadvantages in being the son of a very rich +man; one is so strongly inclined to measure every thing by money.. As if +money were all!" + +He looks her straight in the eyes as he says it. Perhaps it is some +effort he is making which throws into his look that cold, hard blackness +which is not beautiful. Perhaps it is some kind of exasperation arising +from what he has heard Moultrie say privately and Van Boozenberg +publicly, as it were, that pushes him further than he means to go. There +is a dangerous look of craft; an air of sarcastic cunning in his eyes and +on his face. He turns the current of talk with his neighbors, without any +other indication of disturbance than the unpleasant look. Van Boozenberg +is silent again. The gentle, rippling murmur of talk fills the room, and +at a moment when Moultrie is speaking with his neighbor, Abel says, +looking at the engraving of the Madonna, + +"Miss Grace, I feel like those cherubs." + +"Why so, Mr. Newt?" + +"Because I am perfectly happy." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes, Miss Grace, and for the same reason that I entirely love and +admire." + +Her heart beats violently. Sligo Moultrie turns and sees her face. He +divines every thing in a moment, for he loves Grace Plumer. + +"Yes, Miss Grace," he says, in a quick, thick tone, as if he were +continuing a narration--"yes, she became Princess of Este; but the +fiery eyes burned her, and the sweet tongue stung her forever and ever." + +Mrs. Plumer and Mrs. Dagon are rising. There is a rustling tumult of +women's dresses, a shaking out of handkerchiefs, light gusts of laughter, +and fragments of conversation. The handsome women move about like birds, +with a plumy, elastic motion, waving their fans, smelling their bouquets, +and listening through them to tones that are very low. The Prince of the +house is every where, smiling, sinuous, dark in the eyes and hair. + +It is already late, and there is no disposition to be seated. Sligo +Moultrie stands by Grace Plumer, and she is very glad and even grateful +to him. Abel, passing to and fro, looks at her occasionally, and can not +possibly tell if her confusion is pain or pleasure. There is a reckless +gayety in the tone with which he speaks to the other ladies. "Surely Mr. +Newt was never so fascinating," they all think in their secret souls; and +they half envy Grace Plumer, for they know the little supper is given for +her, and they think it needs no sibyl to say why, or to prophesy the +future. + +It is nearly midnight, and the moon is rising. Hark! + +A band pours upon the silent night the mellow, passionate wail of "Robin +Adair." The bright company stands listening and silent. The festive +scene, the hour, the flowers, the luxury of the place, the beauty of +the women, impress the imagination, and touch the music with a softer +melancholy. Hal Battlebury's eyes are clear, but his heart is full of +tears as he listens and thinks of Amy Waring. He knows that all is in +vain. She has told him, with a sweet dignity that made her only lovelier +and more inaccessible, that it can not be. He is trying to believe it. He +is hoping to show her one day that she is wrong. Listening, he follows in +his mind the song the band is playing. + +Sligo Moultrie feels and admires the audacious skill of Abel in crowning +the feast with music. Grace Plumer leans upon his arm. Abel Newt's +glittering eyes are upon them. It is the very moment he had intended to +be standing by her side, to hold her arm in his, and to make her feel +that the music which pealed in long cadences through the midnight, and +streamed through the draped windows into the room, was the passionate +entreaty of his heart, the irresistible pathos of the love he bore her. + +Somehow Grace Plumer is troubled. She fears the fascination she enjoys. +She dreads the assumption of power over her which she has observed in +Abel. She recoils from the cold blackness she has seen in his eyes. She +sees it at this moment again, in that glittering glance which slips +across the room and holds her as she stands. Involuntarily she leans +upon Sligo Moultrie, as if clinging to him. + +There is more music?--a lighter, then a sadder and lingering strain. It +recedes slowly, slowly up the street. The company stand in the pretty +parlor, and not a word is spoken. It is past midnight; the music is over. + +"What a charming party! Mr. Newt, how much we are obliged to you!" says +Mrs. Godefroi Plumer, as Abel hands her into the carriage. + +"The pleasure is all mine, Madame," replies Mr. Newt, as he sees with +bitterness that Sligo Moultrie stands ready to offer his hand to assist +Miss Plumer. The footman holds the carriage door open. Miss Plumer can +accept the assistance of but one, and Mr. Abel is resolved to know which +one. + +"Permit me, Miss Plumer," says Sligo. + +"Allow me, Miss Grace," says Abel. + +The latter address sounds to her a little too free. She feels, perhaps, +that he has no rights of intimacy--at least not yet--or what does she +feel? But she gives her hand to Sligo Moultrie, and Abel bows. + +"Thank you for a delightful evening, Mr. Newt. Good-night!" + +The host bows again, bareheaded, in the moonlight. + +"By-the-by, Mr. Moultrie," says the ringing voice of the clear-eyed girl, +who remembers that Abel is listening, but who is sure that only Sligo can +understand, "I ought to have told you that the story ended differently. +The Princess left the villa. Good-night! good-night!" + +The carriage rattles down the street. + +"Good-night, Newt; a very beautiful and pleasant party." + +"Good-night, Moultrie--thank you; and pleasant dreams." + +The young Georgian skips up the street, thinking only of Grace Plumer's +last words. Abel Newt stands at his door for a moment, remembering them +also, and perfectly understanding them. The next instant he is shawling +and cloaking the other ladies, who follow the Plumers; among them Mrs. +Dagon, who says, softly, + +"Good-night, Abel. I like it all very well. A very proper girl! Such a +complexion! and such teeth! Such lovely little hands, too! It's all very +right. Go on, my dear. What a dreadful piece of work Fanny's made of it! +I wonder you don't like Hope Wayne. Think of it, a million of dollars! +However, it's all one, I suppose--Grace or Hope are equally pleasant. +Good-night, naughty boy! Behave yourself. As for your father, I'm afraid +to go to the house lest he should bite me. He's dangerous. Good-night, +dear!" + +Yes, Abel remembers with singular distinctness that it was a word, only +one word, just a year ago to Grace Plumer--a word intended only to +deceive that foolish Fanny--which had cost him--at least, he thinks +so--Hope Wayne. + +He bows his last guests out at the door with more sweetness in his face +than in his soul. Returning to the room he looks round upon the ruins of +the feast, and drinks copiously of the wine that still remains. Not at +all inclined to sleep, he goes into his bedroom and finds a cigar. +Returning, he makes a few turns in the room while he smokes, and stops +constantly to drink another glass. He half mutters to himself, as he +addresses the chair in which Grace Plumer has been sitting, + +"Are you or I going to pay for this feast, Madame? Somebody has got to do +it. Young woman, Moultrie was right, and you are wrong. She _did_ become +Princess of Este. I'll pay now, and you'll pay by-and-by. Yes, my dear +Grace, you'll pay by-and-by." + +He says these last words very slowly, with his teeth set, the head +a little crouched between the shoulders, and a stealthy, sullen, ugly +glare in the eyes. + +"I've got to pay now, and you shall pay by-and-by. Yes, Miss Grace +Plumer; you shall pay for to-night and for the evening in my mother's +conservatory." + +He strides about the room a little longer. It is one o'clock, and he goes +down stairs and out of the house. Still smoking, he passes along Broadway +until he reaches Thiel's. He hurries up, and finds only a few desperate +gamblers. Abel himself looks a little wild and flushed. He sits down +defiantly and plays recklessly. The hours are clanged from the belfry +of the City Hall. The lights burn brightly in Thiel's rooms. Nobody is +sleeping there. One by one the players drop away--except those who remark +Abel's game, for that is so careless and furious that it is threatening, +threatening, whether he loses or wins. + +He loses constantly, but still plays on. The lights are steady. His eyes +are bright. The bank is quite ready to stay open for such a run of luck +in its favor. + +The bell of the City Hall clangs three in the morning as a young man +emerges from Thiel's, and hurries, then saunters, up Broadway. His +motions are fitful, his dress is deranged, and his hair matted. His +face, in the full moonlight, is dogged and dangerous. It is the Prince +of the feast, who had told Grace Plumer that he was perfectly happy. + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + +A WARNING. + + +A few evenings afterward, when Abel called to know how the ladies had +borne the fatigues of the feast, Mrs. Plumer said, with smiles, that it +was a kind of fatigue ladies bore without flinching. Miss Grace, who was +sitting upon a sofa by the side of Sligo Moultrie, said that it was one +of the feasts at which young women especially are supposed to be +perfectly happy. She emphasized the last words, and her bright black +eyes opened wide upon Mr. Abel Newt, who could not tell if he saw +mischievous malice or a secret triumph and sense release in them. + +"Oh!" said he, gayly, "it would be too much for me hope to make any +ladies, and especially young ladies, perfectly happy." + +And he returned Miss Plumer's look with a keen glance masked in +merriment. + +Sligo Moultrie wagged his foot. + +"There now is conscious power!" said Abel, with a laugh, as he pointed at +Miss Plumer's companion. + +They all laughed, but not very heartily. There appeared to be some +meaning lurking in whatever was said; and like all half-concealed +meanings, it seemed, perhaps, even more significant than it really was. + +Abel was very brilliant, and told more and better stories than usual. +Mrs. Plumer listened and laughed, and declared that he was certainly the +best company she had met for a long time. Nor were Miss Plumer and Mr. +Moultrie reluctant to join the conversation. In fact, Abel was several +times surprised by the uncommon spirit of Sligo's replies. + +"What is it?" said Abel to himself, with a flash of the black eyes that +was startling. + +All the evening he felt particularly belligerent toward Sligo Moultrie; +and yet a close observer would have discovered no occasion in the conduct +of the young man for such a feeling upon Abel's part. Mr. Moultrie sat +quietly by the side of Grace Plumer--"as if somehow he had a right to sit +there," thought Abel Newt, who resolved to discover if indeed he had a +right. + +During that visit, however, he had no chance. Moultrie sat persistently, +and so did Abel. The clock pointed to eleven, and still they did not +move. It was fairly toward midnight when Abel rose to leave, and at the +same moment Sligo Moultrie rose also. Abel bade the ladies good-evening, +and passed out as if Moultrie were close by him. But that young man +remained standing by the sofa upon which Grace Plumer was seated, and +said quietly to Abel, + +"Good-evening, Newt!" + +Grace Plumer looked at him also, with the bright black eyes, and blushed. + +For a moment Abel Newt's heart seemed to stand still! An expression of +some bitterness must have swept over his face, for Mrs. Plumer stepped +toward him, as he stood with his hand upon the door, and said, + +"Are you unwell?" + +The cloud dissolved in a forced smile. + +"No, thank you; not at all!" and he looked surprised, as if he could not +imagine why any one should think so. + +He did not wait longer, and the next moment was in the street. + +Mrs. Plumer also left the room almost immediately after his departure. +Sligo Moultrie seated himself by his companion. + +"My dear Grace, did you see that look?" + +"Yes." + +"He suspects the truth," returned Sligo Moultrie; and he might have added +more, but that his lips at that instant were otherwise engaged. + +Abel more than suspected the truth. He was sure of it, and the certainty +made him desperate. He had risked so much upon the game! He had been so +confident! As he half ran along the street he passed many things rapidly +in his mind. He was like a seaman in doubtful waters, and the breeze was +swelling into a gale. + +Turning out of Broadway he ran quickly to his door, opened it, and leaped +up stairs. + +To his great surprise his lamp was lighted and a man was sitting reading +quietly at his table. As Abel entered his visitor closed his book and +looked up. + +"Why, Uncle Lawrence," said the young man, "you have a genius for +surprises! What on earth are you doing in my room?" + +His uncle said, only half smiling, + +"Abel, we are both bachelors, and bachelors have no hours. I want to talk +with you." + +Abel looked at his guest uneasily; but he put down his hat and lighted a +cigar; then seated himself, almost defiantly, opposite his uncle, with +the table between them. + +"Now, Sir; what is it?" + +Lawrence Newt paused a moment, while the young man still calmly puffed +the smoke from his mouth, and calmly regarded his uncle. + +"Abel, you are not a fool. You know the inevitable results of certain +courses. I want to fortify your knowledge by my experience. I understand +all the temptations and excitements that carry you along. But I don't +like your looks, Abel; and I don't like the looks of other people when +they speak of you and your father. Remember, we are of the same blood. +Heaven knows its own mysteries! Your father and I were sons of one woman. +That is a tie which we can neither of us escape, if we wanted to. Why +should you ruin yourself?" + +"Did you come to propose any thing for me to do, Sir, or only to inform +me that you considered me a reprobate?" asked Abel, half-sneeringly, the +smoke rising from his mouth. + +Lawrence Newt did not answer. + +"I am like other young men," continued Abel. "I am fond of living well, +of a good horse, of a pretty woman. I drink my glass, and I am not afraid +of a card. Really, Uncle Lawrence, I see no such profound sin or shame in +it all, so long as I honestly pay the scot. Do I cheat at cards? Do I lie +in the gutters?" + +"No!" answered Lawrence. + +"Do I steal?" + +"Not that I know," said the other. + +"Please, Uncle Lawrence, what do you mean, then?" + +"I mean the way, the spirit in which you do things. If you are not +conscious of it, how can I make you? I can not say more than I have. +I came merely--" + +"As a handwriting upon the wall, Uncle Lawrence?" + +Lawrence Newt rose and stood a little back from the table. + +"Yes, if you choose, as a handwriting on the wall. Abel, when the +prodigal son _came to himself_, he rose and went to his father. I came +to ask you to return to yourself." + +"From these husks, Sir?" asked Abel, as he looked around his luxurious +rooms, his eye falling last upon the French print of Lucille, fresh from +the bath. + +Lawrence Newt looked at his nephew with profound gravity. The young +man lay back in his chair, lightly holding his cigar, and carelessly +following the smoke with his eye. The beauty and intelligence of his +face, the indolent grace of his person, seen in the soft light of the +lamp, and set like a picture in the voluptuous refinement of the room, +touched the imagination and the heart of the older man. There was a look +of earnest, yearning entreaty in his eyes as he said, + +"Abel, you remember Milton's Comus?" + +The young man bowed. + +"Do you think the revelers were happy?" + +Abel smiled, but did not answer. But after a few minutes he said, with a +smile, + +"I was not there." + +"You _are_ there," answered Lawrence Newt, with uplifted finger, and in a +voice so sad and clear that Abel started. + +The two men looked at each other silently for a few moments. + +"Good-night, Abel." + +"Good-night, Uncle Lawrence." + +The door closed behind the older man. Abel sat in his chair, intently +thinking. His uncle's words rang in his memory. But as he recalled the +tone, the raised finger, the mien, with which they had been spoken, the +young man looked around him, and seemed half startled and frightened by +the stillness, and awe-struck by the midnight hour. He moved his head +rapidly and arose, like a person trying to rouse himself from sleep or +nightmare. Passing the mirror, he involuntarily started at the haggard +paleness of his face under the clustering black hair. He was trying to +shake something off. He went uneasily about the room until he had lighted +a match, and a candle, with which he went into the next room, still +half-looking over his shoulder, as if fearing that something dogged him. +He opened the closet where he kept his wine. He restlessly filled a large +glass and poured it down his throat--not as if he were drinking, but as +if he were taking an antidote. He rubbed his forehead with his hand, and +half-smiled a sickly smile. + +But still his eyes wandered nervously to the spot in which his uncle +had stood; still he seemed to fear that he should see a ghostly figure +standing there and pointing at him; should see himself, in some phantom +counterpart, sitting in the chair. His eyes opened as if he were +listening intently. For in the midnight he thought he heard, in that dim +light he thought he saw, the Prophet and the King. He did not remember +more the words his uncle had spoken. But he heard only, "Thou art the +man! Thou art the man!" + +And all night long, as he dreamed or restlessly awoke, he heard the same +words, spoken as if with finger pointed--"Thou art the man! Thou art the +man!" + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + +BREAKERS. + + +Lawrence Newt had certainly told the truth of his brother's home. Mr. +Boniface Newt had become so surly that it was not wise to speak to him. +He came home late, and was angry if dinner were not ready, and cross if +it were. He banged all the doors, and swore at all the chairs. After +dinner he told May not to touch the piano, and begged his wife, for +Heaven's sake, to take up some book, and not to sit with an air of +imbecile vacancy that was enough to drive a man distracted. He snarled at +the servants, so that they went about the house upon tip-toe and fled his +presence, and were constantly going away, causing Mrs. Newt to pass many +hours of the week in an Intelligence Office. Mr. Newt found holes in the +carpets, stains upon the cloths, knocks upon the walls, nicks in the +glasses and plates at table, scratches upon the furniture, and defects +and misfortunes every where. He went to bed without saying good-night, +and came down without a good-morning. He sat at breakfast morose and +silent; or he sighed, and frowned, and muttered, and went out without a +smile or a good-by. There was a profound gloom in the house, an unnatural +order. Nobody dared to derange the papers or books upon the tables, to +move the chairs, or to touch any thing. If May appeared in a new dress +he frowned, and his wife trembled every time she put in a breast-pin. + +Only in her own room was May mistress of every thing. If any body had +looked into it he would have seen only the traces of a careful and +elegant hand, and often enough he would have seen a delicate girl-face, +almost too thoughtful for so young a face, resting upon the hand, as if +May Newt were troubled and perplexed by the gloom of the house and the +silence of the household. Her window opened over the street, and there +were a few horse-chestnut trees before the house. She made friends with +them, and they covered themselves with blossoms for her pleasure. She +sat for hours at her window, looking into the trees, sewing, reading, +musing--solitary as a fairy princess in a tower. + +Sometimes flowers came, with Uncle Lawrence's love. Or fine fruit for +Miss May Newt, with the same message. Several times from her window May +had seen who the messenger was: a young man with candid eyes, with a +quick step, and an open, almost boyish face. When the street was still +she heard him half-singing as he bounded along--as nobody sings, she +thought, whose home is not happy. + +Solitary as a fairy princess in a tower, she looked down upon the figure +as it rapidly disappeared. The sewing or the reading stopped entirely; +nor were they resumed when he had passed out of sight. May Newt thought +it strange that Uncle Lawrence should send such a messenger in the middle +of the day. He did not look like a porter. He was not an office boy. He +was evidently one of the upper-clerks. It was certainly very kind in +Uncle Lawrence. + +So thought the solitary Princess in the tower, her mind wandering from +the romance she was reading to a busy speculation upon the reality in the +street beneath her. + +The blind was thrown partly back as she sat at the open window. A simple +airy dress, made by her own hands, covered her flower-like figure. The +brown hair was smoothed over the white temples, and the sweet girl eyes +looked kindly into the street from which the figure of the young man had +just passed. If by chance the eyes of that young man had been turned +upward, would he not have thought--since one Sunday morning, when he +passed her on the way to church, he was sure that she looked like an +angel going home--would he not have thought that she looked like an angel +bending down toward him out of heaven? + +It was not strange that Uncle Lawrence had sent him. For somehow Uncle +Lawrence had discovered that if there was any thing to go to May Newt, +there was nothing in the world that Gabriel Bennet was so anxious to do +as to carry it. + +But while the young man was always so glad to go to Boniface Newt's +gloomy house--for some reason which he did not explain, and which even +his sister Ellen did not know--or, at least, which she pretended not to +know, although one evening that wily young girl talked with brother +Gabriel about May Newt, as if she had some particular purpose in the +conversation, until she seemed to have convinced herself of some hitherto +doubtful point--yet with all the willingness to go to the house, Gabriel +Bennet never went to the office of Boniface Newt, Son, & Co. + +If he had done so it would not have been pleasant to him, for it was +perpetual field-day in the office. A few days after Uncle Lawrence's +visit to his nephew, the senior partner sat bending his hard, anxious +face over account-books and letters. The junior partner lounged in his +chair as if the office had been a club-room. The "Company" never +appeared. + +"Father, I've just seen Sinker." + +"D---- Sinker!" + +"Come, come, father, let's be reasonable! Sinker says that the Canal will +be a clear case of twenty per cent, per annum for ten years at least, and +that we could afford to lose a cent or two upon the Bilbo iron to make it +up, over and over again." + +Mr. Abel Newt threw his leg over the arm of the chair and looked at his +boot. Mr. Boniface Newt threw his head around suddenly and fiercely. + +"And what's Sinker's commission? How much money do you suppose he has to +put in? How much stock will he take?" + +"He has sold out in the Mallow Mines to put in," said Abel, a little +doggedly. + +"Are you sure?" + +"He says so," returned Abel, shortly. + +"Don't believe a word of it!" said his father, tartly, turning back again +to his desk. + +Abel put both hands in his pockets, and both feet upon the ground, side +by side, and rocked them upon the heels backward and forward, looking all +the time at his father. His face grew cloudy--more cloudy every moment. +At length he said, + +"I think we'd better do it." + +His father did not speak or move. He seemed to have heard nothing, and +to be only inwardly cursing the state of things revealed by the books and +papers before him. + +Abel looked at him for a moment, and then, raising his voice, continued: + +"As one of the firm, I propose that we sell out the Bilbo and buy into +the Canal." + +Not a look or movement from his father. + +Abel jumped up--his eyes black, his face red. He took his hat and went to +the door, saying, + +"I shall go and conclude the arrangement!" + +As he reached the door his father raised his eyes and looked at him. The +eyes were full of contempt and anger, and a sneering sound came from his +lips. + +"You'll do no such thing." + +The young man glanced sideways at his parent. + +"Who will prevent me?" + +"I!" roared the elder. + +"I believe I am one of the firm," said Abel, coldly. + +"You'd better try it!" said the old man, disregarding Abel's remark. + +Abel was conscious that his father had this game, at least, in his hands. +The word of the young man would hardly avail against a simultaneous +veto from the parent. No transaction would stand a moment under such +circumstances. The young man slowly turned from the door, and fixing his +eyes upon his father, advanced toward him with a kind of imperious +insolence. + +"I should like to understand my position in this house," said he, with +forced calmness. + +"Good God! Sir, a bootblack, if I choose!" returned his father, fiercely. +"The unluckiest day of my life was when you came in here, Sir. Ever since +then the business has been getting more and more complicated, until it +is only a question of days how long it can even look respectable. We +shall all be beggars in a month. We are ruined. There is no chance," +cried the old man, with a querulous wail through his set teeth. "And you +know who has done it all. You know who has brought us all to shame and +disgrace--to utter poverty;" and, rising from his chair, the father shook +his clenched hands at Abel so furiously that the young man fell back +abashed. + +"Don't talk to me, Sir. Don't dare to say a word," cried Mr. Newt, in a +voice shrill with anger. "All my life has come to nothing. All my +sacrifices, my industry, my efforts, are of no use. I am a beggar, Sir; +so are you!" + +He sank back in his chair and covered his face with his hands. The noise +made the old book-keeper outside look in. But it was no new thing. The +hot debates of the private room were familiar to his ear. With the +silent, sad fidelity of his profession he knew every thing, and was dumb. +Not a turn of his face, not a light in his eye, told any tales to the +most careful and sagacious inquirer. Within the last few months Mr. Van +Boozenberg had grown quite friendly with him. When they met, the +President had sought to establish the most familiar intercourse. But he +discovered that for the slightest hint of the condition of the Newt +business he might as well have asked Boniface himself. Like a mother, who +knows the crime her son has committed, and perceives that he can only a +little longer hide it, but who, with her heart breaking, still smiles +away suspicion, so the faithful accountant, who supposed that the crash +was at hand, was as constant and calm as if the business were never +before so prosperous. + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + +SLIGO MOULTRIE _vice_ ABEL NEWT. + + +Abel Newt had now had two distinct warnings of something which nobody +knew must happen so well as he. He dined sumptuously that very day, and +dressed very carefully that evening, and at eight o'clock was sitting +alone with Grace Plumer. The superb ruby was on her finger. But on the +third finger of her left hand he saw a large glowing opal. His eyes +fastened upon it with a more brilliant glitter. They looked at her too +so strangely that Grace Plumer felt troubled and half alarmed. "Am I too +late?" he thought. + +"Miss Grace," said Abel, in a low voice. + +The tone was significant. + +"Mr. Newt," said she, with a half smile, as if she accepted a contest of +badinage. + +"Do you remember I said I was perfectly happy?" + +He moved his chair a little nearer to hers. She drew back almost +imperceptibly. + +"I remember you _said_ so, and I was very glad to hear it." + +"Do you remember my theory of perfect happiness?" + +"Yes," said Miss Plumer, calmly, "I believe it was perfect love. But I +think we had better talk of something else;" and she rose from her chair +and stood by the table. + +"Miss Plumer!" + +"Mr. Newt." + +"It was you who first emboldened me." + +"I do not understand, Sir." + +"It was a long time ago, in my mother's conservatory." + +Grace Plumer remembered the evening, and she replied, more softly, + +"I am very sorry, Mr. Newt, that I behaved so foolishly: I was young. But +I think we did each other no harm." + +"No harm, I trust, indeed, Miss Grace," said Abel. "It is surely no harm +to love; at least, not as I love you." + +He too had risen, and tried to take her hand. She stepped back. He +pressed toward her. + +"Grace; dear Grace!" + +"Stop, Sir, stop!" said his companion, drawing herself up and waving him +back; "I can not hear you talk so. I am engaged." + +Abel turned pale. Grace Plumer was frightened. He sprang forward and +seized her hand. + +"Oh! Grace, hear me but one word! You knew that I loved you, and you +allowed me to come. In honor, in truth, before God, you are mine!" + +She struggled to release her hand. As she looked in his face she saw +there an expression which assured her that he was capable of saying any +thing, of doing any thing; and she trembled to think how much she might +be--how much any woman is--in the power of a desperate man. + +"Indeed, Mr. Newt, you must let me go!" + +"Grace, Grace, say that you love me!" + +The frightened girl broke away from him, and ran toward the door. Abel +followed her, but the door opened, and Sligo Moultrie entered. + +"Oh, Sligo!" cried Grace, as he put his arm around her. + +Abel stopped and bowed. + +"Pardon me, Miss Plumer. Certainly Mr. Moultrie will understand the ardor +of a passion which in his case has been so fortunate. I am sorry, Sir," +he said, turning to Sligo, "that my ignorance of your relation to Miss +Plumer should have betrayed me. I congratulate you both from my soul!" + +He bowed again, and before they could speak he was gone. The tone of his +voice lingering upon their ears was like a hiss. It was a most sinister +felicitation. + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + +CLOUDS AND DARKNESS. + + +"At least, Miss Amy--at least, we shall be friends." + +Amy Waring sat in her chamber on the evening of the day that Lawrence +Newt had said these words. Her long rich brown hair clustered upon her +shoulders, and the womanly brown eyes were fixed upon a handful of +withered flowers. They were the blossoms she had laid away at various +times--gifts of Lawrence Newt, or consecrated by his touch. + +She sat musing for a long time. The womanly brown eyes were soft with +a look of aching regret rather than of sharp disappointment. Then she +rose--still holding the withered remains--and paced thoughtfully up and +down the room. The night hours passed, and still she softly paced, or +tranquilly seated herself, without the falling of a tear, and only +now and then a long deep breath rather than a sigh. + +At last she took all the flowers--dry, yellow, lustreless--and opened a +sheet of white paper. She laid them in it, and the brown womanly eyes +looked at them with yearning fondness. She sat motionless, as if she +could not prevail upon herself to fold the paper. But at length she sank +gradually to her knees--a sinless Magdalen; her brown hair fell about her +bending face, and she said, although her lips did not move, "To each, in +his degree, the cup is given. Oh, Father! strengthen each to drain it and +believe!" + +She rose quietly and folded the paper, with the loving care and lingering +delay with which a mother smooths the shroud that wraps her baby. She +tied it with a pure white ribbon, so that it looked not unlike a bridal +gift; and pressing her lips to it long and silently, she laid it in the +old drawer. There it still remained. The paper was as white, the ribbon +was as pure as ever. Only the flowers were withered. But her heart was +not a flower. + +"Well, Aunt Martha," said she, several months after the death of old +Christopher Burt, "I really think you are coming back to this world +again." + +The young woman smiled, while the older one busily drove her needle. + +"Why," continued Amy, "here is a white collar; and you have actually +smiled at least six times in as many months!" + +The older woman still said nothing. The old sadness was in her eyes, but +it certainly had become more natural--more human, as it were--and the +melodramatic gloom in which she had hitherto appeared was certainly less +obvious. + +"Amy," she said at length, "God leads his erring children through the +dark valley, but he does lead them--he does not leave them. I did not +know how deeply I had sinned until I heard the young man Summerfield, +who came to see me even in this room." + +She looked up and about, as if to catch some lingering light upon the +wall. + +"And it was Lawrence Newt's preacher who made me feel that there was hope +even for me." + +She sewed on quietly. + +"I thank God for those two men; and for one other," she added, after a +little pause. + +Amy only looked, she did not ask who. + +"Lawrence Newt," said Aunt Martha, calmly looking at Amy--"Lawrence Newt, +who came to me as a brother comes to a sister, and said, 'Be of good +cheer!' Amy, what is the matter with you and Lawrence Newt?" + +"How, aunty?" + +"How many months since you met here?" + +"It was several months ago, aunty." + +Aunt Martha sat quietly sewing, and after some time said, + +"He is no longer a young man." + +"But, Aunt Martha, he is not old." + +Still sewing, the grave woman looked at the burning cheeks of her younger +companion. Amy did not speak. + +The older woman continued: "When you and he went from this room months +ago I supposed you would be his wife before now." + +Still Amy did not speak. It was not because she was unwilling to confide +entirely in Aunt Martha, but there was something she did not wish to +say to herself. Yet suddenly, as if lifted upon a calm, irresistible +purpose--as a leaf is lifted upon the long swell of the sea--she said, +with her heart as quiet as her eyes, + +"I do not think Lawrence Newt loves me." + +The next moment the poor leaf is lost in the trough of the sea. The next +moment Amy Waring's heart beat tumultuously; she felt as if she should +fall from her seat. Her eyes were blind with hot tears. Aunt Martha did +not look up--did not start or exclaim--but deliberately threaded her +needle carefully, and creased her work with her thumb-nail. After a +little while, during which the sea was calming itself, she said, slowly, +repeating Amy's words syllable by syllable, + +"You do not believe Lawrence Newt loves you?" + +"No," was the low, firm whisper of reply. + +"Whom do you think he loves?" + +There was an instant of almost deathly stillness in that turbulent heart. +For a moment the very sea of feeling seemed to be frozen. + +Then, and very slowly, a terrible doubt arose in Amy Waring's mind. +Before this conversation every perplexity had resolved itself in the +consciousness that somehow it must all come right by-and-by. It had never +occurred to her to ask, Does he love any one else? But she saw now at +once that if he did, then the meaning of his words was plain enough; +and so, of course, he did. + +Who was it? + +Amy knew there was but one person in the world whose name could possibly +answer that question. + +But had Lawrence not watched with her--and with delight--the progress of +Arthur Merlin's feeling for that other? + +Yes; but if, as he watched so closely, he saw and felt how lovely that +other was, was it so wonderful that he should love her? + +These things flashed through her mind as she sat motionless by Aunt +Martha; and she said, with profound tranquillity, + +"Very possibly, Hope Wayne." + +Aunt Martha did not look up. She seemed to feel that she should see +something too sad if she did so; but she asked, + +"Is she worthy of him?" + +"Perfectly!" answered Amy, promptly. + +At this word Aunt Martha did look up, and her eyes met Amy's. Amy Waring +burst into tears. Her aunt laid aside her work, and gently put her arms +about her niece. She waited until the first gush of feeling had passed, +and then said, tenderly, + +"Amy, it is by the heart that God leads us women to himself. Through love +I fell; but through love, in another way, I hope to be restored. Do you +really believe he loves Hope Wayne?" + +"I don't know," was the low reply. + +"I know, Amy." + +The two women had risen, and were walking, with their arms clasped around +each other, up and down the room. They stopped at the window and looked +out. As they did so, their eyes fell simultaneously upon the man of whom +they were speaking, who was standing at the back of his lofts, looking up +at the window, which was a shrine to him. + +"There she stood and smiled at me," he said to himself whenever he looked +at it. + +As their eyes met, he smiled and waved his hand. With his eyes and head +he asked, as when he had first seen her there, + +"May I come up?" and he waved his handkerchief. + +The two women looked at him. As Amy did so, she felt as if there had been +a long and gloomy war; and now, in his eager eyes and waving hand, she +saw the illumination and waving flags of victory and peace. + +She smiled as she looked, and nodded No to him with her head. + +But Aunt Martha nodded Yes so vehemently that Lawrence Newt immediately +disappeared from his window. + +Alarmed at his coming, doubtful of Aunt Martha's intention, Amy Waring +suddenly cried, "Oh! Aunt Martha!" and was gone in a moment. Lawrence +Newt dashed round, and knocked at the door. + +"Come in!" + +He rushed into the room. Some sweet suspicion had winged his feet and +lightened his heart; but he was not quick enough. He looked eagerly +about him. + +"She is gone!" said Aunt Martha. + +His eager eyes drooped, as if light had gone out of his life also. + +"Mr. Newt," said Aunt Martha, "sit down. You have been of the greatest +service to me. How can I repay you?" + +Lawrence Newt, who had felt during the moment in which he saw Amy at the +window, and the other in which he had been hastening to her, that the +cloud was about rolling from his life, was confounded by finding that it +was an account between Aunt Martha, instead of Amy, and himself that was +to be settled. + +He bowed in some confusion, but recovering in a moment, he said, +courteously, + +"I am aware of nothing that you owe me in any way." + +"Lawrence Newt," returned the other, solemnly, "you have known my story; +you knew the man to whom I supposed myself married; you have known of my +child; you have known how long I have been dead to the world and to all +my family and friends, and when, by chance, you discovered me, you became +as my brother. How many an hour we have sat talking in this room, and how +constantly your sympathy has been my support and your wisdom my guide!" + +Lawrence Newt, whose face had grown very grave, waved his hand +deprecatingly. + +"I know, I know," she continued. "Let that remain unsaid. It can not be +unforgotten. But I know your secrets too." + +They looked at each other. + +"You love Amy Waring." + +His face became inscrutable, and his eyes were fixed quietly upon hers. +She betrayed no embarrassment, but continued, + +"Amy Waring loves you." + +A sudden light shot into that inscrutable face. The clear eyes were +veiled for an instant by an exquisite emotion. + +"What separates you?" + +There was an authority in the tone of the question which Lawrence Newt +found hard to resist. It was an authority natural to such intimate +knowledge of the relation of the two persons. But he was so entirely +unaccustomed to confide in any body, or to speak of his feelings, that he +could not utter a word. He merely looked at Aunt Martha as if he expected +her to answer all her own questions, and solve every difficulty and +doubt. + +Meanwhile she had resumed her sewing, and was rocking quietly in her +chair. Lawrence Newt arose and found his tongue. He bowed in that quaint +way which seemed to involve him more closely in himself, and to warn off +every body else. + +"I prefer to hear that a woman loves me from her own lips." + +The tone was perfectly kind and respectful; but Aunt Martha felt that she +had been struck dumb. + +"I thank you from my heart," Lawrence Newt said to her. And taking her +hand, he bent over it and kissed it. She sat looking at him, and at +length said, + +"Mayn't I do any thing to show my gratitude?" + +"You have already done more than I deserve," replied Lawrence Newt. "I +must go now. Good-by! God bless you!" + +She heard his quick footfalls as he descended the stairs. For a long time +the sombre woman sat rocking idly to and fro, holding her work in her +hand, and with her eyes fixed upon the floor. She did not seem to see +clearly, whatever it might be she was looking at. She shook out her work +and straightened it, and folded it regularly, and looked at it as if the +secret would pop out of the proper angle if she could only find it. +Then she creased it and crimped it--still she could not see. Then she +took a few stitches slowly, regarding fixedly a corner of the room as if +the thought she was in search of was a mouse, and might at any moment run +out of his hole and over the floor. + +And after all the looking, she shook her head intelligently and fell +quietly to work, as if the mystery were plain enough, saying to herself, + +"Why didn't I trust a girl's instinct who loves as Amy does? Of course +she is right. Dear! dear! Of course he loves Hope Wayne." + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + +ARTHUR MERLIN'S GREAT PICTURE. + + +Arthur Merlin had sketched his great picture of Diana and Endymion a +hundred times. He talked of it with his friends, and smoked scores of +boxes of cigars during the conversations. He had completed what he called +the study for the work, which represented, he said, the Goddess alighting +upon Latmos while Endymion slept. He pointed out to his companions, +especially to Lawrence Newt, the pure antique classical air of the +composition. + +"You know," he said, as he turned his head and moved his hands over the +study as if drawing in the air, "you know it ought somehow to seem +silent, and cool, and remote; for it is ancient Greece, Diana, and +midnight. You see?" + +Then came a vast cloud of smoke from his mouth, as if to assist the eyes +of the spectator. + +"Oh yes, I see," said every one of his companions--especially Lawrence +Newt, who did see, indeed, but saw only a head of Hope Wayne in a mist. +The Endymion, the mountain, the Greece, the antiquity, were all vigorous +assumptions of the artist. The study for his great picture was simply an +unfinished portrait of Hope Wayne. + +Aunt Winnifred, who sometimes came into her nephew's studio, saw the +study one day, and exclaimed, sorrowfully, + +"Oh, Arthur! Arthur!" + +The young man, who was busily mixing colors upon his pallet, and humming, +as he smoked, "'Tis my delight of a shiny night," turned in dismay, +thinking his aunt was suddenly ill. + +"My dear aunt!" and he laid down his pallet and ran toward her. + +She was sitting in an armchair holding the study. Arthur stopped. + +"My dear Arthur, now I understand all." + +Arthur Merlin was confused. He, perhaps, suspected that his picture of +Diana resembled a certain young lady. But how should Aunt Winnifred know +it, who, as he supposed, had never seen her? Besides, he felt it was a +disagreeable thing, when he was and had been in love with a young lady +for a long time, to have his aunt say that she understood all about it. +How could she understand all about it? What right has any body to say +that she understands all about it? He asked himself the petulant question +because he was very sure that he himself did not by any means understand +all about it. + +"What do you understand, Aunt Winnifred?" demanded Arthur, in a resolute +and defiant tone, as if he were fully prepared to deny every thing he was +about to hear. + +"Yes, yes," continued Aunt Winnifred, musingly, and in a tone of profound +sadness, as she still held and contemplated the picture--"yes; yes! I +see, I see!" + +Arthur was quite vexed. + +"Now really my dear aunt," said he, remonstratingly, "you must be aware +that it is not becoming in a woman like you to go on in this way. You +ought to explain what you mean," he added, decidedly. + +"Well, my poor boy, the hotter you get the surer I am. Don't you see?" + +Mr. Merlin did not seem to be in the least pacified by this reply. It +was, therefore, in an indignant tone that he answered: + +"Aunt Winnifred, it is not kind in you to come up here and make me lose +my time and temper, while you sit there coolly and talk in infernal +parables!" + +"Infernal parables!" cried the lady, in a tone of surprise and horror. + +"Oh, Arthur, Arthur! that comes of not going to church. Infernal +parables! My soul and body, what an awful idea!" + +The painter smiled. The contest was too utterly futile. He went slowly +back to his easel, and, after a few soothing puffs, began again to rub +his colors upon the pallet. He was humming carelessly once more, and +putting his brush to the canvas before him, when his aunt remarked, + +"There, Arthur! now that you are reasonable, I'll tell you what I meant." + +The artist looked over his shoulder and laughed. + +"Go on, dear aunt." + +"I understand now why you don't go to our church." + +It was a remark so totally unexpected that Arthur stopped short and +turned quite round. + +"What do you mean, Aunt Winnifred?" + +"I mean," said she, holding up the study as if to overwhelm him with +resistless proof, "I mean, Arthur--and I could cry as I say it--that you +are a Roman Catholic!" + +Aunt Winnifred, who was an exemplary member of the Dutch Reformed Church, +or, as Arthur gayly called her to her face, a Dutch Deformed Woman, was +too simple and sincere in her religious faith to tolerate with equanimity +the thought that any one of the name of Merlin should be domiciled in the +House of Sin, as she poetically described the Church of Rome. + +"Arthur! Arthur! and your father a clergyman. It's too dreadful!" + +And the tender-hearted woman burst into tears. + +But still weeping, she waved the picture in melancholy confirmation of +her assertion. Arthur was amused and perplexed. + +"My dear aunt, what has put such a droll idea into your head?" + +"Because--because," said Aunt Winnifred, sobbing and wiping her eyes, +"because this picture, which you keep locked up so carefully, is a +picture of the Holy Virgin. Oh dear! just to think of it!" + +There was a fresh burst of feeling from the honest and affectionate +woman, who felt that to be a Roman Catholic was to be visibly sealed and +stamped for eternal woe. But there was an answering burst of laughter +from Arthur, who staggered to a sofa, and lay upon his back shouting +until the tears also rolled from his eyes. + +His aunt stopped, appalled, and made up her mind that he was not only a +Catholic but a madman. Then, as Arthur grew more composed, he and his +aunt looked at each other for some moments in silence. + +"Aunt, you are right. It is the Holy Virgin!" + +"Oh! Arthur," she groaned. + +"It is my Madonna!" + +"Poor boy!" sighed she. + +"It is the face I worship." + +"Arthur! Arthur!" and his aunt despairingly patted her knees slowly with +her hands. + +"But her name is not Mary." + +Aunt Winnifred looked surprised. + +"Her name is Diana." + +"Diana?" echoed his aunt, as if she were losing her mind. "Oh! I beg your +pardon. Then it's only a portrait after all? Yes, yes. Diana who?" + +Arthur Merlin curled one foot under him as he sat, and, lighting a fresh +cigar, told Aunt Winnifred the lovely legend of Latmos--talking of Diana +and Endymion, and thinking of Hope Wayne and Arthur Merlin. + +Aunt Winnifred listened with the utmost interest and patience. Her nephew +was eloquent. Well, well, thought the old lady, if interest in his +pursuit makes a great painter, my dear nephew will be a great man. During +the course of the story Arthur paused several times, evidently lost in +reverie--perhaps tracing the analogy. When he ended there was a moment's +silence. Then Aunt Winnifred looked kindly at him, and said: + +"Well?" + +"Well," said Arthur, as he uncurled his leg, and with a half sigh, as if +it were pleasanter to tell old legends of love than to paint modern +portraits. + +"Is that the whole?" + +"That is the whole." + +"Well; but Arthur, did she marry him after all?" + +Arthur looked wistfully a moment at his aunt. + +"Marry him! Bless you, no, Aunt Winnifred. She was a goddess. Goddesses +don't marry." + +Aunt Winnifred did not answer. Her eyes softened like eyes that see days +and things far away--like eyes in which shines the love of a heart that, +under those conditions, would rather not be a goddess. + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + +REDIVIVUS. + + +Ellen Bennet, like May Newt, was a child no longer--hardly yet a woman, +or only a very young one. Rosy cheeks, and clustering hair, and blue +eyes, showed only that it was May--June almost, perhaps--instead of gusty +March or gleaming April. + +"Ellen," said Gabriel, in a low voice--while his mother, who was busily +sewing, conversed in a murmuring undertone with her husband, who sat upon +the sofa, slowly swinging his slippered foot--"Ellen, Lawrence Newt +didn't say that he should ask Edward to his dinner on my birthday." + +Ellen's cheeks answered--not her lips, nor her eyes, which were bent upon +a purse she was netting. + +"But I think he will," added Gabriel. "I think I have mistaken Lawrence +Newt if he does not." + +"He is usually very thoughtful," whispered Ellen, as she netted busily. + +"Ellen, how handsome Edward is!" said Gabriel, with enthusiasm. + +The young woman said nothing. + +"And how good!" added Gabriel. + +"He is," she answered, scarcely audibly. Then she said she had left +something up stairs. How many things are discovered by young women, under +certain circumstances, to have been left up stairs! Ellen rose and left +the room. + +"I was saying to your father, Gabriel," said his mother, raising her +voice, and still sewing, "that Edward comes here a great deal." + +"Yes, mother; and I am glad of it. He has very few friends in the city." + +"He looks like a Spaniard," said Mr. Bennet, slowly, dwelling upon every +word. "How rich that lustrous tropical complexion is! Its duskiness is +mysterious. The young man's eyes are like summer moonlight." + +Mr. Bennet's own eyes half closed as he spoke, as if he were dreaming of +gorgeous summer nights and the murmur of distant music. + +Gabriel and his mother were instinctively silent. The click of her needle +was the only sound. + +"Oh yes, yes--that is--I mean, my dear, he does come here very often. I +do go off on such foolish fancies!" remarked Mr. Bennet, at length. + +"He comes very often when you are not at home, Gabriel," said Mrs. +Bennet, after a kind glance at her husband, and still sewing. + +"Yes, mother." + +"Then it isn't only to see you?" + +"No, mother." + +"And often when your father and I return from an evening stroll in the +streets we find him here." + +"Yes, mother." + +"It isn't to see us altogether, then?" + +"No, mother." + +Mrs. Bennet turned her work, and in so doing glanced for a moment at her +son. His eyes were upon her face, but he seemed to have said all he had +to say. + +"I always feel," said Mr. Bennet, in a tone and with an expression as if +he were looking at something very far away, "as if King Arthur must have +lived in the tropics. There is that sort of weird, warm atmosphere in the +romance. Where is Ellen? Shall we read some more in this little edition +of the old story?" + +He laid his hand, as he spoke, upon a small copy of old Malory's Romance +of Arthur. It was a kind of reading of which he was especially fond, and +to which the rest were always willing and glad to listen. + +"Call Ellen," said he to Gabriel; "and now then for King Arthur!" + +As he spoke the door-bell rang. The next moment a young man, apparently +of Gabriel's age, entered the room. His large melancholy black eyes, the +massive black curls upon his head, the transparent olive complexion, a +natural elegance of form and of movement--all corresponded with what Mr. +Bennet had been saying. It was evidently Edward. + +"Good-evening, Little Malacca!" cried Gabriel, gayly, as he rose and put +out his hand. + +"Good-evening, Gabriel!" he answered, in a soft, ringing voice; then +bowed and spoke to Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. + +"Gabriel doesn't forget old school-days," said the new-comer to Mrs. +Bennet. + +"No, he has often told us of his friendship with Little Malacca," +returned the lady calmly, as she resumed her work. + +"And how little I thought I was to see him when I came to Mr. Newt's +store," said the young man. + +"Where did you first know Mr. Lawrence Newt?" asked Mrs. Bennet. + +"I don't remember when I didn't know him, Madam," replied Edward. + +"Happy fellow!" said Gabriel. + +Meanwhile Miss Ellen had probably found the mysterious something which +she had left up stairs; for she entered the room, and bowed very calmly +upon seeing Edward, and, seating herself upon the side of the table +farthest from him, was presently industriously netting. As for Edward, +he had snapped a sentence in the middle as he rose and bowed to her, and +could not possibly fit the two ends together when he sat down again, and +so lost it. + +Gradually, as the evening wore on, the conversation threatened to divide +itself into _têtes-à-tête_; for Gabriel suddenly discovered that he had +an article upon Hemp to read in the Encyclopedia which he had recently +purchased, and was already profoundly immersed in it, while Mr. and Mrs. +Bennet resumed their murmuring talk, and the chair of the youth with the +large black eyes, somehow--nobody saw how or when--slipped round until it +was upon the same side of the table with that of Ellen, who was busily +netting. + +Mrs. Bennet was conscious that the chair had gone round, and the swimming +eyes of her husband lingered with pleasure upon the mass of black curls +bent toward the golden hair which was bowed over that intricate purse. +Ellen was sitting under that portrait of the lady, with the flashing, +passionate eyes, who seemed to bear a family likeness to Mrs. Bennet. + +The more closely he looked at the handsome youth and the lovely girl the +more curious Mr. Bennet's eyes became. He watched the two with such +intentness that his wife several times looked up at him surprised when +she received no answer to her remarks. Evidently something had impressed +Mr. Bennet exceedingly. + +His wife bent her head a little nearer to his. + +"My dear, did you never see a pair of lovers before?" + +He turned his dreaming eyes at that, smiled, and pressed his lips +silently to the face which was so near his own that if it had been there +for the express purpose of being caressed it could hardly have been +nearer. + +Then slipping his arm around her waist, Mr. Bennet drew his wife toward +him and pointed with his head, but so imperceptibly that only she +perceived it, toward the young people, as if he saw something more than a +pair of lovers. The fond woman's eyes followed her husband's. Gradually +they became as intently fixed as his. They seemed to be curiously +comparing the face of the young man who sat at their daughter's side with +the face of the portrait that hung above her head. Mrs. Bennet grew +perceptibly paler as she looked. The unconscious Edward and Ellen +murmured softly together. She did not look at him, but she felt the +light of his great eyes falling upon her, and she was not unhappy. + +"My dear," began Mr. Bennet in a low tone, still studying the face and +the portrait. + +"Hush!" said his wife, softly, laying her head upon his shoulder; "I see +it all, I am sure of it." + +Gabriel turned at this moment from his Encyclopedia. He looked intently +for some time at the group by the table, as if studying all their +thoughts, and then said, gravely, in a loud, clear voice, so that Ellen +dropped a stitch, Edward stopped whispering, and Mr. and Mrs. Bennet sat +erect, + +"Exactly. I knew how it was. It says distinctly, 'This plant is supposed +to be a native of India; but it has long been naturalized and extensively +cultivated elsewhere, particularly in Russia, where it forms an article +of primary importance.'" + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + +DINING WITH LAWRENCE NEWT. + + +Gabriel Bennett was not confident that Edward Wynne would be at the +birthday dinner given in his honor by Lawrence Newt, but he was very sure +that May Newt would be there, and so she was. It was at Delmonico's; and +a carriage arrived at the Bennets' just in time to convey them. Another +came to Mr. Boniface Newt's, to whom brother Lawrence explained that he +had invited his daughter to dinner, and that he should send a young +friend--in fact, his confidential clerk, to accompany Miss Newt. Brother +Boniface, who looked as if he were the eternally relentless enemy of all +young friends, had nevertheless the profoundest confidence in brother +Lawrence, and made no objection. So the hero of the day conducted Miss +May Newt to the banquet. + +The hero of the day was so engaged in conversation with Miss May Newt +that he said very little to his neighbor upon the other side, who was no +other than Hope Wayne. She had been watching very curiously a young man +with black curls and eyes, who seemed to have words only for his +neighbor, Miss Ellen Bennet. She presently turned and asked Gabriel +if she had never seen him before. "I have, surely, some glimmering +remembrance of that face," she said, studying it closely. + +Her question recalled a day which was strangely remote and unreal in +Gabriel's memory. He even half blushed, as if Miss Wayne had reminded him +of some early treason to a homage which he felt in the very bottom of his +heart for his blue-eyed neighbor. But the calm, unsuspicious sweetness of +Hope Wayne's face consoled him. He looked at her for a moment without +speaking. It was really but a moment, yet, as he looked, he lay in a +heavily-testered bed--he heard the beating of the sea upon the shore--he +saw the sage Mentor, the ghostly Calypso putting aside the curtain--for a +moment he was once more the little school-boy, bruised and ill at +Pinewood; but this face--no longer a girl's face--no longer anxious, +but sweet, serene, and tender--was this the half-haughty face he had +seen and worshipped in the old village church--the face whose eyes of +sympathy, but not of love, had filled his heart with such exquisite pain? + +"That young man, Miss Wayne, is Edward Wynne," he said, in reply to the +question. + +It did not seem to resolve her perplexity. + +"I don't recall the name," she answered. "I think he must remind me of +some one I have known." + +"He is as black as Abel Newt," said Gabriel, looking with his clear eyes +at Hope Wayne. + +"But much handsomer than Mr. Newt now is," she answered, with perfect +unconcern. "His eyes are softer; and, in fact," she said, smiling +pleasantly, "I am not surprised to see what a willing listener his +neighbor is. I wish I could recall him. I don't think that he resembles +Mr. Newt at all, except in complexion." + +Arthur Merlin heard every word, and watched every movement, and marked +every expression of Hope Wayne's, at whose other hand he sat, during this +little remark. Gabriel said, in reply to it, + +"The truth is, Miss Wayne, you have seen him before. The first time you +ever saw me he was with me." + +The clear eyes of the young man were turned full upon her again. + +"Oh, yes, I remember now!" she answered. "He was your friend in that +terrible battle with Abel Newt. It seems long ago, does it not?" + +However far away it may have seemed, it was apparently a remembrance that +roused no especial emotion in Miss Hope Wayne's heart. Having satisfied +herself, she released the attention of Gabriel, who had other subjects of +conversation with May Newt than his quarrel with her brother for the +favor of Hope Wayne. + +But Arthur Merlin observed that while Hope Wayne listened with her +ears to him, with her eyes she listened to Lawrence Newt. His simple, +unselfish, and therefore unconscious urbanity--his genial, kindly +humor--and the soft, manly earnestness of his face, were not +unheeded--how could they be?--by her. Since the day the will was read he +had been a faithful friend and counselor. It was he who negotiated for +her house. It was he who daily called and gave her a thousand counsels in +the details of management, of which every woman who comes into a large +property has such constant need. And in all the minor arrangements of +business she found in him the same skill and knowledge, combined with a +womanly reserve and softness, which had first so strongly attracted her. + +Yet his visits as financial counsel, as he called himself, did not +destroy, they only heightened, the pleasure of the meetings of the Round +Table. For the group of friends still met. They talked of poetry still. +They talked of many things, and perhaps thought of but a few. The +pleasure to all of them was evident enough; but it seemed more perplexed +than formerly. Hope Wayne felt it. Amy Waring felt it. Arthur Merlin felt +it. But not one of them could tell whether Lawrence Newt felt it. There +was a vague consciousness of something which nearly concerned them all, +but not one of them could say precisely what it was--except, possibly, +Amy Waring; and except, certainly, Lawrence Newt. + +For Aunt Martha's question had drawn from Amy's lips what had lain +literally an unformed suspicion in her mind, until it leaped to life and +rushed armed from her mouth. Amy Waring saw how beautiful Hope Wayne was. +She knew how lovely in character she was. And she was herself beautiful +and lovely; so she said in her mind at once, "Why have I never seen this? +Why did I not know that he must of course love her?" + +Then, if she reminded herself of the conversation she had held with +Lawrence Newt about Arthur Merlin and Hope Wayne, she was only perplexed +for a moment. She knew that he could not but be honest; and she said +quietly in her soul, "He did not know at that time how well worthy his +love she was." + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + +THE HEALTH OF THE JUNIOR PARTNER. + + +"I call for a bumper!" said Lawrence Newt, when the fruit was placed upon +the table. + +The glasses were filled, and the host glanced around his table. He did +not rise, but he said: + +"Ladies and gentlemen, commercial honesty is not impossible, but it is +rare. I do not say that merchants are worse than other people; I only say +that their temptations are as great, and that an honest man--a man +perfectly honest every how and every where--is a wonder. Whatever an +honest man does is a benefit to all the rest of us. If he become a +lawyer, justice is more secure; if a doctor, quackery is in danger; if +a clergyman, the devil trembles; if a shoemaker, we don't wear rotten +leather; if a merchant, we get thirty-six inches to the yard. I have been +long in business. I have met many honest merchants. But I know that 'tis +hard for a merchant to be honest in New York. Will you show me the place +where 'tis easy? When we are all honest because honesty is the best +policy, then we are all ruined, because that is no honesty at all. Why +should a man make a million of dollars and lose his manhood? He dies when +he has won them, and what are the chances that he can win his manhood +again in the next world as easily as he has won the dollars in this? +For he can't carry his dollars with him. Any firm, therefore, that gets +an honest man into it gets an accession of the most available capital in +the world. This little feast is to celebrate the fact that my firm has +been so enriched. I invite you to drink the health of Gabriel Bennet, +junior partner of the firm of Lawrence Newt & Co.!" + +There was a moment of perfect silence. Then every body looked at Gabriel +except his mother, whose eyes were so full of tears that she could see +nothing. Gabriel himself was entirely surprised. He had had no hint from +Lawrence Newt of this good fortune. He had worked faithfully, constantly, +and intelligently--honestly, of course--that was all Gabriel knew about +his position. He had been for some time confidential clerk, so that he +was fully cognizant of the state of the business, and knew how prosperous +it was. And yet, in this moment of delight and astonishment, he had but +one feeling, which seemed entirely alien and inadequate to the occasion, +for it was merely the hope that now he might be a regular visitor at the +house of Boniface Newt. + +Hope Wayne's eye had hung upon Lawrence Newt, during the little speech he +had made, so intently, that Arthur Merlin's merriment had been entirely +checked. He found himself curiously out of spirits. Until that moment, +and especially after the little conversation between Hope and Gabriel, +in which Abel Newt's name had been mentioned, Arthur had thought it, upon +the whole, the pleasantest little dinner he had ever known. He was not of +the same opinion now. + +Edward Wynne and Ellen Bennet showed entire satisfaction with the dinner, +and especially with Lawrence Newt's toast. And when the first hum of +applause and pleasure had ceased, Edward cried out lustily, + +"A speech from the junior partner! A speech! a speech!" + +There was a general call. Gabriel could not help rising, and blushing, +and bowing, and stuttering, and sitting down again, amidst tempestuous +applause, without the slightest coherent idea of what he had said, except +that he was very happy, and very glad, and very sure, and very, etc., +etc. + +But he did not care a song for what he had said, nor for the applause +that greeted it, when he saw certain blue eyes glistening, and a soft +shyness upon certain cheeks and lips, as if they had themselves been +speaking, and had been saying--what was palpably, undeniably, +conspicuously true--that they were very happy, and very glad, and very +sure, and very, etc., etc. Very, indeed! + + + + +CHAPTER LIX. + +MRS. ALFRED DINKS. + + +It was but a few days after the dinner that the junior partner was taking +the old path that led under the tower of the fairy princess, when lo! he +met her in the way. In her eyes there was that sweet light of expectation +and happiness which illuminated all Gabriel's thoughts of her, and +persuaded him that he was the happiest and unworthiest of men. + +"Where are you going, May?" + +"I am going to Fanny's." + +"May I go too?" + +May Newt looked at him and said, gravely, "No, I am going to ask Little +Malacca to go with me." + +"Oh, very well," replied Mr. Gabriel Bennet, with equal gravity. + +"What splendid, melancholy eyes he has!" said May, with unusual ardor. + +"Ah! you think so?" + +"Of course I do, and such hair! Why, Mr. Bennet, did you ever see such +magnificent hair--" + +"Oh, you like black hair?" + +"And his voice--" + +"Now, May--" + +"Well, Sir." + +"Please--" + +What merry light in the fairy eyes! What dazzling splendor of love and +happiness in the face that turned to his as he laid her arm in his own! +One would have thought she, too, had been admitted a junior partner in +some most prosperous firm. + +They passed along the street, which was full of people, and Gabriel and +May unconsciously looked at the crowd with new eyes and thoughts. Can it +be possible that all these people are so secretly happy as two that we +know? thought they. "All my life," said Gabriel to himself, without +knowing it, "have I been going up and down, and never imagined how much +honey there was hived away in all the hearts of which I saw only the +rough outside?" "All my life," mused May, with sweet girl-eyes, "have +I passed lovers as if they were mere men and women?" And under her veil, +where no eye could see, her cheek was flushed, and her eyes were sweeter. + +They passed up Broadway and turned across to the Bowery. Crossing the +broad pavement of the busy thoroughfare, they went into a narrow street +beyond, and so toward the East River. At length they stopped before a +low, modest house near a quiet corner. A sloppy kitchen-maid stood upon +the area steps abreast of the street. A few miserable trees, pining to +death in the stone desert of the town, were boxed up along the edge of +the sidewalk. A scavenger's cart was joggling along, and a little behind, +a ragman's wagon with a string of jangling bells. The smell of the sewer +was the chief odor, and the long lines of low, red brick houses, with +wooden steps and balustrades, and the blinds closed, completed a +permanent camp of dreariness. + +"Does Fanny Newt live there?" asked Gabriel, in a tone which indicated +that there might be hearts in which honey was not abundantly hived. + +"Yes," said May, gravely. "You know they have very little to live upon, +and--and--oh dear, I don't like to speak of it, Gabriel, but they are +very miserable." + +Gabriel said nothing, but rang the bell. + +The sloppy servant having stared wildly for a moment at the apparition +of blooming love that had so incomprehensibly alighted upon the steps, +ducked under them, and in a moment reappeared at the door. She seemed +to recognize May, and said "Yes'm" before any question had been asked. + +Gabriel and May walked into the little parlor. It was dark and formal. +There was a black haircloth sofa with wooden edges all over it, so that +nobody could lean or lounge, or do any thing but sit uncomfortably +upright. There were black haircloth chairs, a table with two or three +books; two lamps with glass drops upon the mantle; a thin cheap carpet; +gloom, silence, and a complicated smell of grease--as if the ghosts +of all the wretched dinners that had ever been cooked in the house +haunted it spitefully. + +While May went up stairs to find Fanny, Gabriel Bennet looked and smelled +around him. He had not believed that a human home could be so dismal, and +he could not understand how haircloth furniture and dimness could make it +so. His father's house was certainly not very large; and it was scantily +and plainly furnished, but no Arabian palace had ever seemed so splendid +to his imagination as that home was dear to his heart. No, it isn't the +furniture nor the smell, thought he. I am quite sure it is something that +I neither see nor smell that makes the difference. + +As he sat on the uncomfortable sofa and heard the jangling bells of the +ragman die away into the distance, and the loud, long, mournful whoop of +the chimney-sweep, his fancy was busy with the figures of a thousand +things that might be--of a certain nameless somebody, mistress of that +poor, sombre house, but so lighting it up with grace and gay sweetness +that the hard sofa became the most luxurious lounge, and the cheap table +more gorgeous than ormolu; and of a certain other nameless somebody +coming home at evening--an opening door--a rustle in the hall as of +women's robes--a singular sound as of meeting lips--then a coming +together arm in arm into the dingy furnished little parlor, but with such +a bright fire blazing under the wooden mantle--and then--and then--a +pattering of little feet down the stairs--Hem! hem! said Gabriel Bennet, +clearing his throat, as if to arouse himself by making a noise. For there +was a sound of feet upon the stairs, and the next moment May and her +sister Fanny entered the room. Gabriel rose and bowed, and held out his +hand. Mrs. Alfred Dinks said, "How do you do?" and seated herself without +taking the hand. + +Time had not softened her face, but sharpened it, and her eyes were of a +fierce blackness. She looked forty years old; and there was a permanent +frown of her dark brows. + +"So this silly May is going to marry you?" said she, addressing Gabriel. + +Surprised by this kind of congratulation, but also much amused by it, as +if there could be nothing so ludicrous as the idea of May not marrying a +man who loved her as he loved, Gabriel gravely responded, + +"Yes, ma'am, she is set upon it." + +Fanny Newt, who had seated herself with an air of utter and chronic +contempt and indifference, and who looked away from Gabriel the moment +she had spoken to him, now turned toward him again suddenly with an +expression like that of an animal which pricks up his ears. The keen +fire of the old days shot for a moment into her eyes, for it was the +first word of badinage or humor that Fanny Newt had heard for a long, +long time. + +"A woman who is such a fool as to marry ought to be unhappy," she +replied, with her eyes fixed upon Gabriel. + +"A man who persuades her to do it ought to be taken out and hung," +answered he, with aphoristic gravity. + +Fanny was perplexed. + +"Better to be the slave of a parent than a husband," she continued. + +"I'd lock him out," retorted Gabriel, with pure irrelevancy; "I'd scotch +his sheets; I'd pour water in his boots; I'd sift sand in his hair-brush; +I'd spatter vitriol on his shirts. A man who marries a woman deserves +nothing better." + +He wagged his foot carelessly, took up one of the books upon the table, +and looked into it indifferently. Fanny Newt turned to her sister, who +sat smiling by her side. + +"What is the matter with this man?" asked Mrs. Alfred Dinks, audibly, of +May. + +"There is a pregnant text, my dear Mrs. Dinks, _née_ Newt, a name which I +delight to pronounce," said Gabriel, striking in before May could reply, +with the lightest tone and the soberest face in the world, "which +instructs us to answer a fool according to his folly." + +Fanny was really confounded. She had heard Abel in old days speak of +Gabriel Bennet as a spooney--a saint in the milk--a goodsey, boodsey, +booby--a sort of youth who would turn pale and be snuffed out by one +of her glances. She found him incomprehensible. She owed him the first +positive emotion of human interest she had known for years. + +May Newt looked and listened without speaking. The soft light glimmered +in her eyes, for she knew what it all meant. It meant precisely what her +praises of Little Malacca meant. It meant that she and Gabriel loved each +other. + +The junior partner was still holding the book when a heavy step was heard +in the entry. Fanny's eyes grew darker and the frown deeper. There was a +blundering movement outside--a hat fell--a cane struck something--and +Gabriel knew as perfectly as if he could look through the wall what kind +of man was coming. The door opened with a burst, and Mr. Alfred Dinks +stopped as his eye fell upon the company. A heavy, coarse, red-faced, +dull-eyed man, with an air of brutish obstinacy in every lineament and +movement, he stared for a moment without a word or sign of welcome, and +then looking at his wife, said, in a grunting, surly tone, + +"Look here; don't be fooling round. The old man's bust up!" + +He banged the door violently to, and they heard his clumsy footsteps +creaking up the stairs. + + + + +CHAPTER LX. + +POLITICS. + + +"In course; I sez to ma--why, Lord bless me, it must have been three or +four years ago--that 'twould all turn out so. What's rotten will come to +pieces, ma, sez I. Every year she sez to me, sez she, why ain't the Newts +failed yet? as you said they was going to. Jest you be quiet, sez I, ma, +it's comin'. So 'twas. I know'd all about it." + +President Van Boozenberg thus unburdened his mind and justified his +vaticinations to the knot of gentlemen who were perpetually at the bank. +They listened, and said ah! and yes, and shook their heads; and the shaky +ones wondered whether the astute financier had marked them and had said +to ma, sez he, that for all they looked so bright and crowded canvas +so smartly, they are shaky, ma--shaky. + +General Belch heard the news at his office. He was sitting on the end +of his back-bone, which was supported on the two hind legs of a wooden +chair, while the two fore legs and his own were lifted in the air. His +own, however, went up at a more precipitate angle and rested with the +feet apart upon the mantle. By a skillful muscular process the General +ejected tobacco juice from his mouth, between his legs, and usually +lodged it in the grate before him. It was evident, however, that many +of his friends had not been so successful, for the grate, the hearth, +and the neighboring floor were spotted with the fluid. + +The Honorable Mr. Ele was engaged in conversation with his friend Belch, +who was giving him instructions for the next Congressional session. + +"You see, Ele, if we could only send something of the right stamp--the +right stamp, I say, in the place of Watkins Bodley from the third +district, we should be all right. Bodley is very uncertain." + +"I know," returned the Honorable Mr. Ele, "Bodley is not sound. He has +not the true party feeling. He is not willing to make sacrifices. And yet +I think that--that--perhaps--" + +He looked at General Belch inquiringly. That gentleman turned, beamed +approval, and squirted a copious cascade. + +"Exactly," said Mr. Ele, "I was saying that I think if Mr. Bodkins, who +is a perfectly honorable man--" + +"Oh, perfectly; nothing against his character. Besides, it's a free +country, and every body may have his opinions," said General Belch. + +"Precisely," resumed Mr. Ele, "as I was saying; being a perfectly +honorable man--in fact, unusually honorable, I happen to know that he +is in trouble--ahem! ahem! pecuniary trouble." + +He paused a moment, while his friend of the military title looked hard at +the grate, as if selecting a fair mark, then made a clucking noise, and +drenched it completely. He then said, musingly, + +"Yes, yes--ah yes--I see. It is a great pity. The best men get into such +trouble. How much money did you say he wanted?" + +"I said he was in pecuniary trouble," returned Mr. Ele, with a slight +tone of correction. + +"I understand, Mr. Ele," answered the other, a little pompously, and with +an air of saying, "Know your place, Sir." + +"I understand, and I wish to know how large a sum would relieve Mr. +Bodley from his immediate pressure." + +"I think about eight or nine thousand dollars. Perhaps a thousand more." + +"I suppose," said General Belch, slowly, still looking into the blank, +dismal grate, and rubbing his fat nose steadily with his fat forefinger +and thumb, "I suppose that a man situated as Mr. Bodley is finds it very +detrimental to his business to be engaged in public life, and might +possibly feel it to be his duty to his family and creditors to resign +his place, if he saw a promising way of righting his business, without +depending upon the chances of a Congressional career." + +As he drew to the end of this hypothetical harangue General Belch looked +sideways at his companion to see if he probably understood him. + +The Honorable Mr. Ele shook his head in turn, looked solemnly into the +empty grate, and said, slowly and with gravity: + +"The supposition might be entertained for the sake of the argument." + +The General was apparently satisfied with this reply, for he continued: + +"Let us, then, suppose that a sum of eight or nine thousand dollars +having been raised--and Mr. Bodley having resigned--that a new candidate +is to be selected who shall--who shall, in fact, serve his country from +our point of view, who ought the man to be?" + +"Precisely; who ought the man to be?" replied Mr. Ele. + +The two gentlemen looked gravely into the grate. General Belch squirted +reflectively. The Honorable Mr. Ele raised his hand and shaded his eyes, +and gazed steadfastly, as if he expected to see the candidate emerge from +the chimney. While they still sat thoughtfully a knock was heard at the +door. The General started and brought down his chair with a crash. Mr. +Ele turned sharply round, as if the candidate had taken him by surprise +in coming in by the door. + +A boy handed General Belch a note: + +"MY DEAR BELCH,--B. Newt, Son, & Co. have stopped. We do not hear of an +assignment, so desire you to take steps at once to secure judgment upon +the inclosed account. + +"Yours, PERIWING & BUDDBY." + +"Hallo!" said General Belch, as the messenger retired, "old Newt's +smashed! However, it's a great while since he has done any thing for +the party.--By Jove!" + +The last exclamation was sudden, as if he had been struck by a happy +thought. He took a fresh quid in his mouth, and, putting his hands upon +his knees, sat silently for five minutes, and then said, + +"I have the man!" + +"You have the man?" said Ele, looking at him with interest. + +"Certainly. Look here!" + +Mr. Ele did look, as earnestly as if he expected the General to take the +man out of his pocket. + +"You know we want to get the grant, at any rate. If we only have men who +see from our point of view, we are sure of it. I think I know a man who +can be persuaded to look at the matter from that point--a man who may be +of very great service to the party, if we can persuade him to see from +our point of view." + +"Who is that?" asked Mr. Ele. + +"Abel Newt," replied General Belch. + +Mr. Ele seemed somewhat surprised. + +"Oh--yes--ah--indeed. I did not know he was in political life," said he. + +"He isn't," returned General Belch. + +Mr. Ele looked for further instructions. + +"Every body must begin," said Belch. "Look here. If we don't get this +grant from Congress, what on earth is the use of having worked so long +in this devilish old harness of politics? Haven't we been to primary +meetings, and conventions, and elections, and all the other tomfoolery, +speechifying and plotting and setting things right, and being bled, by +Jupiter!--bled to the tune of more hundreds than I mean to lose; and now, +just as we are where a bold push will save every thing, and make it worth +while to have worked in the nasty mill so long, we must have our wits +about us. Do you know Abel Newt?" + +"No." + +"I do. He is a gentleman without the slightest squeamishness. He is +perfectly able to see things from particular points of view. He has great +knowledge of the world, and he is a friend of the people, Sir. His +politics are of the right kind," said General Belch, in a tone which +seemed to be setting the tune for any future remarks Mr. Ele might have +to make about Mr. Newt--at public meetings, for instance, or elsewhere. + +"I am glad to hear he is a friend of the people," returned Mr. Ele. + +"Yes, Sir, he is the consistent enemy of a purse-proud aristocracy, Sir." + +"Exactly; purse-proud aristocracy," repeated Mr. Ele, as if conning a +lesson by rote. + +"Dandled in the lap of luxury, he does not hesitate to descend from it to +espouse the immortal cause of popular rights." + +"Popular rights," returned the Honorable Mr. Ele, studying his lesson. + +"Animated by a glowing patriotism, he stands upon the people, and waves +above his head the glorious flag of our country." + +"Glorious flag of our country," responded the other. + +"The undaunted enemy of monopoly, he is equally the foe of class +legislation and the friend of State rights." + +"Friend of State rights." + +"Ahem!" said General Belch, looking blankly at Mr. Ele, "where was I?" + +"Friend of State rights," parroted Mr. Ele. + +"Exactly; oh yes! And if ever the glorious fabric of our country's--our +country's--our country's--d---- it! our country's what, Mr. Ele?" + +That honorable gentleman was engaged with his own thoughts while he +followed with his tongue the words of his friend, so that, perhaps a +little maliciously, perhaps a little unconsciously, he went on in the +same wooden tone of repetition. + +"D---- it! Our country's what, Mr. Ele?" + +General Belch looked at his companion. They both smiled. + +"How the old phrases sort o' slip out, don't they?" asked the General, +squirting. + +"They do," said Mr. Ele, taking snuff. + +"Well, now, don't you see what kind of man Abel Newt is?" + +"I do, indeed," replied Ele. + +"I tell you, if you fellows from the city don't look out for yourselves, +you'll find him riding upon your shoulders. He is a smart fellow. I am +very sorry for Watkins Bodley. Any family?" + +"Yes--a good deal," replied Mr. Ele, vaguely. + +"Ah indeed! Pity! pity! I suppose, then, that a proper sense of what he +owes to his family--eh?" + +"Without question. Oh! certainly." + +General Belch rose. + +"I do not see, then, that we have any thing else that ought to +detain you. I will see Mr. Newt, and let you know. Good-morning, Mr. +Ele--good-morning, my dear Sir." + +And the General bowed out the representative so imperatively that the +Honorable B. Jawley Ele felt very much as if he had been kicked down +stairs. + + + + +CHAPTER LXI. + +GONE TO PROTEST. + + +There was an unnatural silence and order in the store of Boniface Newt, +Son, & Co. The long linen covers were left upon the goods. The cases were +closed. The boys sat listlessly and wonderingly about. The porter lay +upon a bale reading a newspaper. There was a sombre regularity and +repose, like that of a house in which a corpse lies, upon the morning +of the funeral. + +Boniface Newt sat in his office haggard and gray. His face, like his +daughter Fanny's, had grown sharp, and almost fierce. The blinds were +closed, and the room was darkened. His port-folio lay before him upon +the desk, open. The paper was smooth and white, and the newly-mended +pens lay carefully by the inkstand. But the merchant did not write. +He had not written that day. His white, bony hand rested upon the +port-folio, and the long fingers drummed upon it at intervals, while +his eyes half-vacantly wandered out into the store and saw the long +shrouds drawn over the goods. Occasionally a slight sigh of weariness +escaped him. But he did not seem to care to distract his mind from its +gloomy intentness; for the morning paper lay beside him unopened, +although it was afternoon. + +In the outer office the book-keeper was still at work. He looked +from book to book, holding the leaves and letting them fall +carefully--comparing, computing, writing in the huge volumes, and filing +various papers away. Sometimes, while he yet held the leaves in his hands +and the pen in his mouth, with the appearance of the utmost abstraction +in his task, his eyes wandered in to the inner office, and dimly saw his +employer sitting silent and listless at his desk. For many years he had +been Boniface Newt's clerk; for many years he had been a still, faithful, +hard-worked servant. He had two holidays, besides the Sundays--New Year's +Day and the Fourth of July. The rest of the year he was in the office by +nine in the morning, and did not leave before six at night. During the +time he had been quietly writing in those great red books he had married +a wife and seen the roses fade in her cheeks--he had had children grow-up +around him--fill his evening home and his Sunday hours with light--marry, +one after another, until his home had become as it was before a child was +born to him, and then gradually grow bright and musical again with the +eyes and voices of another generation. Glad to earn his little salary, +which was only enough for decency of living, free from envy and ambition, +he was bound by a kind of feudal tenure to his employer. + +As he looked at the merchant and observed his hopeless listlessness, he +thought of his age, his family, and of the frightful secrets hidden in +the huge books that were every night locked carefully into the iron safe, +as if they were written all over with beautiful romances instead of +terrible truths--and the eyes of the patient plodder were so blurred that +he could not see, and turning his head that no one might observe him, +he winked until he could see again. + +A young man entered the store hastily. The porter dropped the paper +and sprang up; the boys came expectantly forward. Even the book-keeper +stopped to watch the new-comer as he came rapidly toward the office. Only +the head of the house sat unconcernedly at his desk--his long, pale, bony +fingers drumming on the port-folio--his hard eyes looking out at the +messenger. + +"This way," said the book-keeper, suddenly, as he saw that he was going +toward Mr. Newt's room. + +"I want Mr. Newt." + +"Which one?" + +"The young one, Mr. Abel Newt." + +"He is not here." + +"Where is he?" + +"I don't know." + +Before the book-keeper was aware the young man had opened the door that +communicated with Mr. Newt's room. The haggard face under the gray hair +turned slowly toward the messenger. There was something in the sitting +figure that made the youth lift his hand and remove his cap, and say, +in a low, respectful voice, + +"Can you tell me, Sir, where to find Mr. Abel Newt?" + +The long, pale, bony fingers still listlessly drummed. The hard eyes +rested upon the questioner for a few moments; then, without any evidence +of interest, the old man answered simply, "No," and looked away as if he +had forgotten the stranger's presence. + +"Here's a note for him from General Belch." + +The gray head beckoned mechanically toward the other room, as if all +business were to be transacted there; and the young man bowing again, +with a vague sense of awe, went in to the outer office and handed the +note to the book-keeper. + +It was very short and simple, as Abel found when he read it: + +"MY DEAR SIR,--I have just heard of your misfortunes. Don't be dismayed. +In the shindy of life every body must have his head broken two or three +times, and in our country 'tis a man's duty to fall on his feet. Such men +as Abel Newt are not made to fail. I want to see you immediately. + +"Yours very truly, + +"ARCULARIUS BELCH." + + + + +CHAPTER LXII. + +THE CRASH, UP TOWN. + + +The moment Mrs. Dagon heard the dismal news of Boniface Newt's failure +she came running round to see his wife. The house was as solemnly still +as the store and office down town. Mrs. Dagon looked in at the parlor, +which was darkened by closed blinds and shades drawn over the windows, +and in which all the furniture was set as for a funeral, except that +the chilly chintz covers were not removed. + +She found Mrs. Nancy Newt in her chamber with May. + +"Well, well! What does this mean? It's all nothing. Don't you be alarmed. +What's failing? It doesn't mean any thing; and I really hope, now that +he has actually failed and done with it, Boniface will be a little more +cheerful and liberal. Those parlor curtains are positively too bad! +Boniface ought to have plenty of time to himself; and I hope he will give +more of those little dinners, and cheer himself up! How is he?" + +Mrs. Newt was dissolved in tears. She shook her head weakly, and rubbed +her hands. + +"Oh! Aunt Dagon, it's dreadful to see him. He don't seem himself. He does +nothing but sit at the table and drum with his fingers; and in the night +he lies awake, thinking. And, oh dear!" she said, giving way to a sudden +burst of grief, "he doesn't scold at any thing." + +Mrs. Dagon listened and reflected. + +"My dear," she asked, "has he settled any thing upon you?" + +"Nothing," replied Mrs. Newt. + +"Aunt Dagon," said May, who sat by, looking at the old lady, "we are now +poor people. We shall sell this house, and go and live in a small way out +of sight." + +"Fiddle, diddle! my dear," returned Mrs. Dagon, warmly; "you'll do no +such thing. Poor people, indeed! Why, May, you know nothing about these +things. Failing, failing; why, my dear, that's nothing. A New York +merchant expects to fail, just as an English lord expects to have the +gout. It isn't exactly a pleasant thing, but it's extremely respectable. +Every body fails. It's understood." + +"What's understood?" asked May. + +"Why, that business is a kind of game, and that every body runs for luck. +Oh, I know all about it, my dear! It's all a string of cards--as Colonel +Burr used to say; and I think if any body knew the world he did--it's all +a string of blocks. B trusts A, C trusts B, D trusts C, and so on. A +tumbles over, and down go B, and C, and D. That's the whole of it, my +dear. Colonel Burr used to say that his rule was to keep himself just out +of reach of any other block. If they knock me over, my dear Miss Bunley, +he once said to me--ah! May, what a voice he said it in, what an eye!--if +they knock me over, I shall be so busy picking myself up that I shall be +forced to be selfish, and can't help them, so I had better keep away, and +then I can be of some service. That was Colonel Burr's principle. He +declared it was the only way in which you could be sure of helping +others. People talk about Colonel Burr. My dear, Colonel Burr was a man +who minded his own business." + +May Newt held her tongue. She felt instinctively that a woman of +sixty-five, who had been trained by Colonel Burr, was not very likely to +accept the opinions of a girl of her years. Mrs. Newt was feebly rocking +herself during the conversation between her daughter and aunt; and when +they had finished said, despairingly, + +"Dear me! what will people say? Oh! I can't go and live poor. I'm not +used to it. I don't know how." + +"Live poor!" sniffed Mrs. Dagon; "of course you won't live poor. I've +heard Boniface say often enough that it was too bad, but it was a world +of good-for-nothing people; and you don't think he's going to let +good-for-nothing people drive him from a becoming style of living? +Fiddle! I'd like to see him undertake to live poor." + +"Do you think people will come to see us?" gasped Mrs. Newt. + +"Come? Of course they will. They'll all rush, the first thing, to see how +you take it. Why, such a thing as this is a godsend to 'em. They'll have +something to talk about for a week. And they'll all try to discover if +you mean to sell out at auction. Oh, they will be _so_ sorry!" said the +old lady, imitating imaginary callers; "'and, my dear Mrs. Newt, what +_are_ you going to do? And to think of your being obliged to leave this +lovely house!' Come?--did you ever know the vultures not to come to a +carcass?" + +Mrs. Nancy Newt looked appalled; and so energetic was Mrs. Dagon in her +allusion to vultures and carcass, that her niece unconsciously put to her +nose the smelling-bottle she held in her hand. + +"Oh, it's dreadful!" she sighed, rocking and smelling, and with the tears +oozing from her eyes. + +"Fiddle! I won't hear of it. 'Tain't dreadful. It's nothing at all. You +must go out with me and make calls this very morning. It's none of your +business. If your husband chooses to fail, let him fail. He can't expect +you to take to making shirts, and to give up society. I shall call at +twelve in the carriage; and, mind, don't you look red and mopy. Remember. +So, good-morning! And, May, I want to speak to you." + +They left Mrs. Newt rocking and weeping, with the smelling-bottle at her +nose, and descended to the solemn parlor. + +"What brought this about?" asked Mrs. Dagon, as she closed the door. +"Your mother is in such a state that it does no good to talk to her. +Where's Abel?" + +"Aunt Dagon, I have my own opinion, but I know nothing. I suppose Abel is +down town." + +"What's your opinion?" + +May paused for a moment, and then said: + +"From what I have heard drop from father during the last few years since +Abel has been in the business, I don't believe that Abel has helped +him--" + +"Exactly," interrupted Mrs. Dagon, as if soliloquizing; "and why on earth +didn't the fellow marry Hope Wayne, or that Southern girl, Grace Plumer?" + +"Abel marry Hope Wayne?" asked May, with an air and tone of such utter +amazement and incredulity that Aunt Dagon immediately recovered from her +abstraction, and half smiled. + +"Why, why not?" said she, with equal simplicity. + +May Newt knew Hope Wayne personally, and she had also heard of her from +Gabriel Bennet. Indeed, Gabriel had no secrets from May. The whole school +story of his love had been told to her, and she shared the young man's +feeling for the woman who, as a girl, had so utterly enthralled his +imagination. But Gabriel's story of school life also included her brother +Abel, and what she heard of the boy agreed with what she knew and felt of +the man. + +"I presume," said May Newt, loftily, "that Hope Wayne would be as likely +to marry Aaron Burr as Abel Newt." + +Mrs. Dagon looked at her kindly, and with amused admiration. + +"Well, May, at any rate I congratulate Gabriel Bennet." + +May's lofty look drooped. + +"And if"--continued Mrs. Dagon--"if it was so wonderfully impossible +that Abel should marry Hope Wayne, why might he not have married Grace +Plumer, or some other rich girl? I'm sure I don't care who. It was +evidently the only thing for _him_, whatever it may be for other people. +When you are of my age, May, you will rate things differently. Well-bred +men and women in society ought to be able to marry any body. Society +isn't heaven, and it's silly to behave as if it were. Your romance is +very pretty, dear; we all have it when we are young, as we have the +measles and the whooping-cough. But we get robust constitutions, my +dear," said the old lady, smiling kindly, "when we have been through +all that business. When you and Gabriel have half a dozen children, +and your girls grow up to be married, you'll understand all about it. +I suppose you know about Mellish Whitloe and Laura Magot, don't you, +dear?" + +May shook her head negatively. + +"Well, they are people who were wise early. Just after they were married +he said to her, 'Laura, I see that you are fond of this new dance which +is coming in; you like to waltz.' 'Yes, I do,' said she. 'Well, I don't +like it, and I don't want you to waltz.' She pouted and cried, and called +him a tyrant. He hummed Yankee Doodle. 'I _will_ waltz,' said she at +length. 'Very well, my dear,' he answered. 'I'll make a bargain with +you. If you waltz, I'll get drunk.' You see it works perfectly. They +respect each other, and each does as the other wishes. I hope you'll be +as wise with Gabriel, my dear." + +"Aunt, I hope I shall never be as old as you are," said May, quietly. +"I'd rather die." + +Mrs. Dagon laughed her laugh. "That's right, dear, stand by your colors. +You're all safe. Gabriel is Lawrence's partner. You can afford to be +romantic, dear." + +As she spoke the door opened, and Abel entered. His dress was disordered, +his face was flushed, and his manner excited. He ran up to May and kissed +her. She recoiled from the unaccustomed caress, and both she and Mrs. +Dagon perceived in his appearance and manner, as well as in the odor +which presently filled the room, that Abel was intoxicated. + +"May, darling," he began in a maudlin tone, "how's our dear mother?" + +"She's pretty well," replied May, "but you had better not go up and see +her." + +"No, darling, I won't go if you say not." + +His eyes then fell uncertainly upon Mrs. Dagon, and he added, thickly, + +"That's only Aunt Dagon. How do, Aunt Dagon?" + +He smiled at her and at May, and continued, + +"I don't mind Aunt Dagon. Do you mind her, May?" + +"What do you want, Abel?" asked May, with the old expression sliding into +her eyes that used to be there when she sat alone--a fairy princess in +her tower, and thought of many things. + +Abel had seated himself upon the sofa, with his hat still on his head. +There was perhaps something in May's tone that alarmed him, for he began +to shed tears. + +"Oh! May, don't you love your poor Abel?" + +She looked at him without speaking. At length she said, "Where have you +been?" + +"I've been to General Belch's," he sobbed, in reply; "and I don't mind +Aunt Dagon, if you don't." + +"What do you mean by that, you silly fool?" asked Mrs. Dagon, sharply. + +Abel stopped and looked half angry, for a moment, but immediately fell +into the old strain. + +"I mean I'd just as lieve say it before her." + +"Then say it," said May. + +"Well, May, darling, couldn't you now just coax Gabriel--good fellow, +Gabriel--used to know him and love him at school--couldn't you coax him +to get Uncle Lawrence to do something?" + +May shook her head. Abel began to snivel. + +"I don't mean for the house. D----n it, that's gone to smash. I mean for +myself. May, for your poor brother Abel. You might just try." + +He lay back and looked at her ruefully. + +"Aunt Dagon," she said, quietly, "we had better go out of the room. Abel, +don't you come up stairs while you are in this state. I know all that +Uncle Lawrence has done for father and you, and he will do nothing more. +Do you expect him to pay your gambling debts?" she asked, indignantly. + +Abel raised himself fiercely, while the bad blackness filled his eyes. + +"D----d old hunks!" he shouted. + +But nobody heard. Mrs. Dagon and May Newt had closed the door, and Abel +was left alone. + +"It's no use," he said, moodily and aloud, but still thickly. "I +can't help it. I shall have to do just as Belch wishes. But he must +help me. If he expects me to serve him, he must serve me. He says he +can--buy off--Bodley--and then--why, then--devil take it!" he said, +vacantly, with heavy eyes, "then--then--oh yes!" He smiled a maudlin +smile. "Oh yes! I shall be a great--a great--great--man--I'll +be--rep--rep--sentive--ofs--ofs--dear pe--pe." + +His head fell like a lump upon the cushion of the sofa, and he breathed +heavily, until the solemn, dark, formal parlor smelled like a bar-room. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIII. + +ENDYMION. + + +Lawrence Newt had told Aunt Martha that he preferred to hear from a young +woman's own lips that she loved him. Was he suspicious of the truth of +Aunt Martha's assertion? + +When the Burt will was read, and Fanny Dinks had hissed her envy and +chagrin, she had done more than she would willingly have done: she had +said that all the world knew he was in love with Hope Wayne. If all the +world knew it, then surely Amy Waring did; "and if she did, was it so +strange," he thought, "that she should have said what she did to me?" + +He thought often of these things. But one of the days when he sat in his +office, and the junior partner was engaged in writing the letters which +formerly Lawrence wrote, the question slid into his mind as brightly, but +as softly and benignantly, as daylight into the sky. + +"Does it follow that she does not love me? If she did love me, but +thought that I loved Hope Wayne, would she not hide it from me in every +way--not only to save her own pride, but in order not to give me pain?" + +So secret and reticent was he, that as he thought this he was nervously +anxious lest the junior partner should happen to look up and read it all +in his eyes. + +Lawrence Newt rose and stood at the window, with his back to Gabriel, for +his thoughts grew many and strange. + +As he came down that morning he had stopped at Hope Wayne's, and they had +talked for a long time. Gabriel had told his partner of his visit to Mrs. +Fanny Dinks, and Lawrence had mentioned it to Hope Wayne. The young woman +listened intently. + +"You don't think I ought to increase the allowance?" she asked. + +"Why should you?" he replied. "Alfred's father still allows him the six +hundred, and Alfred has promised solemnly that he will never mention to +his wife the thousand you allow him. I don't think he will, because he is +afraid she would stop it in some way. As it is, she knows nothing more +than that six hundred dollars seems to go a very great way. Your income +is large; but I think a thousand dollars for the support of two utterly +useless people is quite as much as you are called upon to pay, although +one of them is your cousin, and the other my niece." + +They went on to talk of many things. In all she showed the same calm +candor and tenderness. In all he showed the same humorous quaintness and +good sense. Lawrence Newt observed that these interviews were becoming +longer and longer, although the affairs to arrange really became fewer. +He could not discover that there was any particular reason for it; and +yet he became uncomfortable in the degree that he was conscious of it. + +When the Round Table met, it was evident from the conversation between +Hope Wayne and Lawrence Newt that he was very often at her house; and +sometimes, whenever they all appeared to be conscious that each one was +thinking of that fact, the cloud of constraint settled more heavily, but +just as impalpably as before, over the little circle. It was not removed +by the conviction which Amy Waring and Arthur Merlin entertained, that at +all such times Hope Wayne was trying not to show that she was peculiarly +excited by this consciousness. + +And she was excited by it. She knew that the interviews were longer and +longer, and that there was less reason than ever for any interviews +whatsoever. But when Lawrence Newt was talking to her--when he was +looking at her--when he was moving about the room--she was happier than +she had ever been--happier than she had supposed she could ever be. When +he went, that day was done. Nor did another dawn until he came again. + +Perhaps Hope Wayne understood the meaning of that mysterious constraint +which now so often enveloped the Round Table. + +As for Arthur Merlin, the poor fellow did what all poor fellows do. So +long as it was uncertain whether she loved him or not, he was willing to +say nothing. But when he was perfectly sure that there was no hope for +him, he resolved to speak. + +In vain his Aunt Winnifred had tried to cheer him. Ever since the morning +when he had told her in his studio the lovely legend of Latmos he could +not persuade himself that he had not unwittingly told his own story. Aunt +Winnifred showered the choicest tracts about his room. She said with a +sigh that she was sure he had experienced no change of heart; and Arthur +replied, with a melancholy smile, "Not the slightest." + +The kind old lady was sorely puzzled. It did not occur to her that +her Arthur could be the victim of an unfortunate attachment, like the +love-lorn heroes of whom she had read in the evil days when she read +novels. It did not occur to her, because she could as easily have +supposed a rose-tree to resist June as any woman her splendid Arthur. + +If some gossip to whom she sighed and shook her head, and wondered what +could possibly ail Arthur--who still ate his dinner heartily, and had as +many orders for portraits as he cared to fulfill--suggested that there +was a woman in the case, good Aunt Winnifred smiled bland incredulity. + +"Dear Mrs. Toxer, I should like to see that woman!" + +Then she plied her knitting-needles nimbly, sighed, scratched her head +with a needle, counted her stitches, and said, + +"Sometimes I can't but hope that it is concern of mind, without his +knowing it." + +Mrs. Toxer also knitted, and scratched, and counted. + +"No, ma'am; much more likely concern of heart with a full consciousness +of it. One, two, three--bless my soul! I'm always dropping a stitch." + +Aunt Winnifred, who never dropped stitches, smiled pleasantly, and +answered, + +"Yes, indeed, and this time you have dropped a very great one." + +Meanwhile Arthur's great picture advanced rapidly. Diana, who had looked +only like a portrait of Hope Wayne looking out of a cloud, was now more +fully completed. She was still bending from the clouds indeed, but there +was more and more human softness in the face every time he touched it. +And lo! he had found at last Endymion. He lay upon a grassy knoll. Long +whispering tufts sighed around his head, which rested upon the very +summit of the mountain. There were no trees, no rocks. There was nothing +but the sleeping figure with the shepherd's crook by his side upon the +mountain top, all lying bare to the sky and to the eyes that looked from +the cloud, and from which all the moonlight of the picture fell. + +When Lawrence Newt came into the studio one morning, Arthur, who worked +in secret upon his picture and never showed it, asked him if he would +like to look at it. The merchant said yes, and seated himself comfortably +in a large chair, while the artist brought the canvas from an inner room +and placed it before him. As he did so, Arthur stepped a little aside, +and watched him closely. + +Lawrence Newt gazed for a long time and silently at the picture. As he +did so, his face rapidly donned its armor of inscrutability, and Arthur's +eyes attacked it in vain. Diana was clearly Hope Wayne. That he had seen +from the beginning. But Endymion was as clearly Lawrence Newt! He looked +steadily without turning his eyes, and after many minutes he said, +quietly, + +"It is beautiful. It is triumphant. Endymion is a trifle too old, +perhaps. But Diana's face is so noble, and her glance so tenderly +earnest, that it would surely rouse him if he were not dead." + +"Dead!" returned Arthur; "why you know he is only sleeping." + +"No, no," said Lawrence, gently, "dead; utterly dead--to her. If he were +not, it would be simply impossible not to awake and love her. Who's that +old gentleman on the wall over there?" + +Lawrence Newt asked the same question of all the portraits so +persistently that Arthur could not return to his Diana. When he had +satisfied his curiosity--a curiosity which he had never shown before--the +merchant rose and said good-by. + +"Stop, stop!" + +Lawrence Newt turned, with his hand upon the door. + +"You like my picture--" + +"Immensely. But if she looks forever she'll never waken him. Poor +Endymion! he's dead to all that heavenly splendor." + +He was about closing the door. + +"Hallo!" cried Arthur. + +Lawrence Newt put his head into the room. + +"It's fortunate that he's dead!" said the painter. + +"Why so?" + +"Because goddesses never marry." + +Lawrence Newt's head disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIV. + +DIANA. + + +"Good-morning, Miss Hope." + +"Good-morning, Mr. Merlin." + +He bowed and seated himself, and the conversation seemed to have +terminated. Hope Wayne was embroidering. The moment she perceived that +there was silence she found it very hard to break it. + +"Are you busy now?" said she. + +"Very busy." + +"As long as men and women are vain, so long your profession will +flourish, I suppose," she replied, lifting her eyes and smiling. + +"I like it because it tells the truth," replied Arthur, crushing his hat. + +"It omitted Alexander's wry neck," said Hope. + +"It put in Cromwell's pimple," answered Arthur. + +They both smiled. + +"However, that is not the kind of truth I mean--I mean poetic truth. +Michael Angelo's Last Judgment shows the whole Catholic Church." + +Hope Wayne felt relieved, and looked interested. She did not feel so +much afraid of the silence, now that Arthur seemed entering upon a +disquisition. But he stopped and said, + +"I've painted a picture." + +"Full of poetic truth, I suppose," rejoined Hope, still smiling. + +"I've come to ask you to go and see that for yourself." + +"Now?" + +"Now." + +She laid aside her embroidery, and in a little while they had reached his +studio. As Hope Wayne entered she was impressed by the spaciousness of +the room, the chastened light, and the coruscations of rich color hanging +upon the walls. + +"It's like the garden of the Hesperides," she said, gayly--"such mellow +shadows, and such gorgeous colors, like those of celestial fruits. I +don't wonder you paint poetic truth." + +Arthur Merlin smiled. + +"Now you shall judge," said he. + +Hope Wayne seated herself in the chair where Lawrence Newt had been +sitting not two hours before, and settled herself to enjoy the spectacle +she anticipated; for she had a secret faith in Arthur's genius, and she +meant to purchase this great work of poetic truth at her own valuation. +Arthur placed the picture upon the easel and drew the curtain from it, +stepping aside as before to watch her face. + +The airy smile upon Hope Wayne's face faded instantly. The blood rushed +to her hair. But she did not turn her eyes, nor say a word. The moment +she felt she could trust her voice, she asked, gravely, without looking +at Arthur, + +"What is it?" + +"It is Diana and Endymion," replied the painter. + +She looked at it for a long time, half-closing her eyes, which clung to +the face of Endymion. + +"I have not made Diana tender enough," thought Arthur, mournfully, as he +watched her. + +"How soundly he sleeps!" said Hope Wayne, at length, as if she had been +really trying to wake him. + +"You think he merely sleeps?" asked Arthur. + +"Certainly; why not?" + +"Oh! I thought so too. But Lawrence Newt, who sat two hours ago just +where you are sitting, said, as he looked at the picture, that Endymion +was dead." + +Hope Wayne put her finger to her lip, and looked inquiringly at her +companion. + +"Dead! Did he say dead?" she asked. + +"Dead," repeated Arthur Merlin. + +"I thought Endymion only slept," continued Hope Wayne; "but Mr. Newt is a +judge of pictures--he knows." + +"He certainly spoke as if he knew," persisted the painter, recklessly, as +he saw and felt the usual calmness return to his companion. "He said that +if Endymion were not dead he couldn't resist such splendor of beauty." + +As Arthur Merlin spoke he looked directly into Hope Wayne's face, as if +he were speaking of her. + +"Mr. Newt's judgment seems to be better than his memory," said she, +pleasantly. + +"How?" + +"He forgets that Endymion _did_ awake. He has not allowed time enough for +the effect of Diana's eyes. Now I am sure," she said, shaking her finger +at the picture, "I am sure that that silly shepherd will not sleep there +forever. Never fear, he will wake up. Diana never looks or loves for +nothing." + +"It will do no good if he does," insisted Arthur, ruefully, as if he were +sure that Hope Wayne understood that he was speaking in parables. + +"Why?" she asked, as she rose, still looking at the picture. + +"Because goddesses never marry." + +He looked into her eyes with so much meaning, and the "do they?" which he +did not utter, was so perfectly expressed by his tone, that Hope Wayne, +as she moved slowly toward the door, looking at the pictures on the wall +as she passed, said, with her eyes upon the pictures, and not upon the +painter, + +"Do you know the moral of that remark of yours?" + +"Moral? Heaven forbid! I don't make moral remarks," replied Arthur. + +"This time you have done it," she said, smiling; "you have made a remark +with a moral. I'm going, and I leave it with you as a legacy. The moral +is, If goddesses never marry, don't fall in love with a goddess." + +She put out her hand to him as she spoke. He involuntarily took it, and +they shook hands warmly. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Merlin," she said. "Remember the Round Table to-morrow +evening." + +She was gone, and Arthur Merlin sank into the chair she had just left. + +"Oh Heavens!" said he, "did she understand or not?" + + + + +CHAPTER LXV. + +THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE. + + +General Belch's office was in the lower part of Nassau Street. At the +outer door there was a modest slip of a tin sign, "Arcularius Belch, +Attorney and Counselor." The room itself was dingy and forlorn. There was +no carpet on the floor; the windows were very dirty, and slats were +broken out of the blinds--the chairs did not match--there was a wooden +book-case, with a few fat law-books lounging upon the shelves; the table +was a chaos of pamphlets, printed forms, newspapers, and files of +letters, with a huge inkstand, inky pens, and a great wooden sand-box. +Upon each side of the chimney, the grate in which was piled with crushed +pieces of waste paper, and the bars of which were discolored with tobacco +juice, stood two large spittoons, the only unsoiled articles in the +office. + +This was the place in which General Belch did business. It had the +atmosphere of Law. But, above all, it was the spot where, with one leg +swinging over the edge of the table and one hand waving in earnest +gesticulation, General Belch could say to every body who came, and +especially to his poorer fellow-citizens, "I ask no office; I am content +with my moderate practice. It is enough for me, in this glorious country, +to be a friend of the people." + +As he said this--or only implied it in saying something else--the broken +slats, the dirty windows, the uncarpeted floor, the universal untidiness, +whispered in the mind of the hearer, "Amen!" + +His residence, however, somewhat atoned for the discomfort of his office. +Not unfrequently he entertained his friends sumptuously; and whenever any +of the representatives of his party, who acted in Congress as his private +agents, had succeeded--as on one occasion, already commemorated, the Hon. +Mr. Ele had--in putting a finer edge upon a favorite axe, General Belch +entertained a select circle who agreed with him in his political +philosophy, and were particular friends of the people and of the +popular institutions of their country. + +Abel Newt, in response to the General's note, had already called at that +gentleman's office, and had received overtures from him, who offered him +Mr. Bodley's seat in Congress, upon condition that he was able to see +things from particular points of view. + +"Mr. Watkins Bodley, it seems," said General Belch, "and I regret to +say it, is in straitened pecuniary circumstances. I understand he will +feel that he owes it to his family to resign before the next session. +There will be a vacancy; and I am glad to say that the party is just +now in a happy state of harmony, and that my influence will secure your +nomination. But come up to-night and talk it over. I have asked Ele and +Slugby, and a few others--friends of course--and I hope Mr. Bat will drop +in. You know Aquila Bat?" + +"By reputation," replied Abel. + +"He is a very quiet man, but very shrewd. He gives great dignity and +weight to the party. A tremendous lawyer Bat is. I suppose he is at the +very head of the profession in this country. You'll come?" + +Abel was most happy to accept. He was happy to go any where for +distraction. For the rooms in Grand Street had become inconceivably +gloomy. There were no more little parties there: the last one was given +in honor of Mrs. Sligo Moultrie--before her marriage. The elegant youth +of the town gradually fell off from frequenting Abel's rooms, for he +always proposed cards, and the stakes were enormous; which was a +depressing circumstance to young gentlemen who mainly depended upon +the paternal purse. Such young gentlemen as Zephyr Wetherley, who was +for a long time devoted to young Mrs. Mellish Whitloe, and sent her the +loveliest fans, and buttons, and little trinkets, which he selected at +Marquand's. But when the year came round the bill was inclosed to Mr. +Wetherley, senior, who, after a short and warm interview with his son +Zephyr, inclosed it in turn to Whitloe himself; who smiled, and paid it, +and advised his wife to buy her own jewelry in future. + +It was not pleasant for young Wetherley, and his friends in a similar +situation, to sit down to a night at cards with such a desperate player +as Abel Newt. Besides, his rooms had lost that air of voluptuous elegance +which was formerly so unique. The furniture was worn out, and not +replaced. The decanters and bottles were no longer kept in a pretty +side-board, but stood boldly out, ready for instant service; and whenever +one of the old set of men happened in, he was very likely to find a +gentleman--whose toilet was suspiciously fine, whose gold looked like +gilt--who made himself entirely at home with Abel and his rooms, and +whose conversation indicated that his familiar haunts were race-courses, +bar-rooms, and gambling-houses. + +It was unanimously decreed that Abel Newt had lost tone. His dress +was gradually becoming flashy. Younger sisters, who had heard their +elders--who were married now--speak of the fascinating Mr. Newt, +perceived that the fascinating Mr. Newt was a little too familiar when +he flirted, and that his breath was offensive with spirituous fumes. He +was noisy in the gentlemen's dressing-room. The stories he told there +were of such a character, and he told them so loudly, that more than once +some husband, whose wife was in the neighboring room, had remonstrated +with him. Sligo Moultrie, during one of the winters that he passed in the +city after his marriage, had a fierce quarrel with Abel for that very +reason. They would have come to blows but that their friends parted them. +Mr. Moultrie sent a friend with a note the following morning, and Mr. +Newt acknowledged that he had been rude. + +In the evening, at General Belch's, Abel was presented to all the guests. +Mr. Ele was happy to remember a previous occasion upon which he had had +the honor, etc. Mr. Enos Slugby (Chairman of our Ward Committee, +whispered Belch, audibly, as he introduced him) was very glad to know +a gentleman who bore so distinguished a name. Every body had a little +compliment, to which Abel bowed and smiled politely, while he observed +that the residence was much more comfortable than the office of General +Belch. + +They went into the dining-room and sat down to what Mr. Slugby called "a +Champagne supper." They ate birds and oysters, and drank wine. Then they +ate jellies, blanc mange, and ice-cream. Then they ate nuts and fruit, +and drank coffee. Then every thing was removed, and fresh decanters, +fresh glasses, and a box of cigars were placed upon the table, and the +servants were told that they need not come until summoned. + +At this point a dry, grave, thin, little old man opened the door. General +Belch rose and rushed forward. + +"My dear Mr. Bat, I am very happy. Sit here, Sir. Gentlemen, you all know +Mr. Bat." + +The company was silent for a moment, and bowed. Abel looked up and saw a +man who seemed to be made of parchment, and his complexion, of the hue of +dried apples, suggested that he was usually kept in a warm green satchel. + +After a little more murmuring of talk around the table, General Belch +said, in a louder voice, + +"Gentlemen, we have a new friend among us, and a little business to +settle to-night. Suppose we talk it over." + +There was a general filling of glasses and a hum of assent. + +"I learn," said the General, whiffing the smoke from his mouth, "that +our worthy friend and able representative, Watkins Bodley, is about +resigning, in consequence of private embarrassments. Of course he must +have a successor." + +Every body poured out smoke and looked at the speaker, except Mr. Bat, +who seemed to be undergoing a little more drying up, and looked at a +picture of General Jackson, which hung upon the wall. + +"That successor, I need not say, of course," continued General Belch, +"must be a good man and a faithful adherent of the party. He must be the +consistent enemy of a purse-proud aristocracy." + +"He must, indeed," said Mr. Enos Slugby, whisking a little of the ash +from his cigar off an embroidered shirt-bosom, in doing which the flash +from a diamond ring upon his finger dazzled Abel, who had turned as he +spoke. + +"He must espouse the immortal cause of popular rights, and be willing to +spend and be spent for the people." + +"That's it," said Mr. William Condor, whose sinecure under government was +not worth less than twenty thousand a year. + +"He must always uphold the honor of the glorious flag of our country." + +"Excuse me, General Belch, but I can not control my feelings; I must +propose three cheers," interrupted Alderman MacDennis O'Rourke; and the +three cheers were heartily given. + +"And this candidate must be equally the foe of class legislation and the +friend of State rights." + +Here Mr. Bat moved his head, as if he were assenting to a remark of his +friend General Jackson. + +"And I surely need not add that it would be the first and most sacred +point of honor with this candidate to serve his party in every thing, to +be the unswerving advocate of all its measures, and implicitly obedient +to all its behests," said General Belch. + +"Which behests are to be learned by him from the authorized leaders of +the party," said Mr. Enos Slugby. + +"Certainly," said half of the gentlemen. + +"Of course," said the other half. + +During the remarks that General Belch had been making his eyes were fixed +upon Abel Newt, who understood that this was a political examination, in +which the questions asked included the answers that were to be given. +When the General had ended, the company sat intently smoking for some +time, and filling and emptying their glasses. + +"Mr. Bat," said General Belch, "what is your view?" + +Mr. Bat removed his eyes from General Jackson's portrait, and cleared his +throat. + +"I think," he said, closing his eyes, and rubbing his fingers along his +eyebrows, "that the party holding to the only constitutional policy is +to be supported at all hazards, and I think the great party to which +we belong is that party. Our principles are all true, and our measures +are all just. Speculative persons and dreamers talk about independent +political action. But politics always beget parties. Governments are +always managed by parties, and parties are always managed by--" + +The dried-apple complexion at this point assumed an ashy hue, as if +something very indiscreet had been almost uttered. Mr. Bat's eyes opened +and saw Abel's fixed upon him with a peculiar intelligence. The whole +party looked a little alarmed at Mr. Bat, and apprehensively at the +new-comer. Mr. Ele frowned at General Belch, + +"What does he mean?" + +But Abel relieved the embarrassment by quietly completing Mr. Bat's +sentence-- + +--"by the managers." + +His black eyes glittered around the table, and Mr. Ele remembered a +remark of General Belch's about Mr. Newt's riding upon the shoulders +of his fellow-laborers. + +"Exactly, by the managers," said every body. + +"And now," said General Belch, cheerfully, "whom had we better propose to +our fellow-citizens as a proper candidate for their suffrages to succeed +the Honorable Mr. Bodley?" + +He leaned back and puffed. Mr. Ele, who had had a little previous +conversation with the host, here rose and said, that, if he might +venture, he would say, although it was an entirely unpremeditated thing, +which had, in fact, only struck him while he had been sitting at that +hospitable board, but had impressed him so forcibly that he could not +resist speaking--if he might venture, he would say that he knew a most +able and highly accomplished gentleman--in fact, it had occurred to him +that there was then present a gentleman who would be precisely the man +whom they might present to the people as a candidate suitable in every +way. + +General Belch looked at Abel, and said, "Mr. Ele, whom do you mean?" + +"I refer to Mr. Abel Newt," responded the Honorable Mr. Ele. + +The company looked as companies which have been prepared for a surprise +always look when the surprise comes. + +"Is Mr. Newt sound in the faith?" asked Mr. William Condor, smiling. + +"I answer for him," replied Mr. Ele. + +"For instance, Mr. Newt," said Mr. Enos Slugby, who was interested in +General Belch's little plans, "you have no doubt that Congress ought to +pass the grant to purchase the land for Fort Arnold, which has been +offered to it by the company of which our friend General Belch is +counsel?" + +"None at all," replied Abel. "I should work for it as hard as I could." + +This was not unnatural, because General Belch had promised him an +interest in the sale. + +"Really, then," said Mr. William Condor, who was also a proprietor, +"I do not see that a better candidate could possibly be offered to our +fellow-citizens. The General Committee meet to-morrow night. They will +call the primaries, and the Convention will meet next week. I think we +all understand each other. We know the best men in our districts to go +to the Convention. The thing seems to me to be very plain." + +"Very," said the others, smoking. + +"Shall it be Abel Newt?" said Mr. Condor. + +"Ay!" answered the chorus. + +"I propose the health of the Honorable Abel Newt, whom I cordially +welcome as a colleague," said Mr. Ele. + +Bumpers were drained. It was past midnight, and the gentlemen rose. They +came to Abel and shook his hand; then they swarmed into the hall and put +on their hats and coats. + +"Stay, Newt," whispered Belch, and Abel lingered. + +The Honorable B.J. Ele also lingered, as if he would like to be the last +out of the house; for although this distinguished statesman did not care +to do otherwise than as General Belch commanded, he was anxious to be the +General's chief butler, while the remark about riding on his companions' +shoulders and the personal impression Abel had made upon him, had +seriously alarmed him. + +While he was busily looking at the portrait of General Jackson, General +Belch stepped up to him and put out his hand. + +"Good-night, my dear Ele! Thank you! thank you! These things will not be +forgotten. Good-night! good-night!" And he backed the Honorable B. Jawley +Ele out of the room into the hall. + +"This is your coat, I think," said he, taking up a garment and helping +Mr. Ele to get it on. "Ah, you luxurious dog! you're a pretty friend of +the people, with such a splendid coat as this. Good-night! good-night!" +he added, helping his guest toward the door. + +"Hallo, Condor!" he shouted up the street. "Here's Ele--don't leave him +behind; wait for him!" + +He put him put of the door. "There, my dear fellow, Condor's waiting for +you! Good-night! Ten thousand thanks! A pretty friend of the people, hey? +Oh, you cunning dog! Good-night!" + +General Belch closed the door and returned to the drawing-room. Abel Newt +was sitting with one leg over the back of the chair, and a tumbler of +brandy before him, smoking. + +"God!" said Abel, laughing, as the General returned, "I wouldn't treat a +dog as you do that man." + +"My dear Mr. Representative," returned Belch, "you, as a legislator and +public man, ought to know that Order is Heaven's first law." + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI. + +MENTOR AND TELEMACHUS. + + +Drawing his chair near to Abel's, General Belch lighted a cigar, and +said: + +"You see it's not so very hard." + +Abel looked inquiringly. + +"To go to Congress," answered Belch. + +"Yes, but I'm not elected yet, thank you." + +General Arcularius Belch blew a long, slow cloud, and gazed at his +companion with a kind of fond superiority. + +"What do you mean by looking so?" asked Abel. + +"My dear Newt, I was not aware that you had such a soft spot. No, +positively, I did not know that you had so much to learn. It is +inconceivable." + +The General smiled, and smoked, and looked blandly at his companion. + +"You're not elected yet, hey?" asked the General, with an amused laugh. + +"Not that I am aware of," said Abel. + +"Why, my dear fellow, who on earth do you suppose does the electing?" + +"I thought the people were the source of power," replied Abel, gravely. + +The General looked for a moment doubtfully at his companion. + +"Hallo! I see you're gumming. However, there's one thing. You know you'll +have to speak after the election. Did you ever speak?" + +"Not since school," replied Abel. + +"Well, you know the cue. I gave it to you to-night. The next thing is, +how strong can you come down?" + +"You know I've failed." + +"Of course you have. That's the reason the boys will expect you to be +very liberal." + +"How much?" inquired Abel. + +"Let me see. There'll be the printing, halls, lights, ballots, +advertisements--Well, I should say a thousand dollars, and a thousand +more for extras. Say two thousand for the election, and a thousand for +the committee." + +"Devil! that's rather strong!" replied Abel. + +"Not at all," said General Belch. "Your going to Washington secures the +grant, and the grant nets you at least three thousand dollars upon every +share. It's a good thing, and very liberal at that price. By-the-by, +don't forget that you're a party man of another sort. You do the dancing +business, and flirting--" + +"Pish!" cried Abel; "milk for babes!" + +"Exactly. And you're going to a place that swarms with babes. So give 'em +milk. Work the men through their wives, and mistresses, and daughters. It +isn't much understood yet; but it is a great idea." + +"Why don't you go to Congress?" asked Abel, suddenly. + +"It isn't for my interest," answered the General. "I make more by staying +out." + +"How many members are there for Belch?" continued Abel. + +The General did not quite like the question, nor the tone in which it was +asked. His fat nose glistened for a moment, while his mouth twisted into +a smile, and he answered, + +"They're only for Belch as far as Belch is for them--" + +"Or as far as Belch makes them think he is," answered Abel, smiling. + +The General smiled too, for he found the game going against him. + +"We were speaking of your speech," said he. "Now, Newt, the thing's in +your own hands. You've a future before you. With the drill of the party, +and with your talents, you ought to do any thing." + +"Too many rivals," said Abel, curtly. + +"My dear fellow, what are the odds? They can't do any thing outside the +party, or without the drill. Make it their interest not to be ambitious, +and they're quiet enough. Here's William Condor--lovely, lovely William. +He loves the people so dearly that he does nothing for them at twenty +thousand dollars a year. Tell him that you will secure him his place, and +he's your humble servant. Of course he is. Now I am more familiar with +the details of these things, and I'm always at your service. Before you +go, there will be a caucus of the friends of the grant, which you must +attend, and make a speech." + +"Another speech?" said Abel. + +"My dear fellow, you are now a speech-maker by profession. Now that you +are in Congress, you will never be free from the oratorical liability. +Wherever two or three are gathered together, and you are one of them, +you'll have to return thanks, and wave the glorious flag of our country. +And you'll have to begin very soon." + + + + +CHAPTER LXVII. + +WIRES. + + +General Belch was right. Abel had to begin very soon. The committee met +and called the meetings. The members of the committee, each in his own +district, consulted with various people, whom they found generally at +corner groceries. They were large, coarse-featured, hulking men, and were +all named Jim, or Tom, or Ned. + +"What'll you have, Jim?" + +"Well, Sir, it's so early in the day, that I can't go any thing stronger +than brandy." + +"Two cocktails--stiff," was the word of the gentleman to the bar-keeper. + +The companions took their glasses, and sat down behind a heavy screen. + +"Well, Sir, what's the word? I see there's going to be more meetin's." + +"Yes, Jim. Bodley has resigned." + +"Who's the man, Mr. Slugby?" asked Jim, as if to bring matters to a +point. + +"Mr. Abel Newt has been mentioned," replied the gentleman with the +diamond ring, which he had slipped into his waistcoat pocket before the +interview. + +Jim cocked his eye at his glass, which was nearly empty. + +"Here! another cocktail," cried Mr. Slugby to the bar-tender. + +"Son of old Newt that bust t'other day?" + +"The same." + +"Well, I s'pose it's all right," said Jim, as he began his second +tumbler. + +"Oh yes; he's all right. He understands things, and he's coming down +rather strong. By-the-by, I've never paid you that ten dollars." + +And Mr. Slugby pulled out a bill of that amount and handed it to Jim, who +received it as if he were pleased, but did not precisely recall any such +amount as owing to him. + +"I suppose the boys will be thirsty," said Mr. Enos Slugby. + +"There never's nothin' to make a man thirsty ekal to a 'lection," +answered Jim, with his huge features grinning. + +"Well, the fellows work well, and deserve it. Here, you needn't go out of +your district, you know, and this will be enough." He handed more money +to his companion. "Have 'em up in time, and don't let them get high until +after the election of delegates. It was thought that perhaps Mr. Musher +and I had better go to the Convention. It's just possible, Jim, that some +of Bodley's friends may make trouble." + +"No fear, Mr. Slugby, we'll take care of that. Who do you want for +chairman of the meeting?" answered Jim. + +"Edward Gasserly is the best chairman. He understands things." + +"Very well, Sir, all right," said Jim. + +"Remember, Jim, Wednesday night, seven o'clock. You'll want thirty men to +make every thing short and sure. Gasserly, chairman; Musher and Slugby, +delegates. And you needn't say any thing about Abel Newt, because that +will all be settled in the Convention; and the delegates of the people +will express their will there as they choose. I'll write the names of the +delegates on this." + +Mr. Slugby tore off a piece of paper from a letter in his pocket, and +wrote the names. He handed the list, and, taking out his watch, said, + +"Bless my soul, I'm engaged at eleven, and 'tis quarter past. Good-by, +Jim, and if any thing goes wrong let me know." + +"Sartin, Sir," replied Jim, and Mr. Slugby departed. + +Mr. William Condor had a similar interview with Tom, and Mr. Ele took a +friendly glass with Ned. And other Mr. Slugbys, and Condors, and Eles, +had little interviews with other red-faced, trip-hammer-fisted Jims, +Toms, and Neds. These healths being duly drunk, the placards were posted. +They were headed with the inspiring words "Liberty and Equality," with +cuts of symbolic temples and ships and lifted arms with hammers, and +summoned the legal voters to assemble in primary meetings and elect +delegates to a convention to nominate a representative. The Hon. Mr. +Bodley's letter of resignation was subjoined: + +"FELLOW-CITIZENS,--Deeply grateful for the honorable trust you have so +long confided to me, nothing but the imperative duty of attending to my +private affairs, seriously injured by my public occupations, would induce +me to resign it into your hands. But while his country may demand much of +every patriot, there is a point, which every honest man feels, at which +he may retire. I should be deeply grieved to take this step did I not +know how many abler representatives you can find in the ranks of that +constituency of which any man may be proud. I leave the halls of +legislation at a moment when our party is consolidated, when its promise +for the future was never more brilliant, and when peace and prosperity +seem to have taken up their permanent abode in our happy country, whose +triumphant experiment of popular institutions makes every despot shake +upon his throne. Gentlemen, in bidding you farewell I can only say that, +should the torch of the political incendiary ever be applied to the +sublime fabric of our system, and those institutions which were laid in +our father's struggles and cemented with their blood, should totter +and crumble, I, for one, will be found going down with the ship, and +waving the glorious flag of our country above the smouldering ruins of +that moral night. + +"I am, fellow-citizens, your obliged, faithful, and humble servant, +WATKINS BODLEY." + +In pursuance of the call the meetings were held. Jim, Tom, and Ned were +early on the ground in their respective districts, with about thirty +chosen friends. In Jim's district Mr. Gasserly was elected chairman, +and Messrs. Musher and Slugby delegates to the Convention. Mr. Slugby, +who was present when the result was announced, said that it was +extremely inconvenient for him to go, but that he held it to be the +duty of every man to march at the call of the party. His private affairs +would undoubtedly suffer, but he held that every man's private interest +must give way to the good of his party. He could say the same thing +for his friend, Mr. Musher, who was not present. But he should say to +Musher--Musher, the people want us to go, and go we must. With the most +respectful gratitude he accepted the appointment for himself and Musher. + +This brisk little off-hand speech was received with great favor. +Immediately upon its conclusion Jim moved an adjournment, which was +unanimously carried, and Jim led the way to a neighboring corner, where +he expended a reasonable proportion of the money which Slugby had given +him. + +A few evenings afterward the Convention met. Mr. Slugby was appointed +President, and Mr. William Condor Secretary. The Honorable B.J. Ele +presented a series of resolutions, which were eloquently advocated by +General Arcularius Belch. At the conclusion of his speech the Honorable +A. Bat made a speech, which the daily _Flag of the Country_ the next +morning called "a dry disquisition about things in general," but which +the _Evening Banner of the Union_ declared to be "one of his most +statesmanlike efforts." + +After these speeches the Convention proceeded to the ballot, when it was +found that nine-tenths of all the votes cast were for Abel Newt, Esquire. + +General Belch rose, and in an enthusiastic manner moved that the +nomination be declared unanimous. It was carried with acclamation. Mr. +Musher proposed an adjournment, to meet at the polls. The vote was +unanimous. Mr. Enos Slugby rose, and called for three cheers for "the +Honorable Abel Newt, our next talented and able representative in +Congress." The Convention rose and roared. + +"Members of the Convention who wish to call upon the candidate will fall +into line!" shouted Mr. Condor; then leading the way, and followed by the +members, he went down stairs into the street. A band of music was at +hand, by some thoughtful care, and, following the beat of drums and +clangor of brass, the Convention marched toward Grand Street. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII. + +THE INDUSTRIOUS APPRENTICE. + + +Good news fly fast. On the wings of the newspapers the nomination of Abel +Newt reached Delafield, where Mr. Savory Gray still moulded the youthful +mind. He and his boys sat at dinner. + +"Fish! fish! I like fish," said Mr. Gray. "Don't you like fish, +Farthingale?" + +Farthingale was a new boy, who blushed, and said, promptly, + +"Oh! yes, Sir." + +"Don't you like fish, Mark Blanding? Your brother Gyles used to," asked +Mr. Gray. + +"Yes, Sir," replied that youth, slowly, and with a certain expression in +his eye, "I suppose I do." + +"All boys who are in favor of having fish dinner on Fridays will hold up +their right hands," said Mr. Gray. He looked eagerly round the table. +"Come, come! up, up, up!" said he, good-naturedly. + +"That's it. Mrs. Gray, fish on Fridays." + +"Mr. Gray," said Mark Blanding. + +"Well, Mark?" + +"Ain't fish cheaper than meat?" + +"Mark, I am ashamed of you. Go to bed this instant." + +Mark was unjust, for Uncle Savory had no thought of indulging his purse, +but only his palate. + +When the criminal was gone Mr. Gray drew a paper from his pocket, and +said, + +"Boys, attend! In this paper, which is a New York paper, there is an +account of the nomination of a member of Congress--a member of Congress, +boys," he repeated, slowly, dwelling upon the words to impress their due +importance. "What do you think his name is? Who do you suppose it is who +is nominated for Congress?" + +He waited a moment, but the boys, not having the least idea, were silent. + +"Well, it is Abel Newt, who used to sit at this very table. Abel Newt, +one of Mr. Gray's boys." + +He waited another moment, to allow the overwhelming announcement to have +its due effect, while the scholars all looked at him, holding their +knives and forks. + +"And there is not one of you, who, if he be a good boy, may not arrive at +the same eminence. Think, boys, any one of you, if you are good, may one +day get nominated to Congress, as the Honorable Mr. Newt is, who was once +a scholar here, just like you. Hurrah for Mr. Gray's boys! Now eat your +dinners." + + + + +CHAPTER LXIX. + +IN AND OUT. + + +"And Boniface Newt has failed," said Mr. Bennet to his wife, in a low +voice. + +He was shading his eyes with his hand, and his wife was peacefully sewing +beside him. + +She made no reply, but her face became serious, then changed to an +expression in which, from under his hands, for her husband's eyes were +not weak, her husband saw the faintest glimmering of triumph. But Mrs. +Bennet did not raise her eyes from her work. + +"Lucia!" He spoke so earnestly that his wife involuntarily started. + +"My dear," she replied, looking at him with a tear in her eye, "it is +only natural." + +Her husband said nothing, but shook his slippered foot, and his neck sunk +a little lower in his limp, white cravat. They were alone in the little +parlor, with only the portrait on the wall for company, and only the +roses in the glass upon the table, that were never wanting, and always +showed a certain elegance of taste in arrangement and care which made the +daughter of the house seem to be present though she might be away. + +"What a beautiful night!" said Mr. Bennet at last, as his eyes lingered +upon the window through which he saw the soft illumination of the full +moonlight. + +His wife looked for a moment with him, and answered, "Beautiful!" + +"How lovely those roses are, and how sweet they smell!" he said, after +another interval of silence, and as if there were a change in the +pleasant dreams he was dreaming. + +"Yes," she replied, and looked at him and smiled, and, smiling, sewed on. + +"Where is Ellen to-night?" he asked, after a little pause. + +"She is walking in this beautiful moonlight." + +"All alone?" he inquired, with a smile. + +"No! with Edward." + +"Ah! with Edward." And there was evidently another turn in the pleasant +dream. + +"And Gabriel--where is Gabriel?" asked he, still shaking the slippered +foot. + +His wife smoothed her work, and said, with an air of tranquil happiness, + +"I suppose he is walking too." + +"All alone?" + +"No, with May." + +Involuntarily, as she said it, she laid her work in her lap, as if her +mind would follow undisturbed the happy figures of her children. She +looked abstractedly at the window, as if she saw them both, the manly +candor of her Gabriel, and the calm sweetness of May Newt--the loyal +heart of her blue-eyed Ellen clinging to Edward Wynne. Down the windings +of her reverie they went, roses in their cheeks and faith in their +hearts. Down and down, farther and farther, closer and closer, while +the springing step grew staid, and the rose bloom slowly faded. Farther +and farther down her dream, and gray glistened in the brown hair and the +black and gold, but the roses bloomed around them in younger cheeks, and +the brown hair and the black and gold were as glossy and abundant upon +those younger heads, and still their arms were twined and their eyes were +linked, as if their hearts had grown together, each pair into one. +Farther and farther--still with clustering younger faces--still with ever +softer light in the air falling upon the older forms, grown reverend, +until--until--had they faded in that light, or was she only blinded by +her tears? + +For there were tears in her eyes--eyes that glistened with happiness--and +there was a hand in hers, and as she looked at her husband she knew that +their hands had clasped each other because they saw the same sweet +vision. + +He looked at his wife, and said, + +"Could I have been the rich man I one day hoped to be--the great merchant +I longed to be, when I asked you to marry me--I could have owned +nothing--no diamond--so dear to me as that very tear in your eye. I +wanted to be rich--I felt as if I had cheated you, in being so poor and +unsuccessful--you, who were bred so differently. For your sake I wanted +to be rich." He spoke with a stronger, fuller voice. "Yes, and when Laura +Magot broke my engagement with her because of my first failure, I +resolved that she should see me one of the merchant princes she idolized, +and that my wife should be envied by her as being the wife of a richer +man than Boniface Newt. Darling, you know how I struggled for it--you +did not know the secret spur--and how I failed. And I know who it was +that made my failure my success, and who taught a man who wanted to be +rich how to be happy." + +While he spoke his wife's arm had stolen tenderly around him. As he +finished, she said, gently, + +"I am not such a saint, Gerald." + +"If you are not, I don't believe in saints," replied her husband. + +"No, I will prove it to you." + +"I defy you," said Gerald, smiling. + +"Listen! Why did you say Lucia in such a tone, a little while ago?" asked +his wife. + +Gerald Bennet smiled with arch kindness. + +"Shall I answer truly?" + +"Under pain of displeasure." + +"Well," he began, slowly, "when I heard that Laura Magot's husband had +failed, as I knew that Lucia Darro's husband had once been jilted by +Laura Magot because he failed, I could not help wondering--now, Lucia +dear, how could I help wondering?--I wondered how Lucia Darro would feel. +Because--because--" + +He made a full stop, and smiled. + +"Because what?" asked his wife. + +He lingered, and smiled. + +"Because what?" persisted his wife, with mock gravity. + +"Because Lucia Darro was a woman, and--well! I'll make a clean breast of +it--and because, although a man and woman love each other as long and +dearly as Lucia Darro and her husband have and do, there is still +something in the woman that the man can not quite understand, and upon +which he is forever experimenting. So I was curious to hear, or rather to +see and feel, what your thoughts were; and, at the moment I spoke, I +thought I saw them, and I was surprised." + +"Exactly, Sir; and that surprise ought to have shown you that I was no +saint. Listen again, Sir. Lucia Darro's husband was never jilted by Laura +Magot, for the impetuous and ambitious young man who was engaged to that +lady is an entirely different person from my husband. Do you hear, Sir?" + +"Precisely; and who made him so entirely different?" + +"Hush, Sir! I've no time to hear such folly. I, too, am going to make a +clean breast of it, and confess that there was the least little sense +of--of--of--well, justice, in my mind, when I thought that Laura Magot +who jilted you, who were so unfortunate, and with whom she might have +been so happy--" + +Gerald Bennet dissented, with smiles and shaking head. + +"Hush, Sir! Any woman might have been. That she should have led such a +life with Boniface Newt, and have seen him ruined after all. Poor soul! +poor soul!" + +"Which?" asked her husband. + +"Both--both, Sir. I pity them both from my heart." + +"Thou womanest of women!" retorted her husband. "Art thou, therefore, no +saint because thou pitiest them?" + +"No, no; but because it was not an unmixed pity." + +"At any rate, it is an unmixed goodness," said her husband. + +The restless glance, the glimmering uncertainty, had faded from his eyes. +He sat quietly on the sofa, swinging his foot, and with his head bent a +little to one side over the limp cravat. + +"Gerald," said his wife, "let us go out, and walk in the moonlight too." + + + + +CHAPTER LXX. + +THE REPRESENTATIVE OF THE PEOPLE. + + +In a few moments they were sauntering along the street. It was full and +murmurous. The lights were bright in the shop windows, and the scuffling +of footsteps, more audible than during the day, when it is drowned by the +roar of carriage-wheels upon the pavement, had a friendly, social sound. + +"Broadway is never so pleasant as in the early evening," said Mr. Bennet; +"for then the rush of the day is over, and people move with a leisurely +air, as if they were enjoying themselves. What is that?" + +They were going down the street, and saw lights, and heard music and a +crowd approaching. They came nearer; and Mr. Bennet and his wife turned +aside, and stood upon the steps of a dwelling-house. A band of music came +first, playing "Hail Columbia!" It was surrounded by a swarm of men and +boys, in the street and on the sidewalk, who shouted, and sang, and ran; +and it was followed by a file of gentlemen, marching in pairs. Several of +them carried torches, and occasionally, as they passed under a house, +they all looked up at the windows, and gave three cheers. Sometimes, +also, an individual in the throng shouted something which was received +with loud hi-hi's and laughter. + +"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bennet. + +"This is a political procession, my dear. Look! they will not come by us +at all; they are turning into Grand Street, close by. I suppose they are +going to call upon some candidate. I never see any crowd of this kind +without thinking how simple and beautiful our institutions are. Do you +ever think of it, Lucia? What a majestic thing the popular will is!" + +"Let's hurry, and we may see something," said his wife. + +The throng had left Broadway, and had stopped in Grand Street under a +balcony in a handsome house. The music had stopped also, and all faces +were turned toward the balcony. Mr. Bennet and his wife stood at the +corner of Broadway. Suddenly a gentleman took off his hat and waved +it violently in the air, and a superb diamond-ring flashed in the +torch-light as he did so, while he shouted, + +"Three cheers for Newt!" + +There was a burst of huzzas from the crowd--the drums rolled--the boys +shrieked and snarled in the tone of various animals--the torches +waved--one excited man cried, "One more!"--there was another stentorian +yell, and roll, and wave--after which the band played a short air. But +the windows did not open. + +"Newt! Newt! Newt!" shouted the crowd. The young gentleman with the +diamond-ring disappeared into the house, with several others. + +"Why, Slugby, where the devil is he?" said one of them to another, in a +whisper, as they ran up the stairs. + +"I'm sure I don't know. Musher promised to have him ready." + +"And I sent Ele up to get here before we did," replied his friend, in the +same hurried whisper, his fat nose glistening in the hall-light. + +When they reached Mr. Newt's room they found him lying upon a sofa, while +Musher and the Honorable B.J. Ele were trying to get him up. + +"D----n it! stand up, can't you?" cried Mr. Ele. + +"No, I can't," replied Abel, with a half-humorous maudlin smile. + +At the same moment the impetuous roar of the crowd in the street stole in +through the closed windows. + +"Newt! Newt! Newt!" + +"What in ---- shall we do?" gasped Mr. Enos Slugby, walking rapidly up +and down the room. + +"Who let him get drunk?" demanded General Belch, angrily. + +Nobody answered. + +"Newt! Newt! Newt!" surged in from the street. + +"Thunder and devils, there's nothing for it but to prop him up on the +balcony!" said General Belch. "Come now, heave to, every body, and stick +him on his pins." + +Abel looked sleepily round, with his eyes half closed and his under lip +hanging. + +"'Tain't no use," said he, thickly; "'tain't no use." + +And he leered and laughed. + +The perspiring and indignant politicians grasped him--Slugby and William +Condor under the arms, Belch on one side, and Ele ready to help any +where. They raised their friend to his feet, while his head rolled slowly +round from one side to the other, with a maudlin grin. + +"'Tain't no use," he said. + +Indeed, when they had him fairly on his feet nothing further seemed to be +possible. They were all holding him and looking very angry, while they +heard the loud and imperative--"Newt! Newt! Newt!" accompanied with +unequivocal signs of impatience in an occasional stone or chip that +rattled against the blinds. + +In the midst of it all the form of the drunken man slipped back upon the +sofa, and sitting there leaning on his hands, which rested on his knees, +and with his head heavily hanging forward, he lifted his forehead, and, +seeing the utterly discomfited group standing perplexed before him, he +said, with a foolish smile, + +"Let's all sit down." + +There was a moment of hopeless and helpless inaction. Then suddenly +General Belch laid his hands upon the sofa on which Abel was lying, and +moved it toward the window. + +"Now," cried he to the others, "open the blinds, and we'll make an end of +it." + +Enos Slugby raised the window and obeyed. The crowd below, seeing the +opening blinds and the lights, shouted lustily. + +"Now then," cried the General, "boost him up a moment and hold him +forward. Heave ho! all together." + +They raised the inert body, and half-lifted, half-slid it forward upon +the narrow balcony. + +"Here, Slugby, you prop him behind; and you, Ele and Condor, one on each +side. There! that's it! Now we have him. I'll speak to the people." + +So saying, the General removed his hat and bowed very low to the crowd in +the street. There was a great shout, "Three cheers for Newt!" and the +three cheers rang loudly out. + +"'Tain't Newt," cried a sharp voice: "it's Belch." + +"Three cheers for Belch!" roared an enthusiastic somebody. + +"D---- Belch," cried the sharp voice. + +"Hi! hi!" roared the chorus; while the torches waved and the drums rolled +once more. + +During all this time General Arcularius Belch had been bowing profoundly +and grimacing in dumb show to the crowd, pointing at Abel Newt, who +stood, ingeniously supported, his real state greatly concealed by the +friendly night. + +"Gentlemen!" cried Belch, in a piercing voice. + +"H'st! h'st! Down, down! Silence," in the crowd. + +"Gentlemen, I am very sorry to have to inform you that our distinguished +fellow-citizen, Mr. Newt, to compliment whom you have assembled this +evening, is so severely unwell (oh! gum! from the sharp-voiced skeptic +below) that he is entirely unable to address you. But so profoundly +touched is he by your kindness in coming to compliment him by this call, +that he could not refuse to appear, though but for a moment, to look the +thanks he can not speak. At the earliest possible moment he promises +himself the pleasure of addressing you. Let me, in conclusion, propose +three cheers for our representative in the next Congress, the Honorable +Abel Newt. And now--" he whispered to his friends as the shouts began, +"now lug him in again." + +The crowd cheered, the Honorable Mr. Newt was lugged in, the windows were +closed, and General Belch and his friends withdrew. + +"I tell you what it is," said he, as they passed up the street at a +convenient distance behind the crowd, "Abel Newt is a man of very great +talent, but he must take care. By Jove! he must. He must understand times +and seasons. One thing can not be too often repeated," said he, +earnestly, "if a man expects to succeed in political life he must +understand when not to be drunk." + +The merry company laughed, and went home with Mr. William Condor to crack +a bottle of Champagne. + +Mr. and Mrs. Bennet had stood at the street corner during the few minutes +occupied by these events. When they heard the shouts for Newt they had +looked inquiringly at each other. But when the scene was closed, and the +cheers for the Honorable Abel Newt, our representative in Congress, had +died away, they stood for a few moments quite stupefied. + +"What does it mean, Gerald?" asked his wife. "Is Abel Newt in Congress?" + +"I didn't know it. I suppose he is only a candidate." + +He moved rapidly away, and his wife, who was not used to speed in his +walking, smiled quietly, and, could he have seen her eye, a little +mischievously. She said presently, + +"Yes, our institutions are very simple and beautiful." + +Mr. Bennet said nothing. But she relentlessly continued, + +"What a majestic thing the election of Abel Newt by the popular will will +be!" + +"My dear," he answered, "don't laugh until you know that it _is_ the +popular will; and when you do know it, cry." + +They walked on silently for some little distance further, and then Gerald +Bennet turned toward St. John's Square. His wife asked: + +"Where are you going?" + +"Can't you guess?" + +"Yes; but we have never been there before." + +"Has he ever failed before?" + +"No, you dear soul! and I am very glad we are going." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXI. + +RICHES HAVE WINGS. + + +They rang at the door of Boniface Newt. It was quite late in the evening, +and when they entered the parlor there were several persons sitting +there. + +"Why! father and mother!" exclaimed Gabriel, who was sitting in a remote +dim corner, and who instantly came forward, with May Newt following him. + +Mrs. Newt rose and bowed a little stiffly, and said, in an excited voice, +that really she had no idea, but she was very happy indeed, she was sure, +and so was Mr. Newt. When she had tied her sentence in an inextricable +knot, she stopped and seated herself. + +Boniface Newt rose slowly and gravely. He was bent like a very old man. +His eye was hard and dull, and his dry voice said: + +"How do you do? I am happy to see you." + +Then he sat down again, while Lawrence went up and shook hands with the +new-comers. Boniface drummed slowly upon his knees with the long, bony +white fingers, and rocked to and fro mechanically, as he sat. + +When Lawrence had ended his greetings there was a pause. Mrs. Newt seemed +to be painfully conscious of it. So did Mr. Bennet, whose eyes wandered +about the room, resting for a few instants upon Boniface, then sliding +toward his wife. Boniface himself seemed to be entirely unconscious of +any pause, or of any person, or of any thing, except some mysterious +erratic measure that he was beating with the bony fingers. + +"It is a great while since we have met, Mrs. Newt," said Mrs. Bennet. + +"Yes," returned Mrs. Nancy Newt, rapidly; "and now that we are to be so +very nearly related, it is really high time that we became intimate." + +She looked, however, very far off from intimacy with the person she +addressed. + +"I am glad our children are so happy, Mrs. Newt," said Gerald Bennet, in +a tremulous voice, with his eyes glimmering. + +"Yes. I am glad Gabriel's prospects are so good," returned Mrs. Newt. +"I've no doubt he'll be a very rich man very soon." + +When she had spoken, Boniface Newt, still drumming, turned his face and +looked quietly at his wife. Nobody spoke. Gabriel only winced at what +May's mother had said; and they all looked at Boniface. The old man gazed +fixedly at his wife as if he saw nobody else, and as if he were repeating +the words to which the bony fingers beat time. He said, in a cold, dry +voice, still beating time, + +"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" + +"I'm sure, Boniface, I know that, if any body does," said his wife, +pettishly, and in a half-whimpering voice. "I think we've all learned +that." + +"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" he said, beating with the bony +fingers. + +"Really, Boniface," said his wife, with an air of offended propriety, +"I see no occasion for such pointed allusions to our misfortunes. It +is certainly in very bad taste." + +"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" persisted her husband, still +gazing at her, and still beating time with the white bony fingers. + +Mrs. Newt's whimpering broadened into crying. She sat weeping and wiping +her eyes, in the way which used to draw down a storm from her husband. +There was no storm now. Only the same placid stare--only the same +measured refrain. + +"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" + +Lawrence Newt laid his hand gently on his brother's arm. + +"Boniface, you did your best. We all did what we thought best and right." + +The old man turned his eyes from his wife and went on silently drumming, +looking at the wall. + +"Nancy," said Lawrence, "as Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are about to be a part of +the family, I see no reason for not saying to them that provision is made +for your husband's support. His affairs are as bad as they can be; but +you and he shall not suffer. Of course you will leave this house, and--" + +"Oh dear! What will people say? Nobody'll come to see us in a small +house. What will Mrs. Orry say?" interrupted Mrs. Newt. + +"Let her say what she chooses, Nancy. What will honest people say to whom +your husband owes honest debts, if you don't try to pay them?" + +"They are not my debts, and I don't see why I should suffer for them," +said Mrs. Newt, vehemently, and crying. "When I married him he said I +should ride in my carriage; and if he's been a fool, why should I be a +beggar?" + +There was profound silence in the room. + +"I think it's very hard," said she, querulously. + +It was useless for Lawrence to argue. He saw it, and merely remarked, + +"The house will be sold, and you'll give up the carriage and live as +plainly as you can." + +"To think of coming to this!" burst out Mrs. Newt afresh. + +But a noise was heard in the hall, and the door opened to admit Mr. and +Mrs. Alfred Dinks. + +It was the first time they had entered her father's house since her +marriage. May, who had been the last person Fanny had seen in her old +home, ran forward to greet her, and said, cheerfully, + +"Welcome home, Fanny." + +Mrs. Dinks looked defiantly about the room. Her keen black eyes saw every +body, and involuntarily every body looked at her--except her father. He +seemed quite unconscious of any new-comers. Alfred's heavy figure dropped +into a chair, whence his small eyes, grown sullen, stared stupidly about. +Mrs. Newt merely said, hurriedly, "Why Fanny!" and looked, from the old +habit of alarm and apprehension, at her husband, then back again to her +daughter. The silence gradually became oppressive, until Fanny broke it +by saying, in a dull tone, + +"Oh! Uncle Lawrence." + +He simply bowed his head, as if it had been a greeting. Mr. Bennet's foot +twitched rather than wagged, and his wife turned toward him, from time to +time, with a tender smile. Mrs. Newt, like one at a funeral, presently +began to weep afresh. + +"Pleasant family party!" broke in the voice of Fanny, clear and hard as +her eyes. + +"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" repeated the gray old man, +drumming with lean white fingers upon his knees. + +"Will nobody tell me any thing?" said Fanny, looking sharply round. +"What's going to be done? Are we all beggars?" + +"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" answered the stern voice of the +old man, whose eyes were still fixed upon the wall. + +Fanny turned toward him half angrily, but her black eyes quailed before +the changed figure of her father. She recalled the loud, domineering, +dogmatic man, insisting, morning and night, that as soon as he was rich +enough he would be all that he wanted to be--the self-important, +patronizing, cold, and unsympathetic head of the family. Where was he? +Who was this that sat in the parlor, in his chair, no longer pompous and +fierce, but bowed, gray, drumming on his thin knees with lean white +fingers? + +"Father!" exclaimed Fanny, involuntarily, and terrified. + +The old man turned his head toward her. The calm, hard eyes looked into +hers. There was no expression of surprise, or indignation, or +forgiveness--nothing but a placid abstraction and vagueness. + +"Father!" Fanny repeated, rising, and half moving toward him. + +His head turned back again--his eyes looked at the wall--and she heard +only the words, "Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" + +As Fanny sank back into her chair, pale and appalled, May took her hand +and began to talk with her in a low, murmuring tone. The others fell into +a fragmentary conversation, constantly recurring with their eyes to Mr. +Newt. The talk went on in broken whispers, and it was quite late in the +evening when a stumbling step advanced to the door, which was burst open, +and there stood Abel Newt, with his hat crushed, his clothes soiled, his +jaw hanging, and his eyes lifted in a drunken leer. + +"How do?" he said, leaning against the door-frame and nodding his head. + +His mother, who had never before seen him in such a condition, glanced at +him, and uttered a frightened cry. Lawrence Newt and Gabriel rose, and, +going toward him, took his arms and tried to lead him out. Abel had no +kindly feeling for either of them. His brow lowered, and the sullen +blackness shot into his eyes. + +"Hands off!" he cried, in a threatening tone. + +They still urged him out of the room. + +"Hands off!" he said again, looking at Lawrence Newt, and then in a +sneering tone: + +"Oh! the Reverend Gabriel Bennet! Come, I licked you like--like--like +hell once, and I'll--I'll--I'll--do it again. Stand back!" he shouted, +with drunken energy, and struggling to free his arms. + +But Gabriel and Lawrence Newt held fast. The others rose and stood +looking on, Mrs. Newt hysterically weeping, and May pale with terror. +Alfred Dinks laughed, foolishly, and gazed about for sympathy. Gerald +Bennet drew his wife's arm within his own. + +The old man sat quietly, only turning his head toward the noise, and +looking at the struggle without appearing to see it. + +Finding himself mastered, Abel swore and struggled with drunken frenzy. +After a little while he was entirely exhausted, and sank upon the floor. +Lawrence Newt and Gabriel stood panting over him; the rest crowded into +the hall. Abel looked about stupidly, then crawled toward the staircase, +laid his head upon the lower step, and almost immediately fell into +a deep, drunken slumber. + +"Come, come," whispered Gerald Bennet to his wife. + +They took Mrs. Newt's hand and said Good-by. + +"Oh, dear me! isn't it dreadful?" she sobbed. "Please don't, say any +thing about it. Good-night." + +They shook her hand, but as they opened the door into the still moonlight +midnight they heard the clear, hard voice in the parlor, and in their +minds they saw the beating of the bony fingers. + +"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXII. + +GOOD-BY. + + +The happy hours of Hope Wayne's life were the visits of Lawrence Newt. +The sound of his voice in the hall, of his step on the stair, gave her a +sense of profound peace. Often, as she sat at table with Mrs. Simcoe, in +her light morning-dress, and with the dew of sleep yet fresh upon her +cheeks, she heard the sound, and her heart seemed to stop and listen. +Often, as time wore on, and the interviews were longer and more delayed, +she was conscious that the gaze of her old friend became curiously fixed +upon her whenever Lawrence Newt came. Often, in the tranquil evenings, +when they sat together in the pleasant room, Hope Wayne cheerfully +chatting, or sewing, or reading aloud, Mrs. Simcoe looked at her so +wistfully--so as if upon the point of telling some strange story--that +Hope could not help saying, brightly, "Out with it, aunty!" But as the +younger woman spoke, the resolution glimmered away in the eyes of her +companion, and was succeeded by a yearning, tender pity. + +Still Lawrence Newt came to the house, to consult, to inspect, to bring +bills that he had paid, to hear of a new utensil for the kitchen, to see +about coal, about wood, about iron, to look at a dipper, at a faucet--he +knew every thing in the house by heart, and yet he did not know how or +why. He wanted to come--he thought he came too often. What could he do? + +Hope sang as she sat in her chamber, as she read in the parlor, as she +went about the house, doing her nameless, innumerable household duties. +Her voice was rich, and full, and womanly; and the singing was not the +fragmentary, sparkling gush of good spirits, and the mere overflow of a +happy temperament--it was a deep, sweet, inward music, as if a woman's +soul were intoning a woman's thoughts, and as if the woman were at peace. + +But the face of Mrs. Simcoe grew sadder and sadder as Hope's singing was +sweeter and sweeter, and significant of utter rest. The look in her eyes +of something imminent, of something that even trembled on her tongue, +grew more and more marked. Hope Wayne brightly said, "Out with it, +aunty!" and sang on. + +Amy Waring came often to the house. She was older than Hope, and it was +natural that she should be a little graver. They had a hundred plans in +concert for helping a hundred people. Amy and Hope were a charitable +society. + +"Fiddle diddle!" said Aunt Dagon, when she was speaking of his two +friends to her nephew Lawrence. "Does this brace of angels think that +virtue consists in making shirts for poor people?" + +Lawrence looked at his aunt with the inscrutable eyes, and answered +slowly, + +"I don't know that they do, Aunt Dagon; but I suppose they don't think it +consists in _not_ making them." + +"Phew!" said Mrs. Dagon, tossing her cap-strings back pettishly. "I +suppose they expect to make a kind of rope-ladder of all their charity +garments, and climb up into heaven that way!" + +"Perhaps they do," replied Lawrence, in the same tone. "They have not +made me their confidant. But I suppose that even if the ladder doesn't +reach, it's better to go a little way up than not to start at all." + +"There! Lawrence, such a speech as that comes of your not going to +church. If you would just try to be a little better man, and go to hear +Dr. Maundy preach, say once a year," said Mrs. Dagon, sarcastically, "you +would learn that it isn't good works that are the necessary thing." + +"I hope, Aunt Dagon," returned Lawrence, laughing--"I do really hope that +it's good words, then, for your sake. My dear aunt, you ought to be +satisfied with showing that you don't believe in good works, and let +other people enjoy their own faith. If charity be a sin, Miss Amy Waring +and Miss Hope Wayne are dreadful sinners. But then, Aunt Dagon, what a +saint you must be!" + +Gradually Mrs. Simcoe was persuaded that she ought to speak plainly to +Lawrence Newt upon a subject which profoundly troubled her. Having +resolved to do it, she sat one morning waiting patiently for the door +of the library--in which Lawrence Newt was sitting with Hope Wayne, +discussing the details of her household--to open. There was a placid air +of resolution in her sad and anxious face, as if she were only awaiting +the moment when she should disburden her heart of the weight it had so +long secretly carried. There was entire silence in the house. The rich +curtains, the soft carpet, the sumptuous furniture--every object on which +the eye fell, seemed made to steal the shock from noise; and the rattle +of the street--the jarring of carts--the distant shriek of the belated +milkman--the long, wavering, melancholy cry of the chimney-sweep--came +hushed and indistinct into the parlor where the sad-eyed woman sat +silently waiting. + +At length the door opened and Lawrence Newt came out. He was going toward +the front door, when Mrs. Simcoe rose and went into the hall, and said, +"Stop a moment!" + +He turned, half smiled, but saw her face, and his own settled into its +armor. + +Mrs. Simcoe beckoned him toward the parlor; and as he went in she stepped +to the library door and said, to avoid interruption, + +"Hope, Mr. Newt and I are talking together in the parlor." + +Hope bowed, and made no reply. Mrs. Simcoe entered the other room and +closed the door. + +"Mr. Newt," she said, in a low voice, "you can not wonder that I am +anxious." + +He looked at her, and did not answer. + +"I know, perhaps, more than you know," said she; "not, I am sure, more +than you suspect." + +Lawrence Newt was a little troubled, but it was only evident in the quiet +closing and unclosing of his hand. + +They stood for a few moments without speaking. Then she opened the +miniature, and when she saw that he observed it she said, very slowly, + +"Is it quite fair, Mr. Newt?" + +"Mrs. Simcoe," he replied, inquiringly. + +His firm, low voice reassured her. + +"Why do you come here so often?" asked she. + +"To help Miss Hope." + +"Is it necessary that you should come?" + +"She wishes it." + +"Why?" + +He paused a moment. Mrs. Simcoe continued: + +"Lawrence Newt, at least let us be candid with each other. By the memory +of the dead--by the common sorrow we have known, there should be no cloud +between us about Hope Wayne. I use your own words. Tell me what you feel +as frankly as you feel it." + +There was simple truth in the earnest face before him. While she was +speaking she raised her hand involuntarily to her breast, and gasped +as if she were suffocating. Her words were calm, and he answered, + +"I waited, for I did not know how to answer--nor do I now." + +"And yet you have had some impression--some feeling--some conviction. Yon +know whether it is necessary that you should come--whether she wants you +for an hour's chat, as an old friend--or--or"--she waited a moment, and +added--"or as something else." + +As Lawrence Newt stood before her he remembered curiously his interview +with Aunt Martha, but he could not say to Mrs. Simcoe what he had said to +her. + +"What can I say?" he asked at length, in a troubled voice. + +"Lawrence Newt, say if you think she loves you, and tell me," she said, +drawing herself erect and back from him, as in the twilight of the old +library at Pinewood, while her thin finger was pointed upward--"tell me, +as you will be judged hereafter--me, to whom her mother gave her as she +died, knowing that she loved you." + +Her voice died away, overpowered by emotion. She still looked at him, +and suspicion, incredulity, and scorn were mingled in her look, while her +uplifted finger still shook, as if appealing to Heaven. Then she asked +abruptly, and fiercely, + +"To which, in the name of God, are you false--the mother or the +daughter?" + +"Stop!" replied Lawrence Newt, in a tone so imperious that the hand of +his companion fell at her side, and the scorn and suspicion faded from +her eyes. "Mrs. Simcoe, there are things that even you must not say. You +have lived alone with a great sorrow; you are too swift; you are unjust. +Even if I had known what you ask about Miss Hope, I am not sure that I +should have done differently. Certainly, while I did not know--while, at +most, I could only suspect, I could do nothing else. I have feared rather +than believed--nor that, until very lately. Would it have been kind, or +wise, or right to have staid away altogether, when, as you know, I +constantly meet her at our little Club? Was I to say, 'Miss Hope, I see +you love me, but I do not love you?' And what right had I to hint the +same thing by my actions, at the cost of utter misapprehension and pain +to her? Mrs. Simcoe, I do love Hope Wayne too tenderly, and respect her +too truly, not to try to protect her against the sting of her own womanly +pride. And so I have not staid away. I have not avoided a woman in whom I +must always have so deep and peculiar an interest, I have been friend and +almost father, and never by a whisper even, by a look, by a possible +hint, have I implied any thing more." + +His voice trembled as he spoke. He had no right to be silent any longer, +and as he finished Mrs. Simcoe took his hand. + +"Forgive me! I love her so dearly--and I too am a woman." + +She sank upon the sofa as she spoke, and covered her face for a little +while. The tears stole quietly down her cheeks. Lawrence Newt stood by +her sadly, for his mind was deeply perplexed. They both remained for some +time without speaking, until Mrs. Simcoe asked, + +"What can we do?" + +Lawrence Newt shook his head doubtfully. + +They were silent again. At length Mrs. Simcoe said: + +"I will do it." + +"What?" asked Lawrence. + +"What I have been meaning to do for a long, long time," replied the +other. "I will tell her the story." + +An indefinable expression settled upon Lawrence Newt's face as she spoke. + +"Has she never asked?" he inquired. + +"Often; but I have always avoided telling." + +"It had better be done. It is the only way. But I hoped it would never be +necessary. God bless us all!" + +He moved toward the door when he had finished, but not until he had +shaken her warmly by the hand. + +"You will come as before?" she said. + +"Of course, there will not be the slightest change on my part. And, Mrs. +Simcoe, remember that next week, certainly, I shall meet Miss Hope at +Miss Amy Waring's. Our first meeting had better be there, so before then +please--" + +He bowed and went out. As he passed the library door he involuntarily +looked in. There sat Hope Wayne, reading; but as she heard him she raised +the head of golden hair, the dewy cheeks, the thoughtful brow, and as she +bowed to him the clear blue eyes smiled the words her tongue uttered-- + +"Good-by, Mr. Newt, good-by!" + +The words followed him out of the door and down the street. The air rang +with them every where. The people he passed seemed to look at him as if +they were repeating them. Distant echoes caught them up and whispered +them. He heard no noise of carriages, no loud city hum; he only heard, +fainter and fainter, softer and softer, sadder and sadder, and ever +following on, "Good-by, Mr. Newt, good-by!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIII. + +THE BELCH PLATFORM. + + +"My dear Newt, as a friend who has the highest respect for you, and the +firmest faith in your future, I am sure you will allow me to say one +thing." + +"Oh! certainly, my dear Belch; say two," replied Abel, with the utmost +suavity, as he sat at table with General Belch. + +"I have no peculiar ability, I know," continued the other, "but I have, +perhaps, a little more experience than you. We old men, you know, always +plume ourselves upon experience, which we make do duty for all the +virtues and talents." + +"And it is trained for that service by being merely a synonym for a +knowledge of all the sins and rascalities," said Abel, smiling, as he +blew rings of smoke and passed the decanter to General Belch. + +"True," replied the other; "very true. I see, my dear Newt, that you +have had your eyes and your mind open. And since we are going to act +together--since, in fact, we are interested in the same plans--" + +"And principles," interrupted Abel, laying his head back, and looking +with half-closed eyes at the vanishing smoke. + +"Oh yes, I was coming to that--in the same plans and principles, it is +well that we should understand each other perfectly." + +General Belch paused, looked at Abel, and took snuff. + +"I think we do already," replied Abel. + +"Still there are one or two points to which I would call your attention. +One is, that you can not be too careful of what you say, in regard to its +bearing upon the party; and the other is, a general rule that the Public +is an ass, but you must never let it know you think so. If there is one +thing which the party has practically proved, it is that the people have +no will of their own, but are sheep in the hands of the shepherd." + +The General took snuff again. + +"The Public, then, is an ass and a sheep?" inquired Abel. + +"Yes," said the General, "an ass in capacity, and in preference of a +thistle diet; a sheep in gregarious and stupid following. You say 'Ca, +ca, ca,' when you want a cow to follow you; and you say 'Glorious old +party,' and 'Intelligence of the people,' and 'Preference of truth to +victory,' and so forth, when you want the people to follow you." + +"An ass, a sheep, and a cow," said Abel. "To what other departments of +natural history do the people belong, General?" + +"Adders," returned Belch, sententiously. + +"How so?" asked Abel, amused. + +"Because they are so cold and ungrateful," said the General. + +"As when, for instance," returned Abel, "the Honorable Watkins Bodley, +having faithfully served his constituency, is turned adrift by--by--the +people." + +He looked at Belch and laughed. The fat nose of the General glistened. + +"No, no," said he, "your illustration is at fault. He did not faithfully +serve his constituency. He was not sound upon the great Grant question." + +The two gentlemen laughed together and filled their glasses. + +"No, no," resumed the General, "never forget that the great thing is +drill--discipline. Keep the machinery well oiled, and your hand upon the +crank, and all goes well." + +"Until somebody knocks off your hand," said Abel. + +"Yes, of course--of course; but that is the very point. The fight is +never among the sheep, but only among the shepherds. Look at our splendid +system, beginning with Tom, Jim, and Ned, and culminating in the +President--the roots rather red and unsightly, but oh! such a pretty +flower, all broadcloth, kid gloves, and affability--contemplate the +superb machinery," continued the General, warming, "the primaries, the +ward committees, the--in fact, all the rest of it--see how gloriously it +works--the great result of the working of the whole is--" + +"To establish justice, insure domestic tranquillity, promote the general +welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our +posterity," interrupted Abel, who had been scanning the Constitution, +and who delivered the words with a rhetorical pomp of manner. + +General Belch smiled approvingly. + +"That's it--that's the very tone. You'll do. The great result is, who +shall have his hand on the crank. And there are, therefore, always three +parties in our beloved country." + +Abel looked inquiringly. + +"First, the _ins_, who are in two parties--the clique that have, and the +clique that haven't. They fight like fury among themselves, but when they +meet t'other great party they all fight together, because the hopes of +the crank for each individual of each body lie in the party itself, and +in their obedience to its discipline. These are two of the parties. Then +there is the great party of the _outs_, who have a marvelous unanimity, +and never break up into quarrelsome bodies until there is a fair chance +of their ousting the _ins_. I say these things not because they are not +pretty obvious, but because, as a man of fashion and society, you have +probably not attended to such matters. It's dirty work for a gentleman. +But I suppose any of us would be willing to pick a gold eagle out of the +mud, even if we did soil our fingers." + +"Of course," replied Abel, in a tone that General Belch did not entirely +comprehend--"of course no gentleman knows any thing of politics. +Gentlemen are the natural governors of a country; and where they are not +erected into a hereditary governing class, self-respect forbids them to +mix with inferior men--so they keep aloof from public affairs. Good +Heavens! what gentleman would be guilty of being an alderman in this +town! Why, as you know, my dear Belch, nothing but my reduced +circumstances induces me to go to Congress. By-the-by--" + +"Well, what is it?" asked the General. + +"I'm dreadfully hard up," said Abel. "I have just the d----est luck you +ever conceived, and I must raise some money." + +The fat nose glistened again, while the General sat silently pondering. + +"I can lend you a thousand," he said, at length. + +"Thank you. It will oblige me very much." + +"Upon conditions," added the General. + +"Conditions?" asked Abel, surprised. + +"I mean understandings," said the General. + +"Oh! certainly," answered Abel. + +"You pledge yourself to me and our friends that you will at the earliest +moment move in the matter of the Grant; you engage to secure the votes +somehow, relying upon the pecuniary aid of our friends who are +interested; and you will repay me out of your first receipts. Ele will +stand by you through thick and thin. We keep him there for that purpose." + +"My dear Belch, I promise any thing you require. I only want the money." + +"Give me your hand, Newt. From the bottom of my soul I do respect a man +who has no scruples." + +They shook hands heartily, and filling their glasses they drank +"Success!" The General then wrote a check and a little series of +instructions, which he gave to Abel, while Abel himself scribbled an +I.O.U., which the General laid in his pocket-book. + +"You'll have an eye on, Ele," said the General, as he buttoned his coat. + +"Certainly--two if you want," answered Abel, lazily, repeating the joke. + +"He's a good fellow, Ele is," said Belch; "but he's largely interested, +and he'll probably try to chouse us out of something by affecting +superior influence. You must patronize him to the other men. Keep him +well under. I have a high respect for cellar stairs, but they mustn't +try to lead up to the roof. Good-by. Hail Newt! Senator that shall be!" +laughed the General, as he shook hands and followed his fat nose out +of the door. + +Left to himself, Abel walked for some time up and down his room, with +his hands buried in his pocket and a sneering smile upon his face. He +suddenly drew one hand out, raised it, clenched it, and brought it down +heavily in the air, as he muttered, contemptuously, + +"What a stupid fool! I wonder if he never thinks, as he looks in the +glass, that that fat nose of his is made to lead him by." + +For the sagacious and fat-nosed General had omitted to look at the little +paper Newt handed to him, thinking it would be hardly polite to do so +under the circumstances. But if he had looked he would have seen that the +exact sum they had spoken of had been forgotten, and a very +inconsiderable amount was specified. + +It had flashed across Abel's mind in a moment that if the General +subsequently discovered it and were disposed to make trouble, the +disclosure of the paper of instructions which he had written, and +which Abel had in his possession, would ruin his hopes of political +financiering. "And as for my election, why, I have my certificate in +my pocket." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIV. + +MIDNIGHT. + + +Gradually the sneer faded from Abel's face, and he walked up and down +the room, no longer carelessly, but fitfully; stopping sometimes--again +starting more rapidly--then leaning against the mantle, on which the +clock pointed to midnight--then throwing himself into a chair or upon a +sofa; and so, rising again, walked on. + +His head bent forward--his eyes grew rounder and harder, and seemed to +be burnished with the black, bad light; his step imperceptibly grew +stealthy--he looked about him carefully--he stood erect and breathless +to listen--bit his nails, and walked on. + +The clock upon the mantle pointed to half an hour after midnight. Abel +Newt went into his chamber and put on his slippers. He lighted a candle, +and looked carefully under the bed and in the closet. Then he drew the +shades over the windows and went out into the other room, closing and +locking the door behind him. + +He glided noiselessly to the door that opened into the entry, and locked +that softly and bolted it carefully. Then he turned the key so that the +wards filled the keyhole, and taking out his handkerchief he hung it over +the knob of the door, so that it fell across the keyhole, and no eye +could by any chance have peered into the room. + +He saw that the blinds of the windows were closed, the windows shut and +locked, and the linen shades drawn over them. He also let fall the heavy +damask curtains, so that the windows were obliterated from the room. He +stood in the centre of the room and looked to every corner where, by any +chance, a person might be concealed. + +Then, moving upon tip-toe, he drew a key from his pocket and fitted it +into the lid of a secretary. As he turned it in the lock the snap of the +bolt made him start. He was haggard, even ghastly, as he stood, letting +the lid back slowly, lest it should creak or jar. With another key he +opened a little drawer, and involuntarily looking behind him as he did +so, he took out a small piece of paper, which he concealed in his hand. + +Seating himself at the secretary, he put the candle before him, and +remained for a moment with his face slightly strained forward with a +startling intentness of listening. There was no sound but the regular +ticking of the clock upon the mantle. He had not observed it before, but +now he could hear nothing else. + +Tick, tick--tick, tick. It had a persistent, relentless, remorseless +regularity. Tick, tick--tick, tick. Every moment it appeared to be louder +and louder. His brow wrinkled and his head bent forward more deeply, +while his eyes were set straight before him. Tick, tick--tick, tick. The +solemn beat became human as he listened. He could not raise his head--he +could not turn his eyes. He felt as if some awful shape stood over him +with destroying eyes and inflexible tongue. But struggling, without +moving, as a dreamer wrestles with the nightmare, he presently sprang +bolt upright--his eyes wide and wild--the sweat oozing upon his ghastly +forehead--his whole frame weak and quivering. With the same suddenness +he turned defiantly, clenching his fists, in act to spring. + +There was nothing there. He saw only the clock--the gilt pendulum +regularly swinging--he heard only the regular tick, tick--tick, tick. + +A sickly smile glimmered on his face as he stepped toward the mantle, +still clutching the paper in his hand, but crouching as he came, and +leering, as if to leap upon an enemy unawares. Suddenly he started as +if struck--a stifled shriek of horror burst from his lips--he staggered +back--his hand opened--the paper fell fluttering to the floor. Abel Newt +had unexpectedly seen the reflection of his own face in the mirror that +covered the chimney behind the clock. + +He recovered himself, swore bitterly, and stooped to pick up the paper. +Then with sullen bravado, still staring at his reflection in the glass, +he took off the glass shade of the clock, touched the pendulum and +stopped it; then turning his back, crept to his chair, and sat down +again. + +The silence was profound, not a sound was audible but the creaking of his +clothes as he leaned heavily against the edge of the desk and drew his +agitated breath. He raised the candle and bent his gloomy face over the +paper which he held before him. It was a note of his late firm indorsed +by Lawrence Newt & Co. He gazed at his uncle's signature intently, +studying every line, every dot--so intently that it seemed as if his eyes +would burn it. Then putting down the candle and spreading the name before +him, he drew a sheet of tissue paper from a drawer and placed it over it. +The writing was perfectly legible--the finest stroke showed through the +thin tissue. He filled a pen and carefully drew the lines of the +signature upon the tissue paper--then raised it--the fac-simile was +perfect. + +Taking a thicker piece of paper, he laid the note before him, and slowly, +carefully, copied the signature. The result was a resemblance, but +nothing more. He held the paper in the flame of the candle until it was +consumed. He tried again. He tried many times. Each trial was a greater +success. + +Tearing a check from his book he filled the blanks and wrote below +the name of Lawrence Newt & Co., and found, upon comparison with the +indorsement, that it was very like. Abel Newt grinned; his lips moved: he +was muttering "Dear Uncle Lawrence." + +He stopped writing, and carefully burned, as before, the check and all +the paper. Then covering his face with his hands as he sat, he said to +himself, as the hot, hurried thoughts flickered through his mind, + +"Yes, yes, Mrs. Lawrence Newt, I shall not be master of Pinewood, but +I shall be of your husband, and he will be master of your property. +Practice makes perfect. Dear Uncle Lawrence shall be my banker." + +His brain reeled and whirled as he sat. He remembered the words of his +friend the General: "Abel Newt was not born to fail." + +"No, by God!" he shouted, springing up, and clenching his hands. + +He staggered. The walls of the room, the floor, the ceiling, the +furniture heaved and rolled before his eyes. In the wild tumult that +overwhelmed his brain as if he were sinking in gurgling whirlpools--the +peaceful lawn of Pinewood--the fight with Gabriel--the running +horses--the "Farewell forever, Miss Wayne"--the shifting chances of +his subsequent life--Grace Plumer blazing with diamonds--the figure +of his father drumming with white fingers upon his office-desk--Lawrence +and Gabriel pushing him out--they all swept before his consciousness in +the moment during which he threw out his hands wildly, clutched at the +air, and plunged headlong upon the floor, senseless. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXV. + +REMINISCENCE. + +On the very evening that General Belch and Abel Newt were sitting +together, smoking, taking snuff, sipping wine, and discussing the great +principles that should control the action of American legislators and +statesmen, Hope Wayne and Mrs. Simcoe sat together in their pleasant +drawing-room talking of old times. The fire crackled upon the hearth, and +the bright flames flickering through the room brought out every object +with fitful distinctness. The lamp was turned almost out--for they found +it more agreeable to sit in a twilight as they spoke of the days which +seemed to both of them to be full of subdued and melancholy light. They +sat side by side; Hope leaning her cheek upon her hand, and gazing +thoughtfully into the fire; Mrs. Simcoe turned partly toward her, and +occasionally studying her face, as if peculiarly anxious to observe +its expression. + +It might have happened in many ways that they were speaking of the old +times. The older woman may have intentionally led the conversation in +that direction for some ulterior purpose she had in view. Or what is more +likely than that the young woman should constantly draw her friend and +guardian to speak of days and people connected with her own life, but +passed before her memory had retained them? + +After a long interval, as if, when she had once broken her reserve about +her life, she must pour out all her experience, Mrs. Simcoe began: + +"When I was twenty years old, living with my father, a poor farmer in the +country, there came to pass the summer in the village a gentleman, a good +deal older than I. He was handsome, graceful, elegant, fascinating. I saw +him at church, but he did not see me. Then I met him sometimes upon the +road, idly sauntering along, swinging a little cane, and looking as if +village life were fatiguing. He seemed at length to observe me. One day +he bowed. I said nothing, but hurried on. When I was a little beyond him +I turned my head. He also was turning and looking at me. + +"I was old enough to know why I turned. Yes, and so was he. How well +I remember the peaceful western light that fell along the fields and +touched the trees so kindly! Every thing was still. The birds dropped +hurrying homeward notes, and the cows were coming in from the pasture. +I was going after our cow, but I leaned a long time on the bars and +looked at the new moon timidly showing herself in the west. Then I looked +at my clumsy gown, and thick shoes, and large hands, and thought of the +graceful, elegant man, who had not bowed to me insolently. I imagined +that a gentleman used to city life must find our country ways tiresome. +I pitied him, but what could I do? + +"Once in the meadows I was following up the brook to find cardinal +flowers. The brook wound through a little wood; and as I was passing, +looking closely among the flags and pickerel-wood, I suddenly heard a +voice close to me--'The lobelia blossoms are further on, Miss Jane.' I +knew instantly who it was, and I was conscious of being more scarlet +than the flowers I was seeking. + +"Well, dear," said Mrs. Simcoe, after pausing for a few moments, "I can +not repeat every detail. The time came when I was not afraid to speak to +him--when I cared to speak to no one else--when I thought of him all day +and dreamed of him all night--when I wore the ribbons he praised, and the +colors he loved, and the flowers he gave me; when he told me of the great +life beyond the village, of lofty and beautiful women he had known, of +wise men he had seen, of the foreign countries he had visited--when he +twined my hair around his finger and said, 'Jane, I love you!'" + +Her eyes were excited, and her voice was hurried, but inexpressibly sad. +Hope sat by, and the tears flowed from her eyes. + +"A long, long time. Yet it was only a few months--it was only a summer. +He came in May, and was gone again in November. But between his coming +and going the roses in our garden blossomed and withered. So you see +there was time enough. Time enough! Time enough! I was heavenly happy. + +"One day he said that he must go. There was some frightful trouble in his +eye. 'Will you come back?' I asked. I tremble to remember how sternly I +asked it, and how cold and bloodless I felt. 'So help me God!' he +answered, and left me. Left me! 'So help me God!' he murmured, as his +tears fell upon my cheek and he kissed me. 'So help me God!'--and he left +me. Not a word, not a look, not a sign had he given me to suppose that he +would not return; not a thought, not a wish had he breathed to me that +you might not hear. His miniature hung in a locket around my neck, +even as my whole heart and soul hung upon his love. 'So help me God!' +he whispered, and left me. + +"He did not come back. I thought my heart was frozen. My mother sighed +as she went on with her hard, incessant work. My father tried to be +cheerful. 'Cry, girl, cry,' my mother said; 'only cry, and you'll be +better.' I could not cry; I could not smile. I could do nothing but help +her silently in the long, hard work, day after day, summer and winter. +I read the books he had given me. I thought of the things he had said. +I sat in my chamber when the floor was scrubbed, and the bread baked, and +the dishes washed, and the flies buzzed in the hot, still kitchen. I can +hear them now. And there I sat, looking out of my window, straining my +eyes toward the horizon--sometimes sure that I heard him coming, clicking +the gate, hurrying up the gravel, with his eager, handsome, melancholy +face. I started up. My heart stood still. I was ready to fall upon his +breast and say, 'I believe 'twas all right.' He did not come. 'So help me +God!' he said, and did not come. + +"My father brought me to New York to change the scene. But God had +brought me here to change my heart. I heard one Sunday good old Bishop +Asbury, and he began the work that Summerfield sealed. My parents +presently died. They left nothing, and I was the only child. I did what I +could, and at last I became your grandfather's housekeeper." + +As her story proceeded Mrs. Simcoe looked more and more anxiously at +Hope, whose eyes were fixed upon her incessantly. The older woman paused +at this point, and, taking Hope's face between her hands, smoothed her +hair, and kissed her. + +"Your grandfather had a daughter Mary." + +"My mother," said Hope, earnestly. + +"Your mother, darling. She was as beautiful but as delicate as a flower. +The doctors said a long salt voyage would strengthen her. So your +grandfather sent her in the ship of one of his friends to India. In India +she staid several weeks, and met a young man of her own age, clerk in a +house there. Of course they were soon engaged. But he was young, not +yet in business, and she knew the severity of your grandfather and his +ambition for her. At length the ship returned, and your mother returned +in it. Scarcely was she at home a month than your grandfather told me +that he had a connection in view for his daughter, and wanted me to +prepare her to receive the addresses of a gentleman a good deal older +than she, but of the best family, and in every way a desirable husband. +He was himself getting old, he said, and it was necessary that his +daughter should marry. Your mother loved me dearly, as I did her. Gentle +soul, with her soft, dark, appealing eyes, with her flower-like fragility +and womanly dependence. Ah me! it was hard that your grandfather should +have been her parent. + +"She was stunned when I told her. I thought her grief was only natural, +and I was surprised at the sudden change in her. She faded before our +eyes. We could not cheer her. But she made no effort to resist. She did +not refuse to see her suitor; she did not say that she loved any one +else. I think she had a mortal fear of her father, and, dear soul! she +could not do any thing that required resolution. + +"One day your grandfather said at dinner, 'To-morrow, Miss Mary, your new +friend will be here.' + +"All night she lay awake, trembling and tearful; and at morning she +rose like a spectre. The stranger arrived. Mary kept her room until +dinner-time. Then we both went down to see the new-comer. He was in the +library with your grandfather, and was engaged in telling him some very +amusing story when we came in, for your grandfather was laughing +heartily. They both rose upon seeing us. + +"'Colonel Wayne, my daughter,' said your grandfather, waving his hand +toward her. He bowed--she sank, spectre-like, into a chair. + +"'Mrs. Simcoe, Colonel Wayne.' + +"Our eyes met. It was my lover. He was too much amazed to bow. But in a +moment he recovered himself, smiled courteously, and seated himself; for +he saw at once what place I filled in the household. I said nothing. I +remember that I sank into a chair and looked at him. He was older, but +the same charm still hovered about his person. His voice had the same +secret music, and his movement that careless grace which seemed to spring +from the consciousness of power. I was conscious of only two things--that +I loved him, and that he was unworthy the love of any woman. + +"During dinner he made two or three observations to me. But I bowed and +said nothing. I think I was morally stunned, and the whole scene seemed +to me to be unreal. After a few days he made a formal offer of his hand +to Mary Burt. Poor child! Poor child! She trembled, hesitated, fluttered, +delayed. 'You must; you shall!' were the terrible words she heard from +her parent. She dreaded to tell the truth, lest he should force a summary +marriage. Hope, my child, you could have resisted--so could I; she could +not. 'Only, dear father,' she said, 'I am so young. Let me not be married +for a year.' Her father laughed and assented, and I think she instantly +wrote to her lover in India. + +"People came driving out to congratulate. 'Such a reasonable connection!' +every body said; 'a military man of fine old family. It is really +delightful to have a union sometimes take place in which all the +conditions are satisfactory.' + +"All the time his miniature hung round my neck. Why? Because, in the +bottom of my soul, I still believed him. I had heard him say, So help +me God!' + +"He went away, and sometimes returned for a week. I was comforted by +seeing that he did not love your mother, and by the confidence I had that +she would not marry him. I was sure that something would happen to +prevent. + +"The year was coming round. One night your mother appeared in my room in +her night-dress; her face was radiant, and she held a note in her hand. +It was from her lover. He had thrown himself upon a ship when her letter +reached him, and here he was close at hand. Full of generous ardor, he +proposed to marry her privately at once; there was no other way, he was +sure. + +"'Will you help us?' she said, after she had told me every thing. + +"'But you are two such children,' I said. + +"'Then you will not help. You will make me marry Colonel Wayne.' + +"I tried to see the matter calmly. I sought the succor of God. I do +not say that I did just what I should have done, but I helped them. The +heart is weak, and perhaps I was the more willing to help, because the +fulfillment of her plan would prevent her becoming the wife of Colonel +Wayne. The time was arranged when she was to go away. I was to accompany +her, and she was to be married. + +"The lover came. It was a June night; the moon was full. We went quietly +along the avenue. The gate was opened. We were just passing through when +your grandfather and Colonel Wayne suddenly stepped from the shadow of +the wall and the trees. + +"Your mother and her lover stood perfectly still. She gave a little cry. +Your grandfather was furious. + +"'Go, Sir!' he shrieked at the young man. + +"'If your daughter commands it,' he replied. + +"Your grandfather seized him involuntarily. + +"'Sir, my daughter is the betrothed wife of Colonel Wayne.' + +"The young man looked with an incredulous smile at your mother, who had +sunk senseless into my arms, and said, in a low voice, + +"'She was mine before she ever saw him.' + +"Your grandfather actually hissed at him with contempt. + +"'Go--before I strike you!' + +"The young man hesitated for a few moments, saw that it was useless to +remain longer at that time, and went. + +"The next day Mr. Burt sent for Dr. Peewee. + +"The moment I knew what he intended to do I ran to your grandfather and +told him that Colonel Wayne was not a fit husband for his daughter. But +when I told him that the Colonel had deserted me, Mr. Burt laughed +scornfully. + +"'You, Mrs. Simcoe? Why, you have lost your wits. Remember, Colonel Wayne +is a gentleman of the oldest family, and you are--you were--' + +"'I was a poor country girl,' said I, 'and Colonel Wayne loved me, and +I loved him, and here is the pledge and proof of it.' + +"I drew out his miniature as I spoke, and held it before your +grandfather's eyes. He fairly staggered, and rang the bell violently. + +"'Call Colonel Wayne,' he said, hastily, to the servant. + +"In a moment the Colonel came in. I saw his color change as his eye fell +upon me, holding the locket in my hand, and upon your grandfather's +flushed face. + +"'Colonel Wayne, have you ever seen Mrs. Simcoe before?' + +"He was very pale, and there were sallow circles under his eyes as he +spoke; but he said, calmly, + +"'Not to my knowledge.' + +"Scorn made me icily calm. + +"'Who gave me that, Sir?' said I, thrusting the miniature almost into his +face. + +"He took it in his hand and looked at it. I saw his lip work and his +throat quiver with an involuntary spasm. + +"'I am sure I do not know.' + +"I was speechless. Your grandfather was confounded. Colonel Wayne looked +white, but resolute. + +"'God only is my witness,' said I, slowly, as if the words came gasping +from my heart. 'So help me God, I loved him, and he loved me.' + +"A quiver ran through his frame as I spoke, but he preserved the same +placidity of face. + +"'There is some mistake, Mrs. Simcoe,' said your grandfather, not +unkindly, to me. 'Go to your room.' + +"I obeyed, for my duty was done." + +Mrs. Simcoe paused, and rocked silently to and fro. Hope took her hand +and kissed it reverently. Presently the narration was quietly resumed: + +"I told your mother my story. But she was stunned by her own grief, and I +do not think she comprehended me. Dr. Peewee came, and she was married. +Your mother did not say yes--for she could not utter a word--but the +ceremony proceeded. I heard the words, 'Whom God hath joined together,' +and I laughed aloud, and fell fainting. + +"It was a few days after the marriage, when Colonel Wayne and his wife +were absent, that your grandfather said to me, + +"'Mrs. Simcoe, your story seems to be true. But think a moment. A man +like Colonel Wayne must have had many experiences. We all do. He has been +rash, and foolish, and thoughtless, I have no doubt. He may even have +trifled with your feelings. I am very sorry. If he has done so, I think +he ought to have acknowledged it the other day. But I hope sincerely that +we shall all let by-gones be by-gones, and live happily together. Ah! I +see dinner is ready. Good-day, Mrs. Simcoe. Dr. Peewee, will you ask a +blessing?'" + +It was already midnight, and the two women sat before the fire. It was +the moment when Abel Newt was stealing through his rooms, fastening doors +and windows. Hope Wayne was pale and cold like a statue as she listened +to the voice of Mrs. Simcoe, which had a wailing tone pitiful to hear. +After a long silence she began again: + +"What ought I to have done? Should I have gone away? That was the easiest +course. But, Hope, the way of duty is not often the easiest way. I wrote +a long letter to the good old Bishop Asbury, who seemed to me like a +father, and after a while his answer came. He told me that I should seek +the Lord's leading, and if that bade me stay--if that told me that it +would be for my soul's blessing that my heart should break daily--then I +had better remain, seeing that the end is not here--that here we have no +continuing city, and that our proud hearts must be bruised by grief, even +as our Saviour's lowly forehead was pierced with thorns. + +"So I staid. It was partly pity for your mother, who began to droop at +once. It was partly that I might keep my wound bleeding for my soul's +salvation; and partly--I see it now, but I could not then--because I +believed, as before God I do now believe, that in his secret heart I was +the woman your father loved, and I could not give him up. + +"Your mother's lover wrote to me at once, I discovered afterward, but his +letters were intercepted, for your grandfather was a shrewd, resolute +man. Then he came to Pinewood, but he was not allowed to see your mother. +The poor boy was frantic; but before he could effect any thing your +mother was the wife of Colonel Wayne. Then, in the same ship in which he +had come from India, he returned; and after he was gone all his letters +were given to me. I wrote to him at once. I told him every thing about +your mother, but there was not much to tell. She never mentioned his name +after her marriage. There were gay parties given in honor of the wedding, +and her delicate, drooping, phantom-like figure hung upon the arm of her +handsome, elegant husband. People said that her maidenly shyness was +beautiful to behold, and that she clung to her husband like the waving +ivy to the oak. + +"She did not cling long. She was just nineteen when she was married--she +was not twenty when you were born--she was just twenty when they buried +her. Oh! I did not think of myself only, but of her, when I heard the +saintly youth breathe that plaintive prayer, 'Draw them to thee, for they +wearily labor: they are heavily laden, gracious Father! oh, give them +rest!' + +"'No chilling winds or pois'nous breath + Can reach that healthful shore: + Sickness and sorrow, pain and death, + Are felt and fear'd no more.'" + +"And my father?" asked Hope, in a low voice. + +"He went abroad for many years. Then he returned, and came sometimes to +Pinewood. His life was irregular. I think he gambled, for he and your +grandfather often had high words in the library about the money that he +wanted. But your grandfather never allowed you to leave the place. He +rarely spoke of your mother; but I think he often thought of her, and +he gradually fell into the habit you remember. Yet he had the same +ambition for you that he had had for your mother. He treated me always +with stately politeness; but I know that it was a dreary home for a young +girl. Hope," said Mrs. Simcoe, after a short pause, "that is all--the end +you yourself remember." + +"Yes," replied Hope, in the same low, appalled tone, "my father went out +upon the pond, one evening, with a friend to bathe, and was drowned. Mr. +Gray's boys found him. My grandfather would not let me wear mourning for +him. I wore a blue ribbon the day Dr. Peewee preached his funeral sermon; +and I did not care to wear black. Aunty, I had seen him too little to +love him like a father, you know." + +She said it almost as if apologizing to Mrs. Simcoe, who merely bowed her +head. + +It was past midnight. It was the very moment when Abel Newt was starting +with horror as he saw his own reflection in the glass. + +Something yet remained to be said between those two women. Each knew +it--neither dared to begin. + +Hope Wayne closed her eyes with an inward prayer, and then said, calmly, +but in a low voice, + +"And, aunty, the young man?" + +Mrs. Simcoe took Hope's face between her caressing hands. She smoothed +the glistening golden hair, and kissed her upon the forehead. + +"Aunty, the young man?" said Hope, in the same tone. + +"Was Lawrence Newt," answered Mrs. Simcoe. + +--It was the moment when Abel sat at his desk writing the name that Mrs. +Simcoe had pronounced. + +Hope Wayne was perfectly sure it was coming, and yet the word shot out +upon her like a tongue of lightning. At first she felt every nerve in +her frame relaxed--a mist clouded her eyes--she had a weary sense of +happiness, for she thought she was dying. The mist passed. She felt her +cheeks glowing, and was preternaturally calm. Mrs. Simcoe sat beside her, +weeping silently. + +"Good-night, dearest aunty!" said Hope, as she rose and bent down to kiss +her. + +"My child!" said the older woman, in tones that trembled out of an aching +heart. + +Hope took her candle, and moved toward the door. As she went she heard +Mrs. Simcoe repeating, in the old murmuring sunset strain, + +"Convince us first of unbelief, + And freely then release; + Fill every soul with sacred grief, + And then with sacred peace." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVI. + +A SOCIAL GLASS. + + +The Honorable Abel Newt was elected to Congress in place of the Honorable +Watkins Bodley, who withdrew on account of the embarrassment of his +private affairs. At a special meeting of the General Committee, Mr. Enos +Slugby, Chairman of the Ward Committee, introduced a long and eloquent +resolution, deploring the loss sustained by the city and by the whole +country in the resignation of the Honorable Watkins Bodley--sympathizing +with him in the perplexity of his private affairs--but rejoicing that the +word "close up!" was always faithfully obeyed--that there was always a +fresh soldier to fill the place of the retiring--and that the Party never +summoned her sons in vain. + +General Belch then rose and offered a resolution: + +"_Resolved--_That in the Honorable Abel Newt, our representative, just +elected by a triumphant majority of the votes of the enlightened and +independent voters of the district--a constituency of whose favor the +most experienced and illustrious statesmen might be proud--we recognize +a worthy exemplar of the purest republican virtues, a consistent enemy +of a purse-proud aristocracy, the equally unflinching friend of the +people; a man who dedicates with enthusiasm the rare powers of his youth, +and his profoundest and sincerest convictions, to the great cause of +popular rights of which the Party is the exponent. + +"_Resolved_--That the Honorable Abel Newt be requested, at the earliest +possible moment, to unfold to his fellow-citizens his views upon State +and National political affairs." + +Mr. William Condor spoke feelingly in support of the resolutions: + +"Fellow-citizens!" he said, eloquently, in conclusion, "if there is one +thing nobler than another, it is an upright, downright, disinterested, +honest man. Such I am proud and happy to declare my friend, your friend, +the friend of all honest men, to be; and I call for three cheers for +Honest Abel Newt!" + +They were given with ardor; and then General Belch was called out for +a few remarks, "which he delivered," said the _Evening Banner of the +Union_, "with his accustomed humor, keeping the audience in a roar of +laughter, and sending every body happy to bed." + +The Committee-meeting was over, and the spectators retired to the +neighboring bar-rooms. Mr. Slugby, Mr. Condor, and General Belch +tarried behind, with two or three more. + +"Shall we go to Newt's?" asked the General. + +"Yes, I told him we should be round after the meeting," replied Mr. +Condor; and the party were presently at his rooms. + +The Honorable Abel had placed several full decanters upon the table, with +a box of cigars. + +"Mr. Newt," said Enos Slugby, after they had been smoking and drinking +for some time. + +Abel turned his head. + +"You have an uncle, have you not?" + +Abel nodded. + +"A very eminent merchant, I believe. His name is very well known, and he +commands great respect. Ahem!" + +Mr. Slugby cleared his throat; then continued: + +"He will naturally be very much interested in the career and success of +his nephew." + +"Oh, immensely!" replied Abel, in a thick voice, and with a look and tone +which suggested to his friends that he was rapidly priming himself. +"Immensely, enormously!" + +"Ah, yes," said Mr. Slugby, with an air of curious meditation. "I do +not remember to have heard the character of his political proclivities +mentioned. But, of course, as the brother of Boniface Newt and the uncle +of the Honorable Abel Newt"--here Mr. Slugby bowed to that gentleman, who +winked at him over the rim of his glass--"he is naturally a friend of the +people." + +"Yes," returned Abel. + +"I think you said he was very fond of you?" added Mr. Slugby, while his +friends looked expectantly on. + +"Fond? It's a clear case of apple of the eye," answered Abel, chuckling. + +"Very good," said William Condor; "very good, indeed! Capital!" laughed +Belch; and whispered to his neighbor Condor, "In vino veritas." + +As they whispered, and smiled, and nodded together, Abel Newt glanced +around the circle with sullen, fiery eyes. + +"Uncle Lawrence is worth a million of dollars," said he, carelessly. + +The group of political gentlemen shook their heads in silent admiration. +They seemed to themselves to have struck a golden vein, and General Belch +could not help inwardly complimenting himself upon his profound sagacity +in having put forward a candidate who had a bachelor uncle who doated +upon him, and who was worth a million. He perceived at once his own +increased importance in the Party. To have displaced Watkins Bodley--who +was not only an uncertain party implement, but poor--by an unhesitating +young man of great ability and of enormous prospects, he knew was to have +secured for himself whatever he chose to ask. The fat nose reddened and +glistened as if it would burst with triumph and joy. General Arcularius +Belch was satisfied. + +"Of course," said William Condor, "a man of Mr. Lawrence Newt's +experience and knowledge of the world is aware that there are certain +necessary expenses attendant upon elections--such as printing, rent, +lighting, warming, posting, etc.--" + +"In fact, sundries," said Abel, smiling with the black eyes. + +"Yes, precisely; sundries," answered Mr. Condor, "which sometimes swell +to quite an inordinate figure. Your uncle, I presume, Mr. Newt, would not +be unwilling to contribute a certain share of the expense of your +election; and indeed, now that you are so conspicuous a leader, he would +probably expect to contribute handsomely to the current expenses of the +Party. Isn't it so?" + +"Of course," said General Belch. + +"Of course," said Enos Slugby. + +"Of course," echoed the two or three other gentlemen who sat silently, +assiduously smoking and drinking. + +"Oh, clearly, of course," answered Abel, still thickly, and in a tone by +no means agreeable to his companions. "What should you consider to be his +fair share?" + +"Well," began Condor, "I should think, in ordinary times, a thousand a +year; and then, as particular occasion demands." + +At this distinct little speech the whole company lifted their glasses +that they might more conveniently watch Abel. + +With a half-maudlin grin he looked along the line. + +"By-the-by, Condor, how much do you give a year?" asked he. + +There was a moment's silence. + +"Hit, by G----!" energetically said one of the silent men. + +"Good for Newt!" cried General Belch, thumping the table. + +There was another little burst of laughter, with the least possible +merriment in it. William Condor joined with an entirely unruffled face. + +"As for Belch," continued Abel, with what would be called in animals an +ugly expression--"Belch is the clown, and they left him off easy. The +Party is like the old kings, it keeps a good many fools to make it +laugh." + +His tone was threatening, and nobody laughed. General Belch looked as if +he were restraining himself from knocking his friend down. But they all +saw that their host was mastered by his own liquor. + +"Squeeze Lawrence Newt, will you? Why, Lord, gentlemen, what do you +suppose he thinks of you--I mean, of fellows like you?" asked Abel. + +He paused, and glared around him. William Condor daintily knocked off the +ash of his cigar faith the tip of his little finger, and said, calmly, + +"I am sure I don't know." + +"Nor care," said General Belch. + +"He thinks you're all a set of white-livered sneaks!" shouted Abel, in a +voice harsh and hoarse with liquor. + +The gentlemen were silent. The leaders wagged their feet nervously; the +others looked rather amused. + +"No offense," resumed Abel. "I don't mean he despises you in particular, +but all bar-room bobtails." + +His voice thickened rapidly. + +"Of all mean, mis-mis-rabble hounds, he thinks you are the dirt-est." + +Still no reply was made. The honorable gentleman looked at his guests +leeringly, but found no responsive glance. + +"In vino veritas," whispered Condor to his neighbor Belch. William Condor +was always clean in linen and calm in manner. + +"Don't be 'larmed, fel-fel-f'-low cit-zens! Lawrence Newt's no friend of +mine. I guess his G---- d---- pride 'll get a tumble some day; by G---- I +do!" Abel added, with a fierce hiss. + +The guests looked alarmed as they heard the last words. Abel ceased, and +passed the decanter, which they did not decline; for they all felt as if +the Honorable Abel Newt would probably throw it at the head of any man +who said or did what he did not approve. There was a low anxious murmur +of conversation among them until Abel was evidently very intoxicated, +and his head sank upon his breast. + +"I'm terribly afraid we've burned our fingers," said Mr. Enos Slugby, +looking a little ruefully at the honorable representative. + +"Oh, I hope not," said General Belch; "but there may be some breakers +ahead. If we lose the Grant it won't be the first cause or man that has +been betrayed by the bottle. Condor, let me fill your glass. It is clear +that if our dear friend Newt has a weakness it is the bottle; and if our +enemies at Washington, who want to head off this Grant, have a strength, +it is finding out an adversary's soft spot. We may find in this case that +it's dangerous playing with edged tools. But I've great faith in his want +of principle. We can show him so clearly that his interest, his advance, +his career depend so entirely upon his conduct, that I think we can keep +him straight. And, for my part, if we can only work this Grant through, +I shall retire upon my share of the proceeds, and leave politics to those +who love 'em. But I don't mean to have worked for nothing--hey, Condor?" + +"Amen," replied William, placidly. + +"By-the-by, Condor," said Mr. Enos Slugby. + +Mr. Condor turned toward him inquiringly. + +"I heard Jim say t'other day--" + +"Who's Jim?" asked Condor. + +"Jim!" returned Slugby, "Jim--why, Jim's the party in my district." + +"Oh yes--yes; I beg pardon," said Condor; "the name had escaped me." + +"Well, I heard Jim say t'other day that Mr. William Condor was getting +too d----d stuck up, and that he'd yank him out of his office if he +didn't mind his eye. That's you, Condor; so I advise you to look out. +It's easy enough to manage Jim, if you take care. He'll go as gently as +a well-broke filly; but if he once takes a lurch--if he thinks you're too +'proud' or 'big,' it's all up with you. So mind how you treat Jim." + +"Well, well," said Belch, impatiently; "we've other business on hand +now." + +"Exactly," said Condor; "we are the Honorable Abel's Jim. Turn about is +fair play. Jim makes us go; we make Abel go. It's a lovely series of +checks and balances." + +He said it so quietly and airily that they all laughed. Then the General +continued: + +"We're going to send Newt to look after Ele, and I rather think we shall +have to send somebody to look after Newt. However, we'll see. Let's leave +this hog to snore by himself." + +They rose as he spoke. + +"What were the words of your resolution, Belch?" asked William Condor, +with his eyes twinkling. "I don't quite remember. Did you say," he added, +looking at Abel, who lay huddled, dead drunk, in his chair, "that he +dedicated to his country his profoundest and sincerest, or sincerest and +profoundest convictions?" + +"And you, Condor," said Enos Slugby, smiling, as he lighted a fresh +cigar, "did you say that you were proud and happy, or happy and proud, +to call him your friend?" + +"Lord! Lord! what an old hum it is--isn't it?" said General Belch, +cheerfully, as he smoothed his hat with his coat-sleeve, and put it on. + +They went down stairs laughing and chatting; and the Honorable Abel Newt, +the worthy exemplar of the purest republican virtues--as the resolution +stated when it appeared in the next morning's papers--was left snoring +amidst his constituency of empty decanters and drained glasses. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVII. + +FACE TO FACE. + + +"Signore Pittore! what brings a bird into the barn-yard?" said Lawrence +Newt, as Arthur Merlin entered his office. + +"The hope of some crumb of comfort." + +"Do you dip from your empyrean to the cold earth--from the studio to a +counting-room--to find comfort?" asked Lawrence Newt, cheerfully. + +Arthur Merlin looked only half sympathetic with his friend's gayety. +There was a wan air on his face, a piteous look in his eyes, which +touched Lawrence. + +"Why, Arthur, what is it?" + +"Do you remember what Diana said?" replied the painter. "She said, 'I am +sure that that silly shepherd will not sleep there forever. Never fear, +he will wake up. Diana never looks or loves for nothing.'" + +Lawrence Newt gazed at him without speaking. + +"Come," said Arthur, with a feeble effort at fun, "you have +correspondence all over the world. What is the news from Latmos? Has +the silly shepherd waked up?" + +"My dear Arthur," said Mr. Newt, gravely, "I told you long ago that he +was dead to all that heavenly splendor." + +The two men gazed steadfastly at each other without speaking. At length +Arthur said, in a low voice, + +"Dead?" + +"Dead." + +As Lawrence Newt spoke the word the air far off and near seemed to him +to ring again with that pervasive murmur, sad, soft, infinitely tender, +"Good-by, Mr. Newt, good-by!" + +But his eye was calm and his face cheerful. + +"Arthur, sit down." + +The young man seated himself, and the older one drawing a chair to the +window, they sat with their backs to the outer office and looked upon +the ships. + +"I am older than you, Arthur, and I am your friend. What I am going to +say to you I have no right to say, except in your entire friendship." + +The young man's eyes glistened. + +"Go on," he said. + +"When I first knew you I knew that you loved Hope Wayne." + +A flush deepened upon Arthur's face, and his fingers played idly upon the +arm of the chair. + +"I hoped that Hope Wayne would love you. I was sure that she would. It +never occurred to me that she could--could--" + +Arthur turned and looked at him. + +"Could love any body else," said Lawrence Newt, as his eyes wandered +dreamily among the vessels, as if the canvas were the wings of his memory +sailing far away. + +"Suddenly, without the least suspicion on my part, I discovered that she +did love somebody else." + +"Yes," said Arthur, "so did I." + +"What could I do?" said the other, still abstractedly gazing; "for I +loved her." + +"You loved her?" cried Arthur Merlin, so suddenly and loud that Thomas +Tray looked up from his great red Russia book and turned his head toward +the inner office. + +"Certainly I loved her," replied Lawrence Newt, calmly, and with tender +sweetness; "and I had a right to, for I loved her mother. Could I have +had my way Hope Wayne's mother would have been my wife." + +Arthur Merlin stole a glance at the face of his companion. + +"I was a child and she was a child--a boy and a girl. It was not to be. +She married another man and died; but her memory is forever sacred to me, +and so is her daughter." + +To this astonishing revelation Arthur Merlin said nothing. His fingers +still played idly on the chair, and his eyes, like the eyes of Lawrence, +looked out upon the river. Every thing in Lawrence Newt's conduct was at +once explained; and the poor artist was ready to curse his absurd folly +in making his friend involuntarily sit for Endymion. Lawrence Newt knew +his friend's thoughts. + +"Arthur," he said, in a low voice, "did I not say that, if Endymion were +not dead, it would be impossible not to awake and love her? Do you not +see that I was dead to her?" + +"But does she know it?" asked the painter. + +"I believe she does now," was the slow answer. "But she has not known it +long." + +"Does Amy Waring know it?" + +"No," replied Lawrence Newt, quietly, "but she will to-night." + +The two men sat silently together for some time. The junior partner came +in, spoke to Arthur, wrote a little, and went out again. Thomas Tray +glanced up occasionally from his great volume, and the melancholy eyes of +Little Malacca scarcely turned from the two figures which he watched from +his desk through the office windows. Venables was promoted to be second +to Thomas Tray on the very day that Gabriel was admitted a junior +partner. They were all aware that the head of the house was engaged +in some deeply interesting conversation, and they learned from Little +Malacca who the stranger was. + +The two men sat silently together, Lawrence Newt evidently tranquilly +waiting, Arthur Merlin vainly trying to say something further. + +"I wonder--" he began, at length, and stopped. A painful expression of +doubt clouded his face; but Lawrence turned to him cheerfully, and said, +in a frank, assuring tone, + +"Arthur, speak out." + +"Well," said the artist, with almost a girl's shyness in his whole +manner, "before you, at least, I can speak, and am not ashamed. I want +to know whether--you--think--" + +He spoke very slowly, and stopped again. Before he resumed he saw +Lawrence Newt shake his head negatively. + +"Why, what?" asked Arthur, quickly. + +"I do not believe she ever will," replied the other, as if the artist had +asked a question with his eyes. He spoke in a very low, serious tone. + +"Will what?" asked Arthur, his face burning with a bright crimson flush. + +Lawrence Newt waited a moment to give his friend time to recover, before +he said, + +"Shall I say what?" + +Arthur also waited for a little while; then he said, sadly, + +"No, it's no matter." + +He seemed to have grown older as he sat looking from the window. His +hands idly played no longer, but rested quietly upon the chair. He shook +his head slowly, and repeated, in a tone that touched his friend to the +heart, + +"No--no--it's no matter." + +"But, Arthur, it's only my opinion," said the other, kindly. + +"And mine too," replied the artist, with an inexpressible sadness. + +Lawrence Newt was silent. After a few moments Arthur Merlin rose and +shook his hand. + +"Good-by!" he said. "We shall meet to-night." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVIII. + +FINISHING PICTURES. + + +Arthur Merlin returned to his studio and carefully locked the door. Then +he opened a huge port-folio, which was full of sketches--and they were +all of the same subject, treated in a hundred ways--they were all Hope +Wayne. + +Sometimes it was a lady leaning from an oriel window in a medieval tower, +listening in the moonlight, with love in her eyes and attitude, to the +music of a guitar, touched by a gallant knight below, who looked as +Arthur Merlin would have looked had Arthur Merlin been a gallant medieval +knight. + +Then it was Juliet, pale and unconscious in the tomb; superb in +snow-white drapery; pure as an angel, lovely as a woman; but it was +Hope Wayne still--and Romeo stole frightened in, but Romeo was Arthur. + +Or it was Beatrice moving in a radiant heaven; while far below, kneeling, +and with clasped hands, gazing upward, the melancholy Dante watched the +vision. + +Or the fair phantom of Goethe's ballad looked out with humid, passionate +glances between the clustering reeds she pushed aside, and lured the +fisherman with love. + +There were scores of such sketches, from romance, and history, and fancy, +and in each the beauty was Hope Wayne's; and it was strange to see that +in each, however different from all the others, there was still a charm +characteristic of the woman he loved; so that it seemed a vivid record of +all the impressions she had made upon him, and as if all heroines of +poetry or history were only ladies in waiting upon her. In all of them, +too, there was a separation between them. She was remote in sphere or in +space; there was the feeling of inaccessibility between them in all. + +As he turned them slowly over, and gazed at them as earnestly as if his +glance could make that beauty live, he suddenly perceived, what he had +never before felt, that the instinct which had unconsciously given the +same character of hopelessness to the incident of the sketches was the +same that had made him so readily acquiesce in what Lawrence Newt had +hinted. He paused at a drawing of Pygmalion and his statue. The same +instinct had selected the moment before the sculptor's prayer was +granted; when he looks at the immovable beauty of his statue with the +yearning love that made the marble live. But the statue of Arthur's +Pygmalion would never live. It was a statue only, and forever. He asked +himself why he had not selected the moment when she falls breathing +and blushing into the sculptor's arms. + +Alone in his studio the artist blushed, as if the very thought were +wrong; and he felt that he had never really dared to hope, however he +had longed, and wished, and flattered his fancy. + +He looked at each one of the drawings carefully and long, then kissed +it and turned it upon its face. When he had seen them all he sat for a +moment; then quietly tore them into long strips, then into small pieces; +and, lifting the window, scattered them upon the air. The wind whirled +them over the street. + +"Oh, what a pretty snow-storm!" said the little street children, looking +up. + +Then Arthur Merlin turned to his great easel, upon which stood the canvas +of the picture of Diana and Endymion. Through the parted clouds the face +of the Queen and huntress--the face of Hope Wayne--looked tenderly upon +the sleeping figure of the shepherd on the bare top of the grassy +hill--the face and figure of Lawrence Newt. + +The painter took his brushes and his pallet, and his maulstick. He paused +for some time again, as he stood before the easel, then he went quietly +to work. He touched it here and there. He stepped back to mark the +effect--rubbed with his finger--sighed--stepped back--and still worked +on. The hours glided away, and daylight began to fade, but not until +he had finished his work. + +Then he scraped his pallet and washed his brushes, and seated himself +upon the sofa opposite the easel. There was no picture, of Diana or of +Endymion any longer. In the place of Diana there was a full summer moon +shining calmly in a cloudless heaven. Its benignant light fell upon a +solitary grave upon a hill-top, which filled the spot where Endymion +had lain. + +Arthur Merlin sat in the corner of the sofa with folded arms, looking at +the picture, until the darkness entirely hid it from view. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIX. + +THE LAST THROW. + + +While Arthur and Lawrence were conversing in the office of the latter, +Abel Newt, hat in hand, stood in Hope Wayne's parlor. His hair was +thinner and grizzled; his face bloated, and his eyes dull. His hands had +that dead, chalky color in which appetite openly paints its excesses. The +hand trembled as it held the hat; and as the man stood before the mirror, +he was straining his eyes at his own reflection, and by some secret +magic he saw, as if dimly traced beside it, the figure of the boy that +stood in the parlor of Pinewood--how many thousand years ago? + +He heard a step, and turned. + +Hope Wayne stopped, leaving the door open, bowed, and looked inquiringly +at him. She was dressed simply in a morning dress, and her golden hair +clustered and curled around the fresh beauty of her face--the rose of +health. + +"Did you wish to say something to me?" she asked, observing that Abel +merely stared at her stupidly. + +He bowed his head in assent. + +"What do you wish to say?" + +Her voice was as cold and remote as if she were a spirit. + +Abel Newt was evidently abashed by the reception. But he moved toward +her, and began in a tone of doubtful familiarity. + +"Miss Hope, I--" + +"Mr. Newt, you have no right to address me in that way." + +"Miss Wayne, I have come to--to--" + +He stopped, embarrassed, rubbing his fingers upon the palms of his hands. +She looked at him steadily. He waited a few moments, then began again in +a hurried tone: + +"Miss Wayne, we are both older than we once were; and once, I think, we +were not altogether indifferent to each other. Time has taught us many +things. I find that my heart, after foolish wanderings, is still true to +its first devotion. We can both view things more calmly, not less truly, +however, than we once did. I am upon the eve of a public career. I have +outgrown morbid emotions, and I come to ask you if you would take time +to reflect whether I might not renew my addresses; for indeed I love, and +can love, no other woman." + +Hope Wayne stood pale, incredulous, and confounded while Abel Newt, with +some of the old fire in the eye and the old sweetness in the voice, +poured out these rapid words, and advanced toward her. + +"Stop, Sir," she said, as soon as she could command herself. "Is this all +you have to say?" + +"Don't drive me to despair," he said, suddenly, in reply, and so fiercely +that Hope Wayne started. "Listen." He spoke with stern command. + +"I am utterly ruined. I have no friends. I have bad habits. You can save +me--will you do it?" + +Hope stood before him silent. His hard black eye was fixed upon her with +a kind of defying appeal for help. Her state of mind for some days, since +she had heard Mrs. Simcoe's story, had been one of curious mental +tension. She was inspired by a sense of renunciation--of self-sacrifice. +It seemed to her that some great work to do, something which should +occupy every moment, and all her powers and thoughts, was her only hope +of contentment. What it might be, what it ought to be, she had not +conceived. Was it not offered now? Horrible, repulsive, degrading--yes, +but was it not so much the worthier? Here stood the man she had loved in +all the prime and power of his youth, full of hope, and beauty, and +vigor--the hero that satisfied the girl's longing--and he was bent, gray, +wan, shaking, utterly lost, except for her. Should she restore him to +that lost manhood? Could she forgive herself if she suffered her own +feelings, tastes, pride, to prevent? + +While the thought whirled through her excited brain: + +"Remember," he said, solemnly--"remember it is the salvation of a human +soul upon which you are deciding." + +There was perfect silence for some minutes. The low, quick ticking of the +clock upon the mantle was all they heard. + +"I have decided," she said, at last. + +"What is it?" he asked, under his breath. + +"What you knew it would be," she answered. + +"Then you refuse?" he said, in a half-threatening tone. + +"I refuse!" + +"Then the damnation of a soul rest upon your head forever," he said, in a +loud coarse voice, crushing his hat, and his black eyes glaring. + +"Have you done?" she asked, pale and calm. + +"No, Hope Wayne, I have not done; I am not deceived by your smooth face +and your quiet eyes. I have known long enough that you meant to marry +my Uncle Lawrence, although he is old enough to be your father. The +whole world has known it and seen it. And I came to give you a chance +of saving your name by showing to the world that my uncle came here +familiarly because you were to marry his nephew. You refuse the chance. +There was a time when you would have flown into my arms, and now you +reject me ... And I shall have my revenge! I warn you to beware, Mrs. +Lawrence Newt! I warn you that my saintly uncle is not beyond misfortune, +nor his milksop partner, the Reverend Gabriel Bennet. I am a man at bay; +and it is you who put me there; you who might save me and won't. You who +will one day remember and suffer." + +He threw up his arms in uncontrollable rage and excitement. His thick +hoarse voice, his burning, bad, black eyes, his quivering hands, his +bloated body, made him a terrible spectacle. + +"Have you done?" asked Hope Wayne, with saintly dignity. + +"Yes, I have done for this time," he hissed; "but I shall cross you many +a time. You and yours," he sneered, "but never so that you can harm me. +You shall feel, but never see me. You have left me nothing but despair. +And the doom of my soul be upon yours!" + +He rushed from the room, and Hope Wayne stood speechless. Attracted by +the loud tone of his voice, Mrs. Simcoe had come down stairs, and the +moment he was gone she was by Hope's side. They seated themselves +together upon the sofa, and Hope leaned her head upon her aunty's +shoulder and wept with utter surprise, grief, indignation, and weariness. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXX. + +CLOUDS BREAKING. + + +The next morning Amy Waring came to Hope Wayne radiant with the prospect +of her Aunt Martha's restoration to the world. Hope shook her hand +warmly, and looked into her friend's illuminated face. + +"She is engaged to Lawrence Newt," said Hope, in her heart, as she kissed +Amy's lips. + +"God bless you, Amy!" she added, with so much earnestness that Amy looked +surprised. + +"I am very glad," said Hope, frankly. + +"Why, what do you know about it?" asked Amy. + +"Do you think I am blind?" said Hope. + +"No; but no eyes could see it, it was so hidden." + +"It can't be hidden," said Hope, earnestly. + +Amy stopped, looked inquiringly at her friend, and blushed--wondering +what she meant. + +"Come, Hope, at least we are hiding from each other. I came to ask you to +a family festival." + +"I am ready," answered Hope, with an air of quiet knowledge, and not at +all surprised. Amy Waring was confused, she hardly knew why. + +"Why, Hope, I mean only that Lawrence Newt--" + +Hope Wayne smiled so tenderly and calmly, and with such tranquil +consciousness that she knew every thing Amy was about to say, that Amy +stopped again. + +"Go on," said Hope, placidly; "I want to hear it from your own lips." + +Amy Waring was in doubt no longer. She knew that Hope expected to hear +that she was engaged. And not with less placidity than Hope's, she said: + +"Lawrence Newt wants us all to come and dine with him, because my Aunt +Martha is found, and he wishes to bring Aunt Bennet and her together." + +That was all. Hope looked as confusedly at the calm Amy as Amy, a moment +since, had looked at her. Then they both smiled, for they had, perhaps, +some vague idea of what each had been thinking. + +The same evening the Round Table met. Arthur Merlin came early--so did +Hope Wayne. They sat together talking rapidly, but Hope did not escape +observing the unusual sadness of the artist--a sadness of manner rather +than of expression. In a thousand ways there was a deference in his +treatment of her which was unusual and touching. She had been very sure +that he had understood what she meant when she spoke to him with an air +of badinage about his picture. And certainly it was plain enough. It was +clear enough; only he would not see what was before his eyes, nor hear +what was in his ears, and so had to grope a little further until Lawrence +Newt suddenly struck a light and showed him where he was. + +While they were yet talking Lawrence Newt came in. He spoke to Amy +Waring, and then went straight up to Hope Wayne and put out his hand with +the old frank smile breaking over his face. She rose and answered his +smile, and laid her hand in his. They looked in each other's eyes; and +Lawrence Newt saw in Hope Wayne's the beauty of a girl that long ago, as +a boy, he had loved; and in his own, Hope felt that tenderness which had +made her mother's happiness. + +It was but a moment. It was but a word. For the first time he said, + +"Hope." + +And for the first time she answered, + +"Lawrence." + +Amy Waring heard them. The two words seemed sharp: they pierced her +heart, and she felt faint. The room swam, but she bit her lip till the +blood came, and her stout heart preserved her from falling. + +"It is what I knew: they are engaged." + +But how was it that the manner of Lawrence Newt toward herself was never +before more loyal and devoted? How was it that the quiet hilarity of the +morning was not gone, but stole into his conversation with her so +pointedly that she could not help feeling that it magnetized her, and +that, against her will, she was more than ever cheerful? How was it that +she knew it was herself who helped make that hilarity--that it was not +only her friend Hope who inspired it? + +They are secrets not to be told. But as they all sat around the table, +and Arthur Merlin for the first time insisted upon reading from Byron, +and in his rich melancholy voice recited + +"Though the day of my destiny's over," + +It was clear that the cloud had lifted--that the spell of constraint +was removed; and yet none of them precisely understood why. + +"To-morrow, then," said Lawrence Newt as they parted. + +"To-morrow," echoed Amy Waring and Hope Wayne. + +Arthur Merlin pulled his cap over his eyes and sauntered slowly homeward, +whistling musingly, and murmuring, + +"A bird in the wilderness singing, +That speaks to my spirit of thee." + +His Aunt Winnifred heard him as he came in. The good old lady had placed +a fresh tract where he would be sure to see it when he entered his room. +She heard his cautious step stealing up stairs, for the painter was +careful to make no noise; and as she listened she drew pictures upon her +fancy of the scenes in which her boy had been mingling. It was Aunt +Winnifred's firm conviction that society--that is, the great world of +which she knew nothing--languished for the smile and presence of her +nephew, Arthur. That very evening her gossip, Mrs. Toxer, had been in, +and Aunt Winnifred had discussed her favorite theme until Mrs. Toxer went +home with a vague idea that all the young and beautiful unmarried women +in the city were secretly pining away for love of Arthur Merlin. + +"Mercy me, now!" said Aunt Winnifred as she lay listening to the creaking +step of her nephew. "I wonder what poor girl's heart that wicked boy has +been breaking to-night;" and she turned over and fell asleep again. + +That young man reached his room, and struck a light. It flashed upon a +paper. He took it up eagerly, then smiled as he saw that it was a tract, +and read, "A word to the Unhappy." + +"Dear Aunt Winnifred!" said he to himself; "does she think a man's griefs +are like a child's bumps and bruises, to be cured by applying a piece of +paper?" + +He smiled sadly, with the profound conviction that no man had ever before +really known what unhappiness was, and so tumbled into bed and fell +asleep. And as he dreamed, Hope Wayne came to him and smiled, as Diana +smiled in his picture upon Endymion. + +"See!" she said, "I love you; look here!" + +And in his dream he looked and saw a full moon in a summer sky shining +upon a fresh grave upon a hill-top. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXI. + +MRS. ALFRED DINKS AT HOME. + + +A new element had forced itself into the life of Hope Wayne, and that +was the fate of Abel Newt. There was something startling in the direct, +passionate, personal appeal he had made to her. She put on her bonnet and +furs, for it was Christmas time, and passed the Bowery into the small, +narrow street where the smell of the sewer was the chief odor and the few +miserable trees cooped up in perforated boxes had at last been released +from suffering, and were placidly, rigidly dead. + +The sloppy servant girl was standing upon the area steps with her apron +over her head, and blowing her huge red fingers, staring at every thing, +and apparently stunned when Hope Wayne stopped and went up the steps. +Hope rang, entered the little parlor and seated herself upon the +haircloth sofa. Her heart ached with the dreariness of the house; but +while she was resolving that she would certainly raise her secret +allowance to her Cousin Alfred, whether her good friend Lawrence Newt +approved of it or not, she saw that the dreariness was not in the small +room or the hair sofa, nor in the two lamps with glass drops upon the +mantle, but in the lack of that indescribable touch of feminine taste, +and tact, and tenderness, which create comfort and grace wherever they +fall, and make the most desolate chambers to blossom with cheerfulness. +Hope felt as she glanced around her that money could not buy what was +wanting. + +Mrs. Alfred Dinks presently entered. Hope Wayne had rarely met her since +the season at Saratoga when Fanny had captured her prize. She saw that +the black-eyed, clever, resolute girl of those days had grown larger and +more pulpy, and was wrapped in a dingy morning wrapper. Her hair was not +smooth, her hands were not especially clean; she had that dull +carelessness, or unconsciousness of personal appearance, which seemed +to Hope only the parlor aspect of the dowdiness that had run entirely +to seed in the sloppy servant girl upon the area steps. + +Hope Wayne put out her hand, which Fanny listlessly took. There was +nothing very hard, or ferocious, or defiant in her manner, as Hope had +expected--there was only a weariness and indifference, as if she had been +worsted in some kind of struggle. She did not even seem to be excited by +seeing Hope Wayne in her house, but merely said, "Good-morning," and then +sank quietly upon the sofa, as if she had said every thing she had to +say. + +"I came to ask you if you know any thing about Abel?" said Hope. + +"No; nothing in particular," replied Fanny; "I believe he's going to +Congress; but I never see him or hear of him." + +"Doesn't Alfred see him?" + +"He used to meet him at Thiel's; but Alfred doesn't go there much now. +It's too fine for poor gentlemen. I remember some time ago I saw he had a +black eye, and he said that he and my 'd---- brother Abel,' as he +elegantly expressed it, had met somewhere the night before, and Abel was +drunk and gave him the lie, and they fought it out. I think, by-the-way, +that's the last I've heard of brother Abel." + +There was a slight touch of the old manner in the tone with which +Fanny ended her remark; after which she relapsed into the previous +half-apathetic condition. + +"Fanny, I wish I could do something for Abel." + +Fanny Dinks looked at Hope Wayne with an incredulous smile, and said, + +"I thought once you would marry him; and so did he, I fancy." + +"What does he do? and how can I reach him?" asked Hope, entirely +disregarding Fanny's remark. + +"He lives at the old place in Grand Street, I believe; the Lord knows +how; I'm sure I don't. I suppose he gambles when he isn't drunk." + +"But about Congress?" inquired Hope. + +"I don't know any thing about that. Abel and father used to say that no +gentleman would ever have any thing to do with politics; so I never heard +any thing, and I'm sure I don't know what he's going to do." + +Fanny apparently supposed her last remark would end the conversation. Not +that she wished to end it--not that she was sorry to see Hope Wayne again +and to talk with her--not that she wanted or cared for any thing in +particular, no, not even for her lord and master, who burst into the room +with an oath, as usual, and with his small, swinish eyes heavy with +drowsiness. + +The master of the house was evidently just down. He wore a dirty +morning-gown, and slippers down at the heel, displaying his dirty +stockings. He came in yawning and squeezing his eves together. + +"Why the h---- don't that slut of a waiter have my coffee ready?" he said +to his wife, who paid no more attention to him than to the lamp on the +mantle, but, on the contrary, appeared to Hope to be a little more +indifferent than before. + +"I say, why the h----" Mr. Dinks began again, and had advanced so far +when he suddenly saw his cousin. + +"Hallo! what are you doing here?" he said to her abruptly, and in the +half-sycophantic, half-bullying tone that indicates the feeling of such +a man toward a person to whom he is under immense obligation. Alfred +Dinks's real feeling was that Hope Wayne ought to give him a much larger +allowance. + +Hope was inexpressibly disgusted; but she found an excitement in +encountering this boorishness, which served to stimulate her in the +struggle going on in her own soul. And she very soon understood how the +sharp, sparkling, audacious Fanny Newt had become the inert, indifferent +woman before her. A clever villain might have developed her, through +admiration and sympathy, into villainy; but a dull, heavy brute merely +crushed her. There is a spur in the prick of a rapier; only stupidity +follows the blow of a club. + +After sitting silently for some minutes, during which Alfred Dinks +sprawled in a chair, and yawned, and whistled insolently to himself, +while Fanny sat without looking at him, as if she were deaf and dumb, +Hope Wayne said to the husband and wife: + +"Abel Newt is ruining himself, and he may harm other people. If there is +any thing that can be done to save him we ought to do it. Fanny, he is +your own flesh and blood." + +She spoke with a kind of despairing earnestness, for Hope herself felt +how useless every thing would probably be. But when she had ended Alfred +broke out into uproarious laughter, + +"Ho! ho! ho! Ho! ho! ho!" + +He made such a noise that even his wife looked at him with almost a +glance of contempt. + +"Save Abel Newt!" cried he. "Convert the Devil! Yes, yes; let's send him +some tracts! Ho! ho! ho!" + +And he roared again until the water oozed from his eyes. + +Hope Wayne scarcely looked at him. She rose to go; but it seemed to her +pitiful to leave Fanny Newt in such utter desolation of soul and body, +in which she seemed to her to be gradually sinking into idiocy. She went +to Fanny and took her hand. Fanny listlessly rose, and when Hope had +done shaking hands Fanny crossed them before her inanely, but in an +unconsciously appealing attitude, which Hope saw and felt. Alfred still +sprawled in his chair; laughing at intervals; and Hope left the room, +followed by Fanny, who shuffled after her, her slippers, evidently down +at the heel, pattering on the worn oil-cloth in the entry as she shambled +toward the front door. Hope opened it. The morning was pleasant, though +cool, and the air refreshing after the odor of mingled grease and stale +tobacco-smoke which filled the house. + +As they passed out, Fanny quietly sat down upon the step, leaned her chin +upon one hand, and looked up and down the street, which, it seemed to +Hope, offered a prospect that would hardly enliven her mind. There was +something more touching to Hope in this dull apathy than in the most +positive grief. + +"Fanny Newt!" she said to her, suddenly. + +Fanny lifted her lazy eyes. + +"If I can do nothing for your brother, can I do nothing for you? You will +rust out, Fanny, if you don't take care." + +Fanny smiled languidly. + +"What if I do?" she answered. + +Thereupon Hope sat down by her, and told her just what she meant, and +what she hoped, and what she would do if she would let her. And the eager +young woman drew such pleasant pictures of what was yet possible to +Fanny, although she was the wife of Alfred Dinks, that, as if the +long-accumulating dust and ashes were blown away from her soul, and it +began to kindle again in a friendly breath, Fanny felt herself moved and +interested. She smiled, looked grave, and finally laid her head upon +Hope's shoulder and cried good, honest tears of utter weariness and +regret. + +"And now," said Hope, "will you help me about Abel?" + +"I really don't see that you can do any thing," said Fanny, "nor any body +else. Perhaps he'll get a new start in Congress, though I don't know any +thing about it." + +Hope Wayne shook her head thoughtfully. + +"No," she said, "I see no way. I can only be ready to befriend him if the +chance offers." + +They said no more of him then, but Hope persuaded Fanny to come to +Lawrence Newt's Christmas dinner, to which they had all been bidden. +"And I will make him understand about it," she said, as she went down +the steps. + +Mrs. Dinks sat upon the door-step for some time. There was nobody to see +her whom she knew, and if there had been she would not have cared. She +did not know how long she had been sitting there, for she was thinking of +other things, but she was roused by hearing her husband's voice: + +"Well, by G----! that's a G---- d---- pretty business--squatting on a +door-step like a servant girl! Come in, I tell you, and shut the door." + +From long habit Fanny did not pay the least attention to this order. But +after some time she rose and closed the door, and clattered along the +entry and up stairs, upon the worn and ragged carpet. Mr. Alfred Dinks +returned to the parlor, pulled the bell violently, and when the sloppy +servant girl appeared, glaring at him with the staring eyes, he +immediately damned them, and wanted to know why in h---- he was kept +waiting for his boots. The staring eyes vanished, and Mr. Dinks +reclined upon the sofa, picking his teeth. Presently there was the +slop--slop--slop of the girl along the entry. She opened the door, +dropped the boots, and fled. Mr. Dinks immediately pulled the bell +violently, walking across the room a greater distance than to his boots. +Slop--slop again. The door opened. + +"Look here! If you don't bring me my boots, I'll come and pull the hair +out of your head!" roared the master of the house. + +The cowering little creature dashed at the boots with a wobegone look, +and brought them to the sofa. Mr. Dinks took them in his hand, and turned +them round contemptuously. + +"G----! You call those boots blacked?" + +He scratched his head a moment, enjoying the undisguised terror of the +puny girl. + +"If you don't black 'em better--if you don't put a brighter shine on to +'em, I'll--I'll--I'll put a shine on your face, you slut!" + +The girl seemed to be all terrified eye as she looked at him, and then +fled again, while he laughed. + +"Ho! ho! ho! I'll teach 'em how--insolent curs! G---- d---- Paddies! What +business have they coming over here? Ho! ho! ho!" + +Leaving his slippers upon the parlor floor, Mr. Dinks mounted to his room +and changed his coat. He tried the door of his wife's room as he passed +out, and found it locked. He kicked it violently, and bawled, + +"Good-morning, Mrs. Dinks! If Miss Wayne calls, tell her I've gone to +tell Mr. Abel Newt that she repents, and wants to marry him; and I shall +add that, having been through the wood, she picks up a crooked stick at +last. Ho! ho! ho! (Kick.) Good-morning, Mrs. Dinks!" + +He went heavily down stairs and slammed the front door, and was gone for +the day. + +When they were first married, after the bitter conviction that there was +really no hope of old Burt's wealth, Fanny Dinks had carried matters with +a high hand, domineering by her superior cleverness, and with a +superiority that stung and exasperated her husband at every turn. Her +bitter temper had gradually entirely eaten away the superficial, stupid +good-humor of his younger days; and her fury of disappointment, carried +into the detail of life, had gradually confirmed him in all his worst +habits and obliterated the possibility of better. But the sour, superior +nature was, as usual, unequal to the struggle. At last it spent itself +in vain against the massive brutishness of opposition it had itself +developed, and the reaction came, and now daily stunned her into hopeless +apathy and abject indifference. Having lost the power of vexing, and +beyond being really vexed by a being she so utterly despised as her +husband, there was nothing left but pure passivity and inanition, into +which she was rapidly declining. + +Mr. Dinks kicked loudly and roared at the door, but Mrs. Dinks did not +heed him. She was sitting in her dingy wrapper, rocking, and pondering +upon the conversation of the morning--mechanically rocking, and thinking +of the Christinas dinner at Uncle Lawrence's. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXII. + +THE LOST IS FOUND. + + +It was a whim of Lawrence's to give dinners; to have them good, and to +ask only the people he wanted, and who he thought would enjoy themselves +together. + +"How much," he said, quietly, as he conversed with Mrs. Bennet, while his +guests were assembling, "Edward Wynne looks like your sister Martha!" + +It was the first time Mrs. Bennet had heard her sister's name mentioned +by any stranger for years. But Lawrence spoke as calmly and naturally as +if Martha Darro had been the subject of their conversation. + +"Poor Martha!" said Mrs. Bennet, sadly; "how mysterious it was!" + +Her husband saw her as she spoke, and he was so struck by the +mournfulness of her face that he came quietly over. + +"What is it?" he said, gently. + +"For my son who was dead is alive again. He was lost and is found," said +Lawrence Newt, solemnly. + +Mrs. Bennet looked troubled, startled, almost frightened. The words were +full of significance, the tone was not to be mistaken. She looked at +Lawrence Newt with incredulous eagerness. He shook his head assentingly. + +"Alive?" she gasped rather than asked. + +"And well," he continued. + +Mrs. Bennet closed her eyes in a silent prayer. A light so sweet stole +over her matronly face that Lawrence Newt did not fear to say, + +"And near you; come with me!" + +They left the room together; and Amy Waring, who knew why they went, +followed her aunt and Lawrence from the room. + +The three stopped at the door of Lawrence Newt's study. + +"Your sister is here," said he; and Amy and he remained outside while +Mrs. Bennet entered the room. + +It was more than twenty years since the sisters had met, and they clasped +each other silently and wept for a long time. + +"Martha!" + +"Lucia!" + +It was all they said; and wept again quietly. + +Aunt Martha was dressed in sober black. Her face was very comely; for the +hardness that came with a morbid and mistaken zeal was mellowed, and the +sadness of experience softened it. + +"I have lived not far from you, Lucia, all these long years." + +"Martha! and you did not come to me?" + +"I did not dare. Listen, Lucia. If a woman who had always gratified her +love of admiration, and gloried in the power of gratifying it--who +conquered men and loved to conquer them--who was a woman of ungoverned +will and indomitable pride, should encounter--as how often they do?--a +man who utterly conquered her, and betrayed her through the very weakness +that springs from pride, do you not see that such a woman would go near +to insanity--as I have been--believing that I had committed the +unpardonable sin, and that no punishment could be painful enough?" + +Mrs. Bennet looked alarmed. + +"No, no; there is no reason," said her sister, observing it. + +"The man came. I could not resist him. There was a form of marriage. I +believed that it was I who had conquered. He left me; my child was born. +I appealed to Lawrence Newt, our old friend and playmate. He promised me +faithful secrecy, and through him the child was sent where Gabriel was at +school. Then I withdrew from both. I thought it was the will of God. I +felt myself commanded to a living death--dead to every friend and +kinsman--dead to every thing but my degradation and its punishment; +and yet consciously close to you, near to all old haunts and familiar +faces--lost to them all--lost to my child--" Her voice faltered, and the +tears gushed from her eyes. "But I persevered. The old passionate pride +was changed to a kind of religious frenzy. Lawrence Newt went and came to +and from India. I was utterly lost to the world. I knew that my child +would never know me, for Lawrence had promised that he would not betray +me; and when I disappeared from his view, Lawrence gradually came to +consider me dead. Then Amy discovered me among the poor souls she +visited, and through Amy Lawrence Newt; and by them I have been led out +of the valley of the shadow of death, and see the blessed light of love +once more." + +She bowed her head in uncontrollable emotion. + +"And your son?" said her sister, half-smiling through her sympathetic +tears. + +"Will be yours also, Amy tells me," said Aunt Martha. "Thank God! thank +God!" + +"Martha, who gave him his name?" asked Mrs. Bennet. + +Aunt Martha paused for a little while. Then she said: + +"You never knew who my--my--husband was?" + +"Never." + +"I remember--he never came to the house. Well, I gave my child almost his +father's name. I called him Wynne; his father's name was Wayne." + +Mrs. Bennet clasped her hands in her lap. + +"How wonderful! how wonderful!" was all she said. + +Lawrence Newt knocked at the door, and Amy and he came in. There was so +sweet and strange a light upon Amy's face that Mrs. Bennet looked at her +in surprise. Then she looked at Lawrence Newt; and he cheerfully returned +her glance with that smiling, musing expression in his eyes that was +utterly bewildering to Mrs. Bennet. She could only look at each of the +persons before her, and repeat her last words: + +"How wonderful! how wonderful!" + +Amy Waring, who had not heard the previous conversation between her two +aunts, blushed as she heard these words, as if Mrs. Bennet had been +alluding to something in which Amy was particularly interested. + +"Amy," said Mrs. Bennet. + +Amy could scarcely raise her eyes. There was an exquisite maidenly +shyness overspreading her whole person. At length she looked the response +she could not speak. + +"How could you?" asked her aunt. + +Poor Amy was utterly unable to reply. + +"Coming and going in my house, my dearest niece, and yet hugging such a +secret, and holding your tongue. Oh Amy, Amy!" + +These were the words of reproach; but the tone, and look, and impression +were of entire love and sympathy. Lawrence Newt looked calmly on. + +"Aunt Lucia, what could I do?" was all that Amy could say. + +"Well, well, I do not reproach you; I blame nobody. I am too glad and +happy. It is too wonderful, wonderful!" + +There was a fullness and intensity of emphasis in what she said that +apparently made Amy suspect that she had not correctly understood her +aunt's intention. + +"Oh, you mean about Aunt Martha!" said Amy, with an air of relief and +surprise. + +Lawrence Newt smiled. Mrs. Bennet turned to Amy with a fresh look of +inquiry. + +"About Aunt Martha? Of course about Aunt Martha. Why, Amy, what on earth +did you suppose it was about?" + +Again the overwhelming impossibility to reply. Mrs. Bennet was very +curious. She looked at her sister Martha, who was smiling intelligently. +Then at Lawrence Newt, who did not cease smiling, as if he were in no +perplexity whatsoever. Then at Amy, who sat smiling at her through the +tears that had gathered in the thoughtful womanly brown eyes. + +"Let me speak," said Lawrence Newt, quietly. "Why should we not all be +glad and happy with you? You have found a sister, Aunt Martha has found +herself and a son, I have found a wife, and Amy a husband." + +They returned to the room where they had left the guests, and the story +was quietly told to Hope Wayne and the others. + +Hope and Edward looked at each other. + +"Little Malacca!" she said, in a low tone, putting out her hand. + +"Sister Hope," said the young man, blushing, and his large eyes filling +with tenderness. + +"And my sister, too," whispered Ellen Bennet, as she took Hope's other +hand. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIII. + +MRS. DELILAH JONES. + + +Mr. Newt's political friends in New York were naturally anxious when he +went to Washington. They had constant communication with the Honorable +Mr. Ele in regard to his colleague; for although they were entirely sure +of Mr. Ele, they could not quite confide in Mr. Newt, nor help feeling +that, in some eccentric moment, even his interest might fail to control +him. + +"The truth is, I begin to be sick of it," said General Belch to the calm +William Condor. + +That placid gentleman replied that he saw no reason for apprehension. + +"But he may let things out, you know," said Belch. + +"Yes, but is not our word as good as his," was the assuring reply. + +"Perhaps, perhaps," said General Belch, dolefully. + +But Belch and Condor were forgotten by the representative they had sent +to Congress when he once snuffed the air of Washington. There was +something grateful to Abel Newt in the wide sphere and complicated +relations of the political capital, of which the atmosphere was one of +intrigue, and which was built over the mines and countermines of +selfishness. He hoodwinked all Belch's spies, so that the Honorable Mr. +Ele could never ascertain any thing about his colleague, until once when +he discovered that the report upon the Grant was to be brought in within +a day or two by the Committee, and that it would be recommended, upon +which he hastened to Abel's lodging. He found him smoking as usual, with +a decanter at hand. It was past midnight, and the room was in the +disorder of a bachelor's sanctum. + +Mr. Ele seated himself carelessly, so carelessly that Abel saw at once +that he had come for some very particular purpose. He offered his friend +a tumbler and a cigar, and they talked nimbly of a thousand things. Who +had come, who had gone, and how superb Mrs. Delilah Jones was, who had +suddenly appeared upon the scene, invested with mystery, and bringing a +note to each of the colleagues from General Belch. + +"Mrs. Delilah Jones," said that gentleman, in a private note to Ele, "is +our old friend, Kitty Dunham. She appears in Washington as the widow of a +captain in the navy, who died a few years since upon the Brazil station. +She can be of the greatest service to us; and you must have no secrets +from each other about our dear friend, who shall be nameless." + +To Abel Newt, General Belch wrote: "My dear Newt, the lady to whom I have +given a letter to you is daughter of an old friend of my family. She +married Captain Jones of the navy, whom she lost some years since upon +the Brazil station. She has seen the world; has money; and comes to +Washington to taste life, to enjoy herself--to doff the sables, perhaps, +who knows? Be kind to her, and take care of your heart. Don't forget the +Grant in the arms of Delilah! Yours, Belch." + +Abel Newt, when he received this letter, looked over his books of reports +and statistics. + +"Captain Jones--Brazil station," he said, skeptically, to himself. But he +found no such name or event in the obituaries; and he was only the more +amused by his friend Belch's futile efforts at circumvention and control. + +"My dear Belch," he replied, after he had made his investigations, "I +have your private note, but I have not yet encountered the superb +Delilah; nor have I forgotten what you said to me about working 'em +through their wives, and sisters, etc. I shall not begin to forget it +now, and I hope to make the Delilah useful in the campaign; for there are +goslings here, more than you would believe. Thank you for such an ally. +_You_, at least, were not born to fail. Yours, A. Newt." + +"Goslings, are there? I believe you," said Belch to himself, inwardly +chuckling as he read and folded Abel's letter. + +"Ally, hey? Well, that _is_ good," he continued, the chuckle rising into +a laugh. "Well, well, I thought Abel Newt was smart; but he doesn't even +suspect, and I have played a deeper game than was needed." + +"I guess that will fix him," said Abel, as he looked over his letter, +laughed, folded it, and sent it off. + +Mr. Ele by many a devious path at length approached the object of his +visit, and hoped that Mr. Newt would flesh his maiden sword in the coming +fray. Abel said, without removing his cigar, "I think I shall speak." + +He said no more. Mr. Ele shook his foot with inward triumph. + +"The Widow Jones will do a smashing business this winter, I suppose," he +said, at length. + +"Likely," replied Newt. + +"Know her well?" + +"Pretty well." + +Mr. Ele retired, for he had learned all that his friend meant he should +know. + +"Do I know Delilah?" laughed Abel Newt to himself, as he said +"Good-night, Ele." + +Yes he did. He had followed up his note to General Belch by calling upon +the superb Mrs. Delilah Jones. But neither the skillful wig, nor the +freshened cheeks, nor the general repairs which her personal appearance +had undergone, could hide from Abel the face of Kitty Dunham, whom he had +sometimes met in other days when suppers were eaten in Grand Street and +wagons were driven to Cato's. He betrayed nothing, however; and she wrote +to General Belch that she had disguised herself so that he did not recall +her in the least. + +Abel was intensely amused by the espionage of the Honorable Mr. Ele and +the superb Jones. He told his colleague how greatly he had been impressed +by the widow--that she was really a fascinating woman, and, by Jove! +though she was a widow, and no longer twenty, still there were a good +many worse things a man might do than fall in love with her. 'Pon honor, +he did not feel altogether sure of himself, though he thought he was +hardened if any body was. + +Mr. Ele smiled, and said, in a serious way, that she was a splendid +woman, and if Abel persisted he must look out for a rival. + +"For I thought it best to lead him on," he wrote to his friend Belch. + +As for the lady herself, Abel was so dexterous that she really began to +believe that she might do rather more for herself than her employers. He +brought to bear upon her the whole force of the fascination which had +once been so irresistible; and, like a blowpipe, it melted out the whole +conspiracy against him without her knowing that she had betrayed it. +The point of her instructions from Belch was that she was to persuade him +to be constant to the Grant at any price. + +"To-morrow, then, Mr. Newt," she said to him, as they stood together in +the crush of a levee at the White House--"_our_ bill is to be reported, +and favorably." + +Mrs. Delilah Jones was a pretty woman, and shrewd. She had large eyes; +languishing at will--at will, also, bright and piercing. Her face was a +smiling, mobile face; the features rather coarse, the expression almost +vulgar, but the vulgarity well concealed. She was dressed in the extreme +of the mode, and drew Mr. Newt's arm very close to her as she spoke. +She observed that Mr. Newt was more than usually disposed to chat. The +honorable representative had dined. + +"_Our_ bill, Lady Delilah? Thank you for that," said Abel, in a low +voice, and almost pressing the hand that lay upon his close-held arm. + +The reply was a slow turn of the head, and a half languishment in the +eyes as they sought his with the air of saying, "Would you deceive a +woman who trusts in you utterly?" + +They moved out of the throng a little, and stood by the window. + +"I wish I dared to ask you one thing as a pure favor," said the superb +Mrs. Delilah Jones, and this time the eyes were firm and bright. + +"I hoped, by this time, that you dared every thing," replied Abel, with a +vague reproach in his tone. + +Mrs. Jones looked at him for a moment with a look of honest inquiry in +her eyes. His own did not falter. Their expression combined confidence +and respect. + +"May I then ask," she said, earnestly, and raising her other hand as if +to lay it imploringly upon his shoulder, but somehow it fell into his +hand, which was raised simultaneously, and which did not let it go--. + +"For my sake, will you speak in favor of it?" she asked, casting her eyes +down. + +"For your sake, Delilah," he said, in a musical whisper, and under the +rouge her cheeks tingled--"for your sake I will make a speech--my maiden +speech." + +There was more conversation between them. The Honorable Mr. Ele stood +guard, so to speak, and by incessant chatter warded off the company from +pressing upon them unawares. The guests, smiled as they looked on; and +after the levee the newspapers circulated rumors (it was before the +days of "Personal") that were read with profound interest throughout the +country, that the young and talented representative from the commercial +emporium had not forfeited his reputation as a squire of dames, and +gossip already declared that the charming and superb Mrs. D-li-h J-nes +would ere long exchange that honored name for one not less esteemed. + +When Abel returned from the levee he threw himself into his chair, and +said, aloud, + +"Isn't a man lucky who is well paid for doing just what he meant to do?" + +For Abel Newt intended to get all he could from the Grant, and to enjoy +himself as fully as possible while getting it; but he had his own work to +do, and to that his power was devoted. To make a telling speech upon the +winning side was one of his plans, and accordingly he made it. + +When the bill was reported as it had been drafted by his friends in New +York, it had been arranged that Mr. Newt should catch the speaker's eye. +His figure and face attracted attention, and his career in Washington had +already made him somewhat known. During the time he had been there his +constant employment had been a study of the House and of its individual +members, as well as of the general character and influence of the +speeches. His shrewdness showed him the shallows, the currents, and +the reefs. Day after day he saw a great many promising plans, like +full-sailed ships, ground upon the flats of dullness, strike rocks of +prejudice, or whirl in the currents of crudity, until they broke up and +went down out of sight. + +He rose, and his first words arrested attention. He treated the House +with consummate art, as he might have treated a woman whom he wished to +persuade. The House was favorably inclined before. It was resolved when +he sat down. For he had shown so clearly that it was one of the cases in +which patriotism and generosity--the finer feelings and only a moderate +expense--were all one, that the majority, who were determined to pass the +Grant in any case, were charmed to have the action so imposingly stated; +and the minority, who knew that it was useless to oppose it, enjoyed the +rhetoric of the speech, and, as it was brief, and did not encroach upon +dinner-time, smiled approval, and joined in the congratulation to Mr. +Newt upon his very eloquent and admirable oration. + +In the midst of the congratulations Abel raised his eyes to Mrs. Delilah +Jones, who sat conspicuous in the gallery. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIV. + +PROSPECTS OF HAPPINESS. + + +The Honorable Abel Newt was the lion of the hour. Days of dinner +invitations and evening parties suddenly returned. He did not fail to use +the rising tide. It helped to float him more securely to the fulfillment +of his great work. Meanwhile he saw Mrs. Jones every day. She no longer +tried to play a game. + +The report of his speech was scattered abroad in the papers. General +Belch rubbed his hands and expectorated with an energy that showed the +warmth of his feeling. Far away in quiet Delafield, when the news +arrived, Mr. Savory Gray lost no time in improving the pregnant text. The +great moral was duly impressed upon the scholars that Mr. Newt was a +great man because he had been one of Mr. Gray's boys. The Washington +world soon knew his story, the one conspicuous fact being that he was the +favorite nephew of the rich merchant, Lawrence Newt. All the doors flew +open. The dinner invitations, the evening notes, fell upon his table more +profusely than ever. + +He sneered at his triumph. Ambition, political success, social prestige +had no fascination for a man who was half imbruted, and utterly +disappointed and worn out. One thing only Abel really wanted. He wanted +money--money, which could buy the only pleasures of which he was now +capable. + +"Look here, Delilah--I like that name better than Kitty, it means +something--you know Belch. So do I. Do you suppose a man would work with +him or for him except for more advantage than he can insure? Or do you +think _I_ want to slave for the public--_I_ work for the public? God! +would I be every man's drudge? No, Mrs. Delilah Jones, emphatically +not. I will be my own master, and yours, and my revered uncle will foot +the bills." + +The woman looked at him inquiringly. She was a willing captive. She +accepted him as master. + +"It isn't for you to know how he will pay," said Abel, "but to enjoy the +fruits." + +The woman, in whose face there were yet the ruins of a coarse beauty, +which pleased Abel now as the most fiery liquor gratified his palate, +looked at him, and said, + +"Abel, what are we to do?" + +"To be happy," he answered, with the old hard, black light in his eyes. + +She almost shuddered as she heard the tone and saw the look, and yet she +did not feel as if she could escape the spell of his power. + +"To be happy!" she repeated. "To be happy!" + +Her voice fell as she spoke the words; Her life had not been a long one. +She had laughed a great deal, but she had never been happy. She knew Abel +from old days. She saw him now, sodden, bloated--but he fascinated her +still. Was he the magician to conjure happiness for her? + +"What is your plan?" she asked. + +"I have two passages taken in a brig for the Mediterranean. We go to New +York a day or two before she sails. That's all." + +"And then?" asked his companion, with wonder and doubt in her voice. + +"And then a blissful climate and happiness." + +"And then?" she persisted, in a low, doubtful voice. + +"Then Hell--if you are anxious for it," said Abel, in a sharp, sudden +voice. + +The poor woman cowered as she sat. Men had often enough sworn at her; but +she recoiled from the roughness of this lover as if it hurt her. Her eyes +were not languishing now, but startled--then slowly they grew dim and +soft with tears. + +Abel Newt looked at her, surprised and pleased. + +"Kitty, you're a woman still, and I like it. It's so much the better. +I don't want a dragon or a machine. Come, girl, are you afraid?" + +"Of what?" + +"Of me--of the future--of any thing?" + +The tone of his voice had a lingering music of the same kind as the +lingering beauty in her face. It was a sensual, seductive sound. + +"No, I am not afraid," she answered, turning to him. "But, oh! my God! my +God! if we were only both young again!" + +She spoke with passionate hopelessness, and the tears dried in her eyes. + +Later in the evening Mrs. Delilah Jones appeared at the French minister's +ball. + +"Upon the whole," said Mr. Ele to his partner, "I have never seen Mrs. +Jones so superb as she is to-night." + +She stood by the mantle, queen-like--so the representatives from several +States remarked--and all the evening fresh comers offered homage. + +"_Ma foi!_" said the old Brazilian ambassador, as he gazed at her through +his eye-glass, and smacked his lips. + +"_Tiens!_" responded the sexagenarian representative from Chili, +half-closing one eye. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXV. + +GETTING READY. + + +Hope Wayne had not forgotten the threat which Abel had vaguely thrown +out; but she supposed it was only an expression of disappointment and +indignation. Could she have seen him a few evenings after the ball and +his conversation with Mrs. Delilah Jones, she might have thought +differently. + +He sat with the same woman in her room. + +"To-morrow, then?" she said, looking at him, hesitatingly. + +"To-morrow," he answered, grimly. + +"I hope all will go well." + +"All what?" he asked, roughly. + +"All our plans." + +"Abel Newt was not born to fail," he replied; "or at least General Belch +said so." + +His companion had no knowledge of what Abel really meant to do. She only +knew that he was capable of every thing, and as for herself, her little +mask had fallen, and she did not even wish to pick it up again. + +They sat together silently for a long time. He poured freely and drank +deeply, and whiffed cigar after cigar nervously away. The few bells of +the city tolled the hours. Ele had come during the evening and knocked at +the door, but Abel did not let him in. He and his companion sat silently, +and heard the few bells strike. + +"Well, Kitty," he said at last, thickly, and with glazing eye. "Well, my +Princess of the Mediterranean. We shall be happy, hey? You're not afraid +even now, hey?" + +"Oh, we shall be very happy," she replied, in a low, wild tone, as if it +were the night wind that moaned, and not a woman's voice. + +He looked at her for a few moments. He saw how entirely she was +enthralled by him. + +"I wonder if I care any thing about you?" he said at length, leering at +her through the cigar-smoke. + +"I don't think you do," she answered, meekly. + +"But my--my--dear Mrs. Jones--the su-superb Mrs. Delilah Jo-Jones ought +to be sure that I do. Here, bring me a light: that dam--dam--cigar's gone +out." + +She rose quietly and carried the candle to Abel. There was an +inexpressible weariness and pathos in all her movements: a kind of +womanly tranquillity that was touchingly at variance with the impression +of her half-coarse appearance. As Abel watched her he remembered the +women whom he had tried to marry. His memory scoured through his whole +career. He thought of them all variously happy. + +"I swear! to think I should come to you!" he said at length, looking at +his companion, with an indescribable bitterness of sneering. + +Kitty Dunham sat at a little distance from him on the end of a sofa. She +was bowed as if deeply thinking; and when she heard these words her head +only sank a little more, as if a palpable weight had been laid upon her. +She understood perfectly what he meant. + +"I know I am not worth loving," she said, in the same low voice, "but my +love will do you no harm. Perhaps I can help you in some way. If you are +ill some day, I can nurse you. I shall be poor company on the long +journey, but I will try." + +"What long journey?" asked Abel, suddenly and angrily. + +"Where we are going," she replied, gently. + +"D---- it, then, don't use such am-am-big-'us phrases. A man would think +we were go-going to die." + +She said no more, but sat, half-crouching, upon the sofa, looking into +the fire. Abel glanced at her, from time to time, with maudlin grins and +sneers. + +"Go to bed," he said at length; "I've something to do. Sleep all you can; +you'll need it. I shall stay here 'till I'm ready to go, and come for you +in the morning." + +"Thank you," she answered, and rose quietly. "Good-night!" she said. + +"Oh! good-night, Mrs. De-de-liah--superb Jo-Jones!" + +He laughed as she went--sat ogling the fire for a little while, and then +unsteadily, but not unconsciously, drew a pocket-book from his pocket and +took out a small package. It contained several notes, amounting to not +less than a hundred thousand dollars signed by himself, and indorsed by +Lawrence Newt & Co.--at least the name was there, and it was a shrewd eye +that could detect the difference between the signature and that which was +every day seen and honored in the street. + +Abel looked at them carefully, and leered and glared upon them as if they +had been windows through which he saw something--sunny isles, and luxury, +and a handsome slave who loved him to minister to every whim. + +"'Tis a pretty game," he said, half aloud; "a droll turnabout is life. +Uncle Lawrence plays against other people, and wins. I play against Uncle +Lawrence, and win. But what's un-dred--sousand--to--him?" + +He said it drowsily, and his hands unconsciously fell. He was asleep in +his chair. + +He sat there sleeping until the gray of morning. Kitty Dunham, coming +into the room ready-dressed for a journey, found him there. She was +frightened; for he looked as if he were dead. Going up to him she shook +him, and he awoke heavily. + +"What the h----'s the matter?" said he, as he opened his sleepy eyes. + +"Why, it's time to go." + +"To go where?" + +"To be happy," she said, standing passively and looking in his face. + +He roused himself, and said: + +"Well, I'm all ready. I've only to stop at my room for my trunk." + +His hair was tangled, his eyes were bloodshot, his clothes tumbled and +soiled. + +"Wouldn't you like to dress yourself?" she asked. + +"Why, no; ain't I dressed enough for you? No gentleman dresses when he's +going to travel." + +She said no more. The carriage came as Abel had ordered, a private +conveyance to take them quite through to New York. All the time before it +came Kitty Dunham moved solemnly about the room, seeing that nothing was +left. The solemnity fretted Abel. + +"What are you so sober about?" he asked impatiently. + +"Because I am getting ready for a long journey," she answered, +tranquilly. + +"Perhaps not so long," he said, sharply--"not if I choose to leave you +behind." + +"But you won't." + +"How do you know?" + +"Because you will want somebody, and I'm the only person in the world +left to you." + +She spoke in the same sober way. Abel knew perfectly well that she spoke +the truth, but he had never thought of it before. Was he then going so +long a journey without a friend, unless she went with him? Was she the +only one left of all the world? + +As his mind pondered the question his eye fell upon a newspaper of the +day before, in which he saw his name. He took it up mechanically, and +read a paragraph praising him and his speech; foretelling "honor and +troops of friends" for a young man who began his public career so +brilliantly. + +"There; hear this!" said he, as he read it aloud and looked at his +companion. "Troops of friends, do you see? and yet you talk of being my +only dependence in the world! Fie! fie! Mrs. Delilah Jones." + +It was melancholy merriment. He did not smile, and the woman's face was +quietly sober. + +"For the present, then, Mr. Speaker and fellow-citizens," said Abel Newt, +waving his hand as he saw that every thing was ready, and that the +carriage waited only for him and his companion, "I bid these scenes +adieu! For the present I terminate my brief engagement. And you, my +fellow-members, patterns of purity and pillars of truth, farewell! +Disinterested patriots, I leave you my blessing! Pardon me that I +prefer the climate of the Mediterranean to that of the District, and the +smiles of my Kitty to the intelligent praises of my country. Friends of +my soul, farewell! I kiss my finger tips! Boo--hoo!" + +He made a mock bow, and smiled upon an imaginary audience. Then offering +his arm with grave ceremony to his companion as if a crowd had been +looking on, he went down stairs. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVI. + +IN THE CITY. + + +It was a long journey. They stopped at Baltimore, at Philadelphia, and +pushed on toward New York. While they were still upon the way Hope Wayne +saw what she had been long expecting to see--and saw it without a +solitary regret. Amy Waring was Amy Waring no longer; and Hope Wayne +was the first who kissed Mrs. Lawrence Newt. Even Mrs. Simcoe looked +benignantly upon the bride; and Aunt Martha wept over her as over her +own child. + +The very day of the wedding Abel Newt and his companion arrived at Jersey +City. Leaving Kitty in a hotel, he crossed the river, and ascertained +that the vessel on which he had taken two berths under a false name was +full and ready, and would sail upon her day. He showed himself in Wall +Street, carefully dressed, carefully sober--evidently mindful, people +said, of his new position; and they thought his coming home showed that +he was on good terms with his family, and that he was really resolved to +behave himself. + +For a day or two he appeared in the business streets and offices, and +talked gravely of public measures. General Belch was confounded by the +cool sobriety, and superiority, and ceremony of the Honorable Mr. Newt. +When he made a joke, Abel laughed with such patronizing politeness that +the General was frightened, and tried no more. When he treated Abel +familiarly, and told him what a jolly lift his speech had given to their +common cause--the Grant--the Honorable Mr. Newt replied, with a cold bow, +that he was glad if he had done his duty and satisfied his constituents; +bowing so coldly that the General was confounded. He spat into his fire, +and said, "The Devil!" + +When Abel had gone, General Belch was profoundly conscious that King Log +was better than King Stork, and thought regretfully of the Honorable +Watkins Bodley. + +After a day or two the Honorable Mr. Newt went to his Uncle Lawrence's +office. Abel had not often been there. He had never felt himself to be +very welcome there; and as he came into the inner room where Lawrence and +Gabriel sat, they were quite as curious to know why he had come as he +was to know what his reception would be. Abel bowed politely, and said he +could not help congratulating his uncle upon the news he had heard, but +would not conceal his surprise. What his surprise was he did not explain; +but Lawrence very well knew. Abel had the good sense not to mention, +the name of Hope Wayne, and not to dwell upon any subject that involved +feeling. He said that he hoped by-gones would be by-gones; that he had +been a wild boy, but that a career now opened upon him of which he hoped +to prove worthy. + +"There was a time, Uncle Lawrence," he said, "when I despised your +warning; now I thank you for it." + +Lawrence held out his hand to his nephew: + +"Honesty is the best policy, at least, if nothing more," he said, +smiling. "You have a chance; I hope, with all my heart, you will use +it well." + +There was little more to say, and of that little Gabriel said nothing. +Abel spoke of public affairs; and after a short time he took leave. + +"Can the leopard change his spots?" said Gabriel, looking at the senior +partner. + +"A bad man may become better," was all the answer; and the two merchants +were busy again. + +Returning to Wall Street, the Honorable Abel Newt met Mr. President Van +Boozenberg. They shook hands, and the old gentleman said, warmly, + +"I see ye goin' into your Uncle Lawrence's a while ago, as I was comin' +along South Street. Mr. Abel, Sir, I congratilate ee, Sir. I've read your +speech, and I sez to ma, sez I, I'd no idee of it; none at all. Ma, sez +she, Law, pa! I allers knowed Mr. Abel Newt would turn up trumps. You +allers did have the women, Mr. Newt; and so I told ma." + +"I am very glad, Sir, that I have at last done something to deserve your +approbation. I trust I shall not forfeit it. I have led rather a gay +life, and careless; and my poor father and I have met with misfortunes. +But they open a man's eyes, Sir; they are angels in disguise, as the poet +says. I don't doubt they have been good for me. At least I'm resolved +now to be steady and industrious; and I certainly should be a great fool +if I were not." + +"Sartin, Sir, with your chances and prospects, yes, and your talents, +coz, I allers said to ma, sez I, he's got talent if he hain't nothin' +else. I suppose your Uncle Lawrence won't be so shy of you now, hey? +No, of course not. A man who has a smart nevy in Congress has a tap in a +good barrel." + +And Mr. Van Boozenberg laughed loudly at his own humor. + +"Why, yes. Sir. I think I may say that the pleasantest part of my new +life--if you will allow me to use the expression--is my return to the +friends best worth having. I think I have learned, Sir, that steady-going +business, with no nonsense about it, is the permanent thing. It isn't +flopdoddle, Sir, but it's solid food." + +"Tonguey," thought old Jacob Van Boozenberg, "but vastly improved. Has +come to terms with Uncle Lawrence. Sensible fellow!" + +"I think he takes it," said Abel to himself, with the feeling of an +angler, as he watched the other. + +Just before they parted Abel took out his pocket-book and told Mr. Van +Boozenberg that he should like to negotiate a little piece of paper which +was not altogether worthless, he believed. + +Smiling as he spoke, he handed a note for twenty-five thousand dollars, +with his uncle's indorsement, to the President. The old gentleman looked +at it carefully, smiled knowingly, "Yes, yes, I see. Sly dog, that Uncle +Lawrence. I allers sez so. This ere's for the public service, I suppose, +eh! Mr. Newt?" and the President chuckled over his confirmed conviction +that Lawrence Newt was "jes' like other folks." + +He asked Abel to walk with him to the bank. They chatted as they passed +along, nodded to those they knew, while some bowed politely to the young +member whom they saw in such good company. + +"Well, well," said Mr. Zephyr Wetherley as he skimmed up Wall Street from +the bank, where he had been getting dividends, "I didn't think to see the +day when Abel Newt would be a solid, sensible man." + +And Mr. Wetherley wondered, in a sighing way, what was the secret of +Abel's success. + +The honorable member came out of the bank with the money in his pocket. +When the clock struck three he had the amount of all the notes in the +form of several bills of foreign exchange. + +He went hastily to the river side and crossed to Jersey City. + +"They have sent to say that the ship sails at nine in the morning, and +that we must be on board early," said Kitty Dunham, as he entered the +room. + +"I am all ready," he replied, in a clear, cold, alert voice. "Now sit +down." + +His tone was not to be resisted. The woman seated herself quietly and +waited. + +"My affectionate Uncle Lawrence has given me a large sum of money, and +recommends travelling for my health. The money is in bills on London and +Paris. To-morrow morning we sail. We post to London--get the money; same +day to Paris--get the money; straight on to Marseilles, and sail for +Sicily. There we can take breath." + +He spoke rapidly, but calmly. She heard and understood every word. + +"I wish we could sail to-night," she said. + +"Plenty of time--plenty of time," answered Abel. "And why be so anxious +for so long a journey?" + +"It seems long to you, too?" + +"Why, yes; it will be long. Yes, I am going on a long journey." + +He smiled with the hard black eyes a hard black smile. Kitty did not +smile; but she took his hand gently. + +Abel shook his head, mockingly. + +"My dear Mrs. Delilah Jones, you overcome me with your sentimentality. +I don't believe in love. That's what I believe in," said he, as he opened +his pocket-book and showed her the bills. + +The woman looked at them unmoved. + +"Those are the delicate little keys of the Future," chuckled Abel, as he +gloated over the paper. + +The woman raised her eyes and looked into his. They were busy with the +bills. Then with the same low tone, as if the wind were wailing, she +asked, + +"Abel, tell me, before we go upon this long journey, don't you love me in +the least?" + +Her voice sank into an almost inaudible whisper. + +Abel turned and looked at her, gayly. + +"Love you? Why, woman, what is love? No, I don't love you. I don't love +any body. But that's no matter; you shall go with me as if I did. You +know, as well as I do, that I can't whine and sing silly. I'll be your +friend, and you'll be mine, and this shall be the friend of both," said +he, as he raised the bills in his hands. + +She sat beside him silent, and her eyes were hot and dry, not wet with +tears. There was a look of woe in her face so touching and appealing +that, when Abel happened to see it, he said, involuntarily, + +"Come, come, don't be silly." + +The evening came, and the Honorable Mr. Newt rose and walked about the +room. + +"How slowly the time passes!" he said, pettishly. "I can't stand it." + +It was nine o'clock. Suddenly he sprang up from beside Kitty Dunham, who +was silently working. + +"No," said he, "I really can not stand it. I'll run over to town, and be +back by midnight. I do want to see the old place once more before that +long journey," he added, with emphasis, as he put on his coat and hat. He +ran from the room, and was just going out of the house when he heard a +muffled voice calling to him from up stairs. + +"Why, Kitty, what is it?" he asked, as he stopped. + +There was no answer. Alarmed for a moment, he leaped up the stairs. She +stood waiting for him at the door of the room. + +"Well!" exclaimed he, hastily. + +"You forgot to kiss me, Abel," she said. + +He took her by the shoulders, and looked at her before him. In her eyes +there were pity, and gentleness, and love. + +"Fool!" he said, half-pleased, half-vexed--kissed her, and rushed out +into the street. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVII. + +A LONG JOURNEY. + + +Abel Newt ran to the ferry and crossed. Then he gained Broadway, and +sauntered into one of the hells in Park Row. It was bright and full, and +he saw many an old friend. They nodded to him, and said, "Ah! back +again!" and he smiled, and said a man must not be too virtuous all at +once. + +So he ventured a little, and won; ventured a little more, and lost. +Ventured a little more, and won again; and lost again. + +Then came supper, and wine flowed freely. Old friends must pledge in +bumpers. + +To work again, and the bells striking midnight. Win, lose; lose, win; +win, win, lose, lose, lose, lose, lose, lose. + +Abel Newt smiled: his face was red, his eyes glaring. + +"I've played enough," he said; "the luck's against me!" + +He passed his hands rapidly through his hair. + +"Cash I can not pay," he said; "but here is my I O U, and a check of my +Uncle Lawrence's in the morning; for I have no account, you know." + +His voice was rough. It was two o'clock in the morning; and the lonely +woman he had left sat waiting and wondering: stealing to the front door +and straining her eyes into the night: stealing softly back again to +press her forehead against the window: and the quiet hopelessness of her +face began to be pricked with terror. + +"Good-night, gentlemen," said Abel, huskily and savagely. + +There was a laugh around the table at which he had been playing. + +"Takes it hardly, now that he's got money," said one of his old cronies. +"He's made up with Uncle Lawrence, I hear. Hope he'll come often, hey?" +he said to the bank. + +The bank smiled vaguely, but did not reply. + +It was after two, and Abel burst into the street. He had been drinking +brandy, and the fires were lighted within him. Pulling his hat heavily +upon his head, he moved unsteadily along the street toward the ferry. The +night was starry and still. There were few passers in the street; and no +light but that which shone at some of the corners,-the bad, red eye that +lures to death. The night air struck cool upon his face and into his +lungs. His head was light.--He reeled. + +"Mus ha' some drink," he said, thickly. + +He stumbled, and staggered into the nearest shop. There was a counter, +with large yellow barrels behind it; and a high blind, behind which two +or three rough-looking men were drinking. In the window there was a sign, +"Liquors, pure as imported." + +The place was dingy and cold. The floor was sanded. The two or three +guests were huddled about a stove--one asleep upon a bench, the others +smoking short pipes; and their hard, cadaverous faces and sullen eyes +turned no welcome upon Abel when he entered, but they looked at him +quickly, as if they suspected him to be a policeman or magistrate, and as +if they had reason not to wish to see either. But in a moment they saw it +was not a sober man, whoever he was. Abel tried to stand erect, to look +dignified, to smooth himself into apparent sobriety. He vaguely hoped to +give the impression that he was a gentleman belated upon his way home, +and taking a simple glass for comfort. + +"Why, Dick, don't yer know him?" said one, in a low voice, to his +neighbor. + +"No, d---- him! and don't want to." + +"I do, though," replied the first man, still watching the new-comer +curiously. + +"Why, Jim, who in h---- is it?" asked Dick. + +"That air man's our representative. That ain't nobody else but Abel +Newt." + +"Well," muttered Jim, sullenly, as he surveyed the general appearance of +Abel while he stood drinking a glass of brandy--"pure as imported"--at +the counter--"well, we've done lots for him: what's he going to do for +us? We've put that man up tremendious high; d'ye think he's going to kick +away the ladder?" + +He half grumbled to himself, half asked his neighbor Dick. They were both +a little drunk, and very surly. + +"I dunno. But he's vastly high and mighty--that I know; and, +by ----, I'll tell him so!" said Dick, energetically clasping his +hands, bringing one of them down upon the bench on which he sat, +and clenching every word with an oath. + +"Hallo, Jim! let's make him give us somethin' to drink!" + +The two constituents approached the representative whose election they +had so ardently supported. + +"Well, Newt, how air ye?" + +Abel Newt was confounded at being accosted in such a place at such an +hour. He raised his heavy eyes as he leaned unsteadily against the +counter, and saw two beetle-browed, square-faced, disagreeable-looking +men looking at him with half-drunken, sullen insolence. + +"Hallo, Newt! how air ye?" repeated Jim, as he confronted the +representative. + +Abel looked at him with shaking head, indignant and scornful. + +"Who the devil are you?" he asked, at length, blurring the words as he +spoke, and endeavoring to express supreme contempt. + +"We're the men that made yer!" retorted Dick, in a shrill, tipsy voice. + +The liquor-seller, who was leaning upon his counter, was instantly +alarmed. He knew the signs of impending danger. He hurried round, and +said, + +"Come, come; I'm going to shut up! Time to go home; time to go home!" + +The three men at the counter did not move. As they stood facing each +other the brute fury kindled more and more fiercely in each one of them. + +"We're Jim and Dick, and Ned's asleep yonder on the bench; and we're come +to drink a glass with yer, Honorable Abel Newt!" said Dick, in a sneering +tone. "It's we what did your business for ye. What yer going to do for +us?" + +There was a menacing air in his eye as he glanced at Abel, who felt +himself quiver with impotent, blind rage. + +"I dun--dun--no ye!" he said, with maudlin dignity. + +The men pressed nearer. + +"Time to go home! Time to go home!" quavered the liquor-seller; and Ned +opened his eyes, and slowly raised his huge frame from the bench. + +"What's the row?" asked he of his comrades. + +"The Honorable Abel Newt's the row," said Jim, pointing at him. + +There was something peculiarly irritating to Abel in the pointing finger. +Holding by the counter, he raised his hand and struck at it. + +Ned rolled his body off the bench in a moment. + +"For God's sake!" gasped the little liquor-seller. + +Jim and Dick stood hesitatingly, glaring at Abel. Jim struck his teeth +together. Ned joined them, and they surrounded Abel. + +"What in ---- do you mean by striking me, you drunken pig?" growled Jim, +but not yet striking. Conscious of his strength, he had the instinctive +forbearance of superiority, but it was fast mastered by the maddening +liquor. + +"Time to go home! Time to go home!" cried the thin piping voice of the +liquor-seller. + +"What the ---- do you mean by insulting my friend?" half hiccuped Dick, +shaking his head threateningly, and stiffening his arm and fist at his +side as he edged toward Abel. + +The hard black eyes of Abel Newt shot sullen fire; His rage half sobered +him. He threw his head with the old defiant air, tossing the hair back. +The old beauty flashed for an instant through the ruin that had been +wrought in his face, and, kindling into a wild, glittering look of wrath, +his eye swept them all as he struck heavily forward. + +"Time to go home! Time to go home!" came the cry again, unheeded, +unheard. + +There was a sudden, fierce, brutal struggle. The men's faces were human +no longer, but livid with bestial passion. The liquor-seller rushed into +the street, and shouted aloud for help. The cry rang along the dark, +still houses, and startled the drowsy, reluctant watchmen on their +rounds. They sprang their rattles. + +"Murder! murder!" was the cry, which did not disturb the neighbors, who +were heavy sleepers, and accustomed to noise and fighting. + +"Murder! murder!" It rang nearer and nearer as the watchmen hastened +toward the corner. They found the little man standing at his door, +bareheaded, and shouting, + +"My God! my God! they've killed a man--they've killed a man!" + +"Stop your noise, and let us in. What is it?" + +The little man pointed back into his dim shop. The watchmen saw only the +great yellow round tanks of the liquor pure as imported, and pushed in +behind the blind. There was no one there; a bench was overturned, and +there were glasses upon the counter. No one there? One of the watchmen +struck something with his foot, and, stooping, touched a human body. He +started up. + +"There's a man here." + +He did not say dead, or drunk; but his tone said every thing. + +One of them ran to the next doctor, and returned with him after a little +while. Meanwhile the others had raised the body. It was yet warm. They +laid it upon the bench. + +"Warm still. Stunned, I reckon. I see no blood, except about the face. +Well dressed. What's he doing here?" The doctor said so as he felt the +pulse. He carefully turned the body over, examined it every where, looked +earnestly at the face, around which the matted hair clustered heavily: + +"He has gone upon his long journey!" said the young doctor, in a low, +solemn tone, still looking at the face with an emotion of sad sympathy, +for it was a face that had been very handsome; and it was a young man, +like himself. The city bells clanged three. + +"Who is it?" he asked. + +Nobody knew. + +"Look at his handkerchief." + +They found it, and handed it to the young doctor. He unrolled it, holding +it smooth in his hands; suddenly his face turned pale; the tears burst +into his eyes. A curious throng of recollections and emotions overpowered +him. His heart ached as he leaned over the body; and laying the matted +hair away, he looked long and earnestly into the face. In that dim moment +in the liquor-shop, by that bruised body, how much he saw! A play-ground +loud with boys--wide-branching elms--a country church--a placid pond. He +heard voices, and summer hymns, and evening echoes; and all the images +and sounds were soft, and pensive, and remote. + +The doctor's name was Greenidge--James Greenidge, and he had known Abel +Newt at school. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVIII. + +WAITING. + + +The woman Abel had left sat quivering and appalled. Every sound started +her; every moment she heard him coming. Rocking to and fro in the lonely +room, she dropped into sudden sleep--saw him--started up--cried, "How +could you stay so?" then sat broad awake, and knew that she had dozed but +for a moment, and that she was alone. + +"Abel, Abel!" she moaned, in yearning agony. "But he kissed me before he +went," she thought, wildly--"he kissed me--he kissed me!" + +Lulled for a moment by the remembrance, she sank into another brief +nap--saw him as she had seen him in his gallant days, and heard him say, +I love you. "How could you stay so?" she cried, dreaming--started--sprang +up erect, with her head turned in intense listening. There was a sound +this time; yes, across the river she heard the solemn city bells strike +three. + +Wearily pacing the room--stealthily, that she might make no +noise--walking the hours away, the lonely woman waited for her lover. +The winter, wind rose and wailed about the windows and moaned in the +chimney, and in long, shrieking sobs died away. + +"Abel! Abel!" she whispered, and started at the strangeness of her voice. +She opened the window softly and looked out. The night was cold and, calm +again, and the keen stars twinkled. She saw nothing--she heard no sound. + +She closed it again, and paced the room. There were no tears in her eyes; +but they were wide open, startled, despairing. For the first time in her +terrible life she had loved. + +"But he kissed me before he went," she said, pleadingly, to herself; "he +kissed me--he kissed me!" + +She said it when the solemn city bells struck three. She said it when the +first dim light of dawn stole into the chamber. And when the full day +broke, and she heard the earliest footfalls in the street, her heart +clung to it as the only memory left to her of all her life: + +"He kissed me! he kissed me!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIX. + +DUST TO DUST. + + +Scarcely had Abel left the bank, after obtaining the money, than Gabriel +came in, and, upon seeing the notes which Mr. Van Boozenberg had shown +him, in order to make every thing sure in so large a transaction, +announced that they were forged. The President was quite beside himself, +and sat down in his room, wringing his hands and crying; while the +messenger ran for a carriage, into which Gabriel stepped with Mr. +Van Boozenberg, and drove as rapidly as possible to the office of the +Chief of Police, who promised to set his men to work at once; but the +search was suddenly terminated by the bills found upon the body of Abel +Newt. + +The papers were full of the dreadful news. They said they were deeply +shocked to announce that a disgrace had befallen the whole city in the +crime which had mysteriously deprived his constituency and his country of +the services of the young, talented, promising representative, whose +opening career had seemed to be in every way so auspicious. By what foul +play he had been made way with was a matter for the strictest legal +investigation, and the honor of the country demanded that the +perpetrators of such an atrocious tragedy should be brought to +condign punishment. + +The morning papers followed next day with fuller details of the awful +event. Some of the more enterprising had diagrams of the shop, the blind, +the large yellow barrels that held the liquor pure as imported, the +bench, the counter, and the spot (marked O) where the officer had found +the body. In parlors, in banks, in groceries and liquor-shops, in +lawyers' rooms and insurance offices, the murder was the chief topic +of conversation for a day. Then came the report of the inquest. + +There was no clew to the murderers. The eager, thirsty-eyed crowd of men, +and women, and children, crushing and hanging about the shop, gradually +loosened their gaze. The jury returned that the deceased Abel Newt came +to his death by the hands of some person or persons unknown. The shop +was closed, officers were left in charge, and the body was borne away. + +General Belch was in his office reading the morning paper when Mr. +William Condor entered. They shook hands. Upon the General's fat face +there was an expression of horror and perplexity, but Mr. Condor was +perfectly calm. + +"What an awful thing!" said Belch, as the other sat down before the fire. + +"Frightful," said Mr. Condor, placidly, as he lighted a cigar, "but not +surprising." + +"Who do you suppose did it?" asked the General. + +"Impossible to tell. A drunken brawl, with its natural consequences; +that's all." + +"Yes, I know; but it's awful." + +"Providential." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Abel Newt would have made mince-meat of you and me and the rest of us if +he had lived. That's what I mean," replied Mr. Condor, unruffled, and +lightly whiffing the smoke. "But it's necessary to draw some resolutions +to offer in the committee, and I've brought them with me. You know +there's a special meeting called to take notice of this deplorable event, +and you must present them. Shall I read them?" + +Mr. Condor drew a piece of paper from his pocket, and, holding his cigar +in one hand and whiffing at intervals, read: + +"Whereas our late associate and friend, Abel Newt, has been suddenly +removed from this world, in the prime of his life and the height of his +usefulness, by the hand of an inscrutable but all-wise Providence, to +whose behests we desire always to bow in humble resignation; and + +"Whereas, it is eminently proper that those to whom great public trusts +have been confided by their fellow-citizens should not pass away without +some signal expression of the profound sense of bereavement which those +fellow-citizens entertain; and + +"Whereas we represent that portion of the community with whom the +lamented deceased peculiarly sympathized; therefore be it resolved by +the General Committee, + +"_First_, That this melancholy event impressively teaches the solemn +truth that in the midst of life we are in death; + +"_Second_ That in the brilliant talents, the rare accomplishments, the +deep sagacity, the unswerving allegiance to principle which characterized +our dear departed brother and associate, we recognize the qualities which +would have rendered the progress of his career as triumphant as its +opening was auspicious; + +"_Third,_ That while we humble ourselves before the mysterious will of +Heaven, which works not as man works, we tender our most respectful and +profound sympathy to the afflicted relatives and friends of the deceased, +to whom we fervently pray that his memory may be as a lamp to the feet; + +"_Fourth,_ That we will attend his funeral in a body; that we will wear +crape upon the left arm for thirty days; and that a copy of these +resolutions, signed by the officers of the Committee, shall be presented +to his family." + +"I think that'll do," said Mr. Condor, resuming his cigar, and laying the +paper upon the table. + +"Just the thing," said General Belch. "Just the thing. You know the Grant +has passed and been approved?" + +"Yes, so Ele wrote me," returned Mr. Condor. + +"Condor," continued the General, "I've had enough of it. I'm going to +back out. I'd rather sweep the streets." + +General Belch spoke emphatically, and his friend turned toward him with a +pleasant smile. + +"Can you make so much in any other way?" + +"Perhaps not. But I'd rather make less, and more comfortably." + +"I find it perfectly comfortable," replied William Condor. "You take it +too hard. You ought to manage it with less friction. The point is, to +avoid friction. If you undertake to deal with men, you ought to +understand just what they are." + +Mr. Condor smoked serenely, and General Belch looked at his slim, clean +figure, and his calm face, with curious admiration. + +"By-the-by," said Condor, "when you introduce the resolutions, I shall +second them with a few remarks." + +And he did so. At the meeting of the Committee he rose and enforced them +with a few impressive and pertinent words. + +"Gratitude," he said, "is instinctive in the human breast. When a man +does well, or promises well, it is natural to regard him with interest +and affection. The fidelity of our departed brother is worthy of our most +affectionate admiration and imitation. If you ask me whether he had +faults, I answer that he was a man. Who so is without sin, let him cast +the first stone." + +On the same day the Honorable B. Jawley Ele rose in his place in Congress +to announce the calamity in which the whole country shared, and to move +an adjournment in respect for the memory of his late colleague--"a man +endeared to us all by the urbanity of his deportment and his social +graces; but to me especially, by the kindness of his heart and the +readiness of his sympathy." + +Abel Newt was buried from his father's house. There were not many +gathered at the service in the small, plain rooms. Fanny Dinks was there, +sobered and saddened--the friend now of Hope Wayne, and of Amy, her Uncle +Lawrence's wife. Alfred was there, solemnized and frightened. The office +of Lawrence Newt & Co. was closed, and the partners and the clerks all +stood together around the coffin. Abel's mother, shrouded in black, sat +in a dim corner of the room, nervously sobbing. Abel's father, sitting in +his chair, his white hair hanging upon his shoulders, looked curiously at +all the people, while his bony fingers played upon his knees, and he said +nothing. + +During all the solemn course of the service, from the gracious words, "I +am the resurrection and the life," to the final Amen which was breathed +out of the depth of many a soul there, the old man's eyes did not turn +from the clergyman. But when, after a few moments of perfect silence, two +or three men entered quietly and rapidly, and, lifting the coffin, began +to bear it softly out of the room, he looked troubled and surprised, and +glanced vaguely and inquiringly from one person to another, until, as it +was passing out of the door, his face was covered with a piteous look of +appeal: he half-rose from his chair, and reached out toward the door, +with the long white fingers clutching in the air; but Hope Wayne took the +wasted hands in hers, placed her arm behind him gently, and tenderly +pressed him back into the chair. The old man raised his eyes to her as +she stood by him, and holding one of her hands in one of his, the +spectral calmness returned into his face; while, beating his thin knee +with the other hand, he said, in the old way, as the body of his son +was borne out of his house, "Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" But +still he held Hope Wayne's hand, and from time to time raised his eyes to +her face. + + + + +CHAPTER XC. + +UNDER THE MISLETOE. + + +The hand which held that of old Boniface Newt was never placed in that of +any, younger man, except for a moment; but the heart that warmed the hand +henceforward held all the world. + +We have come to the last leaf, patient and gentle reader, and the girl +we saw sitting, long ago, upon the lawn and walking in the garden of +Pinewood is not yet married! Yes, and we shall close the book, and still +she will be Hope Wayne. + +How could we help it? How could a faithful chronicler but tell his story +as it is? It is not at his will that heroes marry, and heroines are given +in marriage. He merely watches events and records results; but the +inevitable laws of human life are hidden in God's grace beyond his +knowledge. + +There is Arthur Merlin painting pictures to this day, and every year with +greater beauty and wider recognition. He wears the same velvet coat of +many buttons--or its successor in the third or fourth remove--and still +he whistles and sings at his work, still draws back from the easel and +turns his head on one side to look at his picture, and cons it carefully +through the tube of his closed hand; still lays down the pallet and, +lighting a cigar, throws himself into the huge easy-chair, hanging one +leg over the chair-arm and gazing, as he swings his foot, at something +which does not seem to be in the room. Cheerful and gay, he has always a +word of welcome for the loiterer who returns to Italy by visiting the +painters; even if the loiterer find him with the foot idly swinging and +the cigar musingly smoking itself away. + +Nor is the painter conscious of any gaping, unhealed wound that +periodically bleeds. There are nights in mid-summer when, leaning from +his window, he thinks of many things, and among others, of a picture he +once painted of the legend of Latmos. He smiles to think that, at the +time, he half persuaded himself that he might be Endymion, yet the +feeling with which he smiles is of pity and wonder rather than of regret. + +At Thanksgiving dinners, at Christmas parties, at New Year and Twelfth +Night festivals, no guest so gay and useful, so inventive and delightful, +as Arthur Merlin the painter. Just as Aunt Winnifred has abandoned her +theory it has become true, and all the girls do seem to love the man who +respects them as much as the younger men do with whom they nightly dance +in winter. He romps with the children, has a perfectly regulated and +triumphant sliding-scale of gifts and attentions; and only this +Christmas, although he is now--well, Aunt Winnifred has locked up the +Family Bible and begins to talk of Arthur as a young man--yet only +this Christmas, at Lawrence Newt's family party, at which, so nimbly +did they run round, it was almost impossible to compute the actual +number of Newt, and Wynne, and Bennet children--Arthur Merlin brought +in, during the evening, with an air of profound secrecy, something +covered with a large handkerchief. Of course there could be no peace, +and no blindman's-buff, no stage-coach, no twirling the platter, and no +snap-dragon, until the mystery was revealed; The whole crowd of short +frocks and trowsers, and bright ribbons, and eyes, and curls, swarmed +around the painter until he displayed a green branch. + +A pair of tiny feet, carrying a pair of great blue eyes and a head of +golden curls, scampered across the floor to Lawrence Newt. + +"Oh, papa, what is that green thing with little berries on it?" + +"That's a misletoe bough, little Hope." + +"But, papa, what's it for?" + +The painter was already telling the children what it was for; and when he +had hung it up over the folding-doors such a bubbling chorus of laughter +and merry shrieks followed, there was such a dragging of little girls in +white muslin by little boys in blue velvet, and such smacking, and +kissing, and happy confusion, that the little Hope's curiosity was +immediately relieved. Of all the ingenious inventions of their friend +the painter, this of the misletoe was certainly the most transcendent. + +But when Arthur Merlin himself joined the romp, and, chasing Hope +Wayne through the lovely crowd of shouting girls and boys, finally caught +her and led her to the middle of the room and dropped on one knee and +kissed her hand under the misletoe, then the delight burst all bounds; +and as Hope Wayne's bright, beautiful face glanced merrily around the +room--bright and beautiful, although she is young no longer--she saw that +the elders were shouting with the children, and that Lawrence Newt and +his wife, and his niece Fanny, and papa and mamma Wynne, and Bennet, were +all clapping their hands and laughing. + +She laughed too; and Arthur Merlin laughed; and when Ellen Bennet's +oldest daughter (of whom there are certain sly reports, in which her name +is coupled with that of her cousin Edward, May Newt's oldest son) sat +down to the piano and played a Virginia reel, it was Arthur Merlin who +handed out Hope Wayne with mock gravity, and stepped about and bowed +around so solemnly, that little Hope Newt, sitting upon her papa's knee +and nestling her golden curls among his gray hair, laughed all the time, +and wished that Christmas came every day in the year, and that she might +always see Mr. Arthur Merlin dancing with dear Aunt Hope. + +When the dance was over and the panting children were resting, Gabriel +Newt, Lawrence's youngest boy, said to Arthur, + +"Mr. Merlin, what game shall we play now? What game do you like best?" + +"The game of life, my boy," replied Arthur. + +"Oh, pooh!" said Gabriel, doubtfully, with a vague feeling that Mr. +Merlin was quizzing him. + +But the painter was in earnest; and if you are of his opinion, patient +and gentle reader, it is for you to say who, among all the players we +have been watching, held Trumps. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRUMPS*** + + +******* This file should be named 15498-8.txt or 15498-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/5/4/9/15498 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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