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diff --git a/29439.txt b/29439.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa7197a --- /dev/null +++ b/29439.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16411 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dr. Sevier, by George W. Cable + +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: Dr. Sevier + +Author: George W. Cable + +Release Date: July 18, 2009 [EBook #29439] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. SEVIER *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Anne Storer and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + Transcriber's Notes: + SO_3HO = 3 is subscripted + [=u] = macron above "u" + + + * * * * * + + + + + GEORGE W. CABLE'S WRITINGS + + + BONAVENTURE. A Prose Pastoral of Arcadian Louisiana. 12mo, $1.25. + DR. SEVIER. 12mo, $1.25. + THE GRANDISSIMES. A Story of Creole Life. 12mo, $1.25. + OLD CREOLE DAYS. 12mo, $1.25. + STRANGE TRUE STORIES OF LOUISIANA. Illustrated. 12mo, $2.00. + *** _New Uniform Edition of the above five volumes, cloth, in a box, + $6.00._ + + * * * + + JOHN MARCH, SOUTHERNER, 12mo, $1.50. + OLD CREOLE DAYS. Cameo Edition with Etching, $1.25. + OLD CREOLE DAYS. 2 vols. 16mo, paper, each 30 cts. + MADAME DELPHINE. 75 cts. + THE CREOLES OF LOUISIANA. Illus. Small 4to, $2.50. + THE SILENT SOUTH. 12mo, $1.00. + + + + + DR. SEVIER + + + BY + GEORGE W. CABLE + + AUTHOR OF "OLD CREOLE DAYS," "THE GRANDISSIMES," + "MADAME DELPHINE," ETC. + + + NEW YORK + CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS + 1897 + + + + + Copyright, 1883 and 1884 + BY GEORGE W. CABLE + + _All rights reserved_ + + + TROW'S + PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY, + NEW YORK. + + + + + TO MY FRIEND + MARION A. BAKER + + + + + CONTENTS. + + + Chapter Page + I.--The Doctor 5 + II.--A Young Stranger 10 + III.--His Wife 17 + IV.--Convalescence and Acquaintance 22 + V.--Hard Questions 29 + VI.--Nesting 34 + VII.--Disappearance 45 + VIII.--A Question of Book-keeping 52 + IX.--When the Wind Blows 61 + X.--Gentles and Commons 66 + XI.--A Pantomime 73 + XII.--"She's all the World" 81 + XIII.--The Bough Breaks 87 + XIV.--Hard Speeches and High Temper 94 + XV.--The Cradle Falls 99 + XVI.--Many Waters 107 + XVII.--Raphael Ristofalo 118 + XVIII.--How He Did It 127 + XIX.--Another Patient 134 + XX.--Alice 138 + XXI.--The Sun at Midnight 142 + XXII.--Borrower Turned Lender 160 + XXIII.--Wear and Tear 169 + XXIV.--Brought to Bay 177 + XXV.--The Doctor Dines Out 184 + XXVI.--The Trough of the Sea 194 + XXVII.--Out of the Frying-Pan 207 + XXVIII.--"Oh, where is my Love?" 215 + XXIX.--Release.--Narcisse 224 + XXX.--Lighting Ship 233 + XXXI.--At Last 243 + XXXII.--A Rising Star 248 + XXXIII.--Bees, Wasps, and Butterflies 258 + XXXIV.--Toward the Zenith 262 + XXXV.--To Sigh, yet Feel no Pain 268 + XXXVI.--What Name? 275 + XXXVII.--Pestilence 280 + XXXVIII.--"I must be Cruel only to be Kind" 286 + XXXIX.--"Pettent Prate" 294 + XL.--Sweet Bells Jangled 300 + XLI.--Mirage 310 + XLII.--Ristofalo and the Rector 317 + XLIII.--Shall she Come or Stay? 324 + XLIV.--What would you Do? 329 + XLV.--Narcisse with News 335 + XLVI.--A Prison Memento 340 + XLVII.--Now I Lay Me-- 345 + XLVIII.--Rise up, my Love, my Fair One! 351 + XLIX.--A Bundle of Hopes 357 + L.--Fall In! 366 + LI.--Blue Bonnets over the Border 372 + LII.--A Pass through the Lines 378 + LIII.--Try Again 384 + LIV.--"Who Goes There?" 394 + LV.--Dixie 412 + LVI.--Fire and Sword 425 + LVII.--Almost in Sight 435 + LVIII.--A Golden Sunset 445 + LIX.--Afterglow 454 + LX.--"Yet shall he live" 465 + LXI.--Peace 470 + + + + +DR. SEVIER. + + +CHAPTER I. + +THE DOCTOR. + + +The main road to wealth in New Orleans has long been Carondelet +street. There you see the most alert faces; noses--it seems to +one--with more and sharper edge, and eyes smaller and brighter +and with less distance between them than one notices in other +streets. It is there that the stock and bond brokers hurry to and +fro and run together promiscuously--the cunning and the simple, +the headlong and the wary--at the four clanging strokes of the +Stock Exchange gong. There rises the tall facade of the Cotton +Exchange. Looking in from the sidewalk as you pass, you see its +main hall, thronged but decorous, the quiet engine-room of the +surrounding city's most far-reaching occupation, and at the hall's +farther end you descry the "Future Room," and hear the unearthly +ramping and bellowing of the bulls and bears. Up and down the +street, on either hand, are the ship-brokers and insurers, and in +the upper stories foreign consuls among a multitude of lawyers and +notaries. + +In 1856 this street was just assuming its present character. The cotton +merchants were making it their favorite place of commercial domicile. +The open thoroughfare served in lieu of the present exchanges; men made +fortunes standing on the curb-stone, and during bank hours the sidewalks +were perpetually crowded with cotton factors, buyers, brokers, weighers, +reweighers, classers, pickers, pressers, and samplers, and the air was +laden with cotton quotations and prognostications. + +Number 3-1/2, second floor, front, was the office of Dr. Sevier. This +office was convenient to everything. Immediately under its windows lay +the sidewalks where congregated the men who, of all in New Orleans, +could best afford to pay for being sick, and least desired to die. Canal +street, the city's leading artery, was just below, at the near left-hand +corner. Beyond it lay the older town, not yet impoverished in those +days,--the French quarter. A single square and a half off at the right, +and in plain view from the front windows, shone the dazzling white walls +of the St. Charles Hotel, where the nabobs of the river plantations +came and dwelt with their fair-handed wives in seasons of peculiar +anticipation, when it is well to be near the highest medical skill. In +the opposite direction a three minutes' quick drive around the upper +corner and down Common street carried the Doctor to his ward in the +great Charity Hospital, and to the school of medicine, where he filled +the chair set apart to the holy ailments of maternity. Thus, as it were, +he laid his left hand on the rich and his right on the poor; and he was +not left-handed. + +Not that his usual attitude was one of benediction. He stood straight up +in his austere pure-mindedness, tall, slender, pale, sharp of voice, +keen of glance, stern in judgment, aggressive in debate, and fixedly +untender everywhere, except--but always except--in the sick chamber. +His inner heart was all of flesh; but his demands for the rectitude of +mankind pointed out like the muzzles of cannon through the embrasures of +his virtues. To demolish evil!--that seemed the finest of aims; and even +as a physician, that was, most likely, his motive until later years and +a better self-knowledge had taught him that to do good was still finer +and better. He waged war--against malady. To fight; to stifle; to cut +down; to uproot; to overwhelm;--these were his springs of action. That +their results were good proved that his sentiment of benevolence was +strong and high; but it was well-nigh shut out of sight by that +impatience of evil which is very fine and knightly in youngest manhood, +but which we like to see give way to kindlier moods as the earlier heat +of the blood begins to pass. + +He changed in later years; this was in 1856. To "resist not evil" seemed +to him then only a rather feeble sort of knavery. To face it in its +nakedness, and to inveigh against it in high places and low, seemed the +consummation of all manliness; and manliness was the key-note of his +creed. There was no other necessity in this life. + +"But a man must live," said one of his kindred, to whom, truth to tell, +he had refused assistance. + +"No, sir; that is just what he can't do. A man must die! So, while he +lives, let him be a man!" + +How inharmonious a setting, then, for Dr. Sevier, was 3-1/2 Carondelet +street! As he drove, each morning, down to that point, he had to pass +through long, irregular files of fellow-beings thronging either +sidewalk,--a sadly unchivalric grouping of men whose daily and yearly +life was subordinated only and entirely to the getting of wealth, and +whose every eager motion was a repetition of the sinister old maxim that +"Time is money." + +"It's a great deal more, sir; it's life!" the Doctor always retorted. + +Among these groups, moreover, were many who were all too well famed +for illegitimate fortune. Many occupations connected with the handling +of cotton yielded big harvests in perquisites. At every jog of the +Doctor's horse, men came to view whose riches were the outcome of +semi-respectable larceny. It was a day of reckless operation; much of +the commerce that came to New Orleans was simply, as one might say, +beached in Carondelet street. The sight used to keep the long, thin, +keen-eyed doctor in perpetual indignation. + +"Look at the wreckers!" he would say. + +It was breakfast at eight, indignation at nine, dyspepsia at ten. + +So his setting was not merely inharmonious; it was damaging. He grew +sore on the whole matter of money-getting. + +"Yes, I have money. But I don't go after it. It comes to me, because I +seek and render service for the service's sake. It will come to anybody +else the same way; and why should it come any other way?" + +He not only had a low regard for the motives of most seekers of wealth; +he went further, and fell into much disbelief of poor men's needs. For +instance, he looked upon a man's inability to find employment, or upon +a poor fellow's run of bad luck, as upon the placarded woes of a +hurdy-gurdy beggar. + +"If he wants work he will find it. As for begging, it ought to be easier +for any true man to starve than to beg." + +The sentiment was ungentle, but it came from the bottom of his belief +concerning himself, and a longing for moral greatness in all men. + +"However," he would add, thrusting his hand into his pocket and bringing +out his purse, "I'll help any man to make himself useful. And the +sick--well, the sick, as a matter of course. Only I must know what I'm +doing." + +Have some of us known Want? To have known her--though to love her +was impossible--is "a liberal education." The Doctor was learned; +but this acquaintanceship, this education, he had never got. Hence his +untenderness. Shall we condemn the fault? Yes. And the man? We have not +the face. To be _just_, which he never knowingly failed to be, and at +the same time to feel tenderly for the unworthy, to deal kindly with the +erring,--it is a double grace that hangs not always in easy reach even +of the tallest. The Doctor attained to it--but in later years; meantime, +this story--which, I believe, had he ever been poor would never have +been written. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A YOUNG STRANGER. + + +In 1856 New Orleans was in the midst of the darkest ten years of her +history. Yet she was full of new-comers from all parts of the commercial +world,--strangers seeking livelihood. The ravages of cholera and +yellow-fever, far from keeping them away, seemed actually to draw them. +In the three years 1853, '54, and '55, the cemeteries had received over +thirty-five thousand dead; yet here, in 1856, besides shiploads of +European immigrants, came hundreds of unacclimated youths, from all +parts of the United States, to fill the wide gaps which they imagined +had been made in the ranks of the great exporting city's clerking force. + +Upon these pilgrims Dr. Sevier cast an eye full of interest, and often +of compassion hidden under outward impatience. "Who wants to see," he +would demand, "men--_and women_--increasing the risks of this uncertain +life?" But he was also full of respect for them. There was a certain +nobility rightly attributable to emigration itself in the abstract. +It was the cutting loose from friends and aid,--those sweet-named +temptations,--and the going forth into self-appointed exile and into +dangers known and unknown, trusting to the help of one's own right hand +to exchange honest toil for honest bread and raiment. His eyes kindled +to see the goodly, broad, red-cheeked fellows. Sometimes, though, he +saw women, and sometimes tender women, by their side; and that sight +touched the pathetic chord of his heart with a rude twangle that vexed +him. + +It was on a certain bright, cool morning early in October that, as he +drove down Carondelet street toward his office, and one of those little +white omnibuses of the old Apollo-street line, crowding in before his +carriage, had compelled his driver to draw close in by the curb-stone +and slacken speed to a walk, his attention chanced to fall upon a young +man of attractive appearance, glancing stranger-wise and eagerly at +signs and entrances while he moved down the street. Twice, in the moment +of the Doctor's enforced delay, he noticed the young stranger make +inquiry of the street's more accustomed frequenters, and that in each +case he was directed farther on. But, the way opened, the Doctor's horse +switched his tail and was off, the stranger was left behind, and the +next moment the Doctor stepped across the sidewalk and went up the +stairs of Number 3-1/2 to his office. Something told him--we are apt to +fall into thought on a stair-way--that the stranger was looking for a +physician. + +He had barely disposed of the three or four waiting messengers that +arose from their chairs against the corridor wall, and was still reading +the anxious lines left in various handwritings on his slate, when the +young man entered. He was of fair height, slenderly built, with soft +auburn hair, a little untrimmed, neat dress, and a diffident, yet +expectant and courageous, face. + +"Dr. Sevier?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Doctor, my wife is very ill; can I get you to come at once and see +her?" + +"Who is her physician?" + +"I have not called any; but we must have one now." + +"I don't know about going at once. This is my hour for being in the +office. How far is it, and what's the trouble?" + +"We are only three squares away, just here in Custom-house street." +The speaker began to add a faltering enumeration of some very grave +symptoms. The Doctor noticed that he was slightly deaf; he uttered his +words as though he did not hear them. + +"Yes," interrupted Dr. Sevier, speaking half to himself as he turned +around to a standing case of cruel-looking silver-plated things on +shelves; "that's a small part of the penalty women pay for the doubtful +honor of being our mothers. I'll go. What is your number? But you had +better drive back with me if you can." He drew back from the glass case, +shut the door, and took his hat. + +"Narcisse!" + +On the side of the office nearest the corridor a door let into a +hall-room that afforded merely good space for the furniture needed by a +single accountant. The Doctor had other interests besides those of his +profession, and, taking them altogether, found it necessary, or at least +convenient, to employ continuously the services of a person to keep his +accounts and collect his bills. Through the open door the book-keeper +could be seen sitting on a high stool at a still higher desk,--a young +man of handsome profile and well-knit form. At the call of his name he +unwound his legs from the rounds of the stool and leaped into the +Doctor's presence with a superlatively high-bred bow. + +"I shall be back in fifteen minutes," said the Doctor. "Come, +Mr. ----," and went out with the stranger. + +Narcisse had intended to speak. He stood a moment, then lifted the +last half inch of a cigarette to his lips, took a long, meditative +inhalation, turned half round on his heel, dashed the remnant with +fierce emphasis into a spittoon, ejected two long streams of smoke from +his nostrils, and extending his fist toward the door by which the Doctor +had gone out, said:-- + +"All right, ole hoss!" No, not that way. It is hard to give his +pronunciation by letter. In the word "right" he substituted an a for the +r, sounding it almost in the same instant with the i, yet distinct from +it: "All a-ight, ole hoss!" + +Then he walked slowly back to his desk, with that feeling of relief +which some men find in the renewal of a promissory note, twined his legs +again among those of the stool, and, adding not a word, resumed his pen. + +The Doctor's carriage was hurrying across Canal street. + +"Dr. Sevier," said the physician's companion, "I don't know what your +charges are"-- + +"The highest," said the Doctor, whose dyspepsia was gnawing him just +then with fine energy. The curt reply struck fire upon the young man. + +"I don't propose to drive a bargain, Dr. Sevier!" He flushed angrily +after he had spoken, breathed with compressed lips, and winked savagely, +with the sort of indignation that school-boys show to a harsh master. + +The physician answered with better self-control. + +"What do you propose?" + +"I was going to propose--being a stranger to you, sir--to pay in +advance." The announcement was made with a tremulous, but triumphant, +_hauteur_, as though it must cover the physician with mortification. The +speaker stretched out a rather long leg, and, drawing a pocket-book, +produced a twenty-dollar piece. + +The Doctor looked full in his face with impatient surprise, then turned +his eyes away again as if he restrained himself, and said, in a subdued +tone:-- + +"I would rather you had haggled about the price." + +"I don't hear"--said the other, turning his ear. + +The Doctor waved his hand:-- + +"Put that up, if you please." + +The young stranger was disconcerted. He remained silent for a moment, +wearing a look of impatient embarrassment. He still extended the piece, +turning it over and over with his thumb-nail as it lay on his fingers. + +"You don't know me, Doctor," he said. He got another cruel answer. + +"We're getting acquainted," replied the physician. + +The victim of the sarcasm bit his lip, and protested, by an unconscious, +sidewise jerk of the chin:-- + +"I wish you'd"--and he turned the coin again. + +The physician dropped an eagle's stare on the gold. + +"I don't practise medicine on those principles." + +"But, Doctor," insisted the other, appeasingly, "you can make an +exception if you will. Reasons are better than rules, my old professor +used to say. I am here without friends, or letters, or credentials of +any sort; this is the only recommendation I can offer." + +"Don't recommend you at all; anybody can do that." + +The stranger breathed a sigh of overtasked patience, smiled with a +baffled air, seemed once or twice about to speak, but doubtful what to +say, and let his hand sink. + +"Well, Doctor,"--he rested his elbow on his knee, gave the piece one +more turn over, and tried to draw the physician's eye by a look of +boyish pleasantness,--"I'll not ask you to take pay in advance, but I +will ask you to take care of this money for me. Suppose I should lose +it, or have it stolen from me, or--Doctor, it would be a real comfort to +me if you would." + +"I can't help that. I shall treat your wife, and then send in my bill." +The Doctor folded arms and appeared to give attention to his driver. +But at the same time he asked:-- + +"Not subject to epilepsy, eh?" + +"No, sir!" The indignant shortness of the retort drew no sign of +attention from the Doctor; he was silently asking himself what this +nonsense meant. Was it drink, or gambling, or a confidence game? Or +was it only vanity, or a mistake of inexperience? He turned his head +unexpectedly, and gave the stranger's facial lines a quick, thorough +examination. It startled them from a look of troubled meditation. The +physician as quickly turned away again. + +"Doctor," began the other, but added no more. + +The physician was silent. He turned the matter over once more in his +mind. The proposal was absurdly unbusiness-like. That his part in it +might look ungenerous was nothing; so his actions were right, he rather +liked them to bear a hideous aspect: that was his war-paint. There was +that in the stranger's attitude that agreed fairly with his own theories +of living. A fear of debt, for instance, if that was genuine it was +good; and, beyond and better than that, a fear of money. He began to be +more favorably impressed. + +"Give it to me," he said, frowning; "mark you, this is your way,"--he +dropped the gold into his vest-pocket,--"it isn't mine." + +The young man laughed with visible relief, and rubbed his knee with his +somewhat too delicate hand. The Doctor examined him again with a milder +glance. + +"I suppose you think you've got the principles of life all right, don't +you?" + +"Yes, I do," replied the other, taking his turn at folding arms. + +"H-m-m! I dare say you do. What you lack is the practice." The Doctor +sealed his utterance with a nod. + +The young man showed amusement; more, it may be, than he felt, and +presently pointed out his lodging-place. + +"Here, on this side; Number 40;" and they alighted. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +HIS WIFE. + + +In former times the presence in New Orleans, during the cooler half of +the year, of large numbers of mercantile men from all parts of the +world, who did not accept the fever-plagued city as their permanent +residence, made much business for the renters of furnished apartments. +At the same time there was a class of persons whose residence was +permanent, and to whom this letting of rooms fell by an easy and natural +gravitation; and the most respectable and comfortable rented rooms of +which the city could boast were those _chambres garnies_ in Custom-house +and Bienville streets, kept by worthy free or freed mulatto or quadroon +women. + +In 1856 the gala days of this half-caste people were quite over. +Difference was made between virtue and vice, and the famous quadroon +balls were shunned by those who aspired to respectability, whether their +whiteness was nature or only toilet powder. Generations of domestic +service under ladies of Gallic blood had brought many of them to a +supreme pitch of excellence as housekeepers. In many cases money had +been inherited; in other cases it had been saved up. That Latin feminine +ability to hold an awkward position with impregnable serenity, and, like +the yellow Mississippi, to give back no reflection from the overhanging +sky, emphasized this superior fitness. That bright, womanly business +ability that comes of the same blood added again to their excellence. +Not to be home itself, nothing could be more like it than were the +apartments let by Madame Cecile, or Madame Sophie, or Madame Athalie, +or Madame Polyxene, or whatever the name might be. + +It was in one of these houses, that presented its dull brick front +directly upon the sidewalk of Custom-house street, with the unfailing +little square sign of _Chambres a louer_ (Rooms to let), dangling by a +string from the overhanging balcony and twirling in the breeze, that +the sick wife lay. A waiting slave-girl opened the door as the two men +approached it, and both of them went directly upstairs and into a large, +airy room. On a high, finely carved, and heavily hung mahogany bed, +to which the remaining furniture corresponded in ancient style and +massiveness, was stretched the form of a pale, sweet-faced little woman. + +The proprietress of the house was sitting beside the bed,--a quadroon of +good, kind face, forty-five years old or so, tall and broad. She rose +and responded to the Doctor's silent bow with that pretty dignity of +greeting which goes with all French blood, and remained standing. The +invalid stirred. + +The physician came forward to the bedside. The patient could not have +been much over nineteen years of age. Her face was very pleasing; a +trifle slender in outline; the brows somewhat square, not wide; the +mouth small. She would not have been called beautiful, even in health, +by those who lay stress on correctness of outlines. But she had one +thing that to some is better. Whether it was in the dark blue eyes that +were lifted to the Doctor's with a look which changed rapidly from +inquiry to confidence, or in the fine, scarcely perceptible strands of +pale-brown hair that played about her temples, he did not make out; but, +for one cause or another, her face was of that kind which almost any +one has seen once or twice, and no one has seen often,--that seems to +give out a soft, but veritable, light. + +She was very weak. Her eyes quickly dropped away from his, and turned +wearily, but peacefully, to those of her husband. + +The Doctor spoke to her. His greeting and gentle inquiry were full of a +soothing quality that was new to the young man. His long fingers moved +twice or thrice softly across her brow, pushing back the thin, waving +strands, and then he sat down in a chair, continuing his kind, direct +questions. The answers were all bad. + +He turned his glance to the quadroon; she understood it; the patient was +seriously ill. The nurse responded with a quiet look of comprehension. +At the same time the Doctor disguised from the young strangers this +interchange of meanings by an audible question to the quadroon. + +"Have I ever met you before?" + +"No, seh." + +"What is your name?" + +"Zenobie." + +"Madame Zenobie," softly whispered the invalid, turning her eyes, with +a glimmer of feeble pleasantry, first to the quadroon and then to her +husband. + +The physician smiled at her an instant, and then gave a few concise +directions to the quadroon. "Get me"--thus and so. + +The woman went and came. She was a superior nurse, like so many of her +race. So obvious, indeed, was this, that when she gently pressed the +young husband an inch or two aside, and murmured that "de doctah" wanted +him to "go h-out," he left the room, although he knew the physician had +not so indicated. + +By-and-by he returned, but only at her beckon, and remained at the +bedside while Madame Zenobie led the Doctor into another room to write +his prescription. + +"Who are these people?" asked the physician, in an undertone, looking up +at the quadroon, and pausing with the prescription half torn off. + +She shrugged her large shoulders and smiled perplexedly. + +"Mizzez--Reechin?" The tone was one of query rather than assertion. "Dey +sesso," she added. + +She might nurse the lady like a mother, but she was not going to be +responsible for the genuineness of a stranger's name. + +"Where are they from?" + +"I dunno?--Some pless?--I nevva yeh dat nem biffo?" + +She made a timid attempt at some word ending in "walk," and smiled, +ready to accept possible ridicule. + +"Milwaukee?" asked the Doctor. + +She lifted her palm, smiled brightly, pushed him gently with the tip of +one finger, and nodded. He had hit the nail on the head. + +"What business is he in?" + +The questioner arose. + +She cast a sidelong glance at him with a slight enlargement of her eyes, +and, compressing her lips, gave her head a little, decided shake. The +young man was not employed. + +"And has no money either, I suppose," said the physician, as they +started again toward the sick-room. + +She shrugged again and smiled; but it came to her mind that the Doctor +might be considering his own interests, and she added, in a whisper:-- + +"Dey pay me." + +She changed places with the husband, and the physician and he passed +down the stairs together in silence. + +"Well, Doctor?" said the young man, as he stood, prescription in hand, +before the carriage-door. + +"Well," responded the physician, "you should have called me sooner." + +The look of agony that came into the stranger's face caused the Doctor +instantly to repent his hard speech. + +"You don't mean"--exclaimed the husband. + +"No, no; I don't think it's too late. Get that prescription filled and +give it to Mrs. ----" + +"Richling," said the young man. + +"Let her have perfect quiet," continued the Doctor. "I shall be back +this evening." + +And when he returned she had improved. + +She was better again the next day, and the next; but on the fourth she +was in a very critical state. She lay quite silent during the Doctor's +visit, until he, thinking he read in her eyes a wish to say something to +him alone, sent her husband and the quadroon out of the room on separate +errands at the same moment. And immediately she exclaimed:-- + +"Doctor, save my life! You mustn't let me die! Save me, for my husband's +sake! To lose all he's lost for me, and then to lose me too--save me, +Doctor! save me!" + +"I'm going to do it!" said he. "You shall get well!" + +And what with his skill and her endurance it turned out so. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +CONVALESCENCE AND ACQUAINTANCE. + + +A man's clothing is his defence; but with a woman all dress is +adornment. Nature decrees it; adornment is her instinctive delight. And, +above all, the adorning of a bride; it brings out so charmingly the +meaning of the thing. Therein centres the gay consent of all mankind and +womankind to an innocent, sweet apostasy from the ranks of both. The +value of living--which is loving; the sacredest wonders of life; all +that is fairest and of best delight in thought, in feeling, yea, in +substance,--all are apprehended under the floral crown and hymeneal +veil. So, when at length one day Mrs. Richling said, "Madame Zenobie, +don't you think I might sit up?" it would have been absurd to doubt the +quadroon's willingness to assist her in dressing. True, here was neither +wreath nor veil, but here was very young wifehood, and its re-attiring +would be like a proclamation of victory over the malady that had striven +to put two hearts asunder. Her willingness could hardly be doubted, +though she smiled irresponsibly, and said:-- + +"If you thing"-- She spread her eyes and elbows suddenly in the manner +of a crab, with palms turned upward and thumbs outstretched--"Well!"--and +so dropped them. + +"You don't want wait till de doctah comin'?" she asked. + +"I don't think he's coming; it's after his time." + +"Yass?" + +The woman was silent a moment, and then threw up one hand again, with +the forefinger lifted alertly forward. + +"I make a lill fi' biffo." + +She made a fire. Then she helped the convalescent to put on a few loose +drapings. She made no concealment of the enjoyment it gave her, though +her words were few, and generally were answers to questions; and when +at length she brought from the wardrobe, pretending not to notice her +mistake, a loose and much too ample robe of woollen and silken stuffs to +go over all, she moved as though she trod on holy ground, and distinctly +felt, herself, the thrill with which the convalescent, her young eyes +beaming their assent, let her arms into the big sleeves, and drew about +her small form the soft folds of her husband's morning-gown. + +"He goin' to fine that droll," said the quadroon. + +The wife's face confessed her pleasure. + +"It's as much mine as his," she said. + +"Is you mek dat?" asked the nurse, as she drew its silken cord about the +convalescent's waist. + +"Yes. Don't draw it tight; leave it loose--so; but you can tie the knot +tight. That will do; there!" She smiled broadly. "Don't tie me in as if +you were tying me in forever." + +Madame Zenobie understood perfectly, and, smiling in response, did tie +it as if she were tying her in forever. + +Half an hour or so later the quadroon, being--it may have been by +chance--at the street door, ushered in a person who simply bowed in +silence. + +But as he put one foot on the stair he paused, and, bending a severe +gaze upon her, asked:-- + +"Why do you smile?" + +She folded her hands limply on her bosom, and drawing a cheek and +shoulder toward each other, replied:-- + +"Nuttin'"-- + +The questioner's severity darkened. + +"Why do you smile at nothing?" + +She laid the tips of her fingers upon her lips to compose them. + +"You din come in you' carridge. She goin' to thing 'tis Miche Reechin." +The smile forced its way through her fingers. The visitor turned in +quiet disdain and went upstairs, she following. + +At the top he let her pass. She led the way and, softly pushing open the +chamber-door, entered noiselessly, turned, and, as the other stepped +across the threshold, nestled her hands one on the other at her waist, +shrank inward with a sweet smile, and waved one palm toward the huge, +blue-hung mahogany four-poster,--empty. + +The visitor gave a slight double nod and moved on across the carpet. +Before a small coal fire, in a grate too wide for it, stood a broad, +cushioned rocking-chair, with the corner of a pillow showing over its +top. The visitor went on around it. The girlish form lay in it, with +eyes closed, very still; but his professional glance quickly detected +the false pretence of slumber. A slippered foot was still slightly +reached out beyond the bright colors of the long gown, and toward the +brazen edge of the hearth-pan, as though the owner had been touching her +tiptoe against it to keep the chair in gentle motion. One cheek was on +the pillow; down the other curled a few light strands of hair that had +escaped from her brow. + +Thus for an instant. Then a smile began to wreath about the corner of +her lips; she faintly stirred, opened her eyes--and lo! Dr. Sevier, +motionless, tranquil, and grave. + +"O Doctor!" The blood surged into her face and down upon her neck. +She put her hands over her eyes, and her face into the pillow. "O +Doctor!"--rising to a sitting posture,--"I thought, of course, it +was my husband." + +The Doctor replied while she was speaking:-- + +"My carriage broke down." He drew a chair toward the fireplace, and +asked, with his face toward the dying fire:-- + +"How are you feeling to-day, madam,--stronger?" + +"Yes; I can almost say I'm well." The blush was still on her face +as he turned to receive her answer, but she smiled with a bright +courageousness that secretly amused and pleased him. "I thank you, +Doctor, for my recovery; I certainly should thank you." Her face lighted +up with that soft radiance which was its best quality, and her smile +became half introspective as her eyes dropped from his, and followed her +outstretched hand as it rearranged the farther edges of the +dressing-gown one upon another. + +"If you will take better care of yourself hereafter, madam," responded +the Doctor, thumping and brushing from his knee some specks of mud that +he may have got when his carriage broke down, "I will thank you. +But"--brush--brush--"I--doubt it." + +"Do you think you should?" she asked, leaning forward from the back of +the great chair and letting her wrists drop over the front of its broad +arms. + +"I do," said the Doctor, kindly. "Why shouldn't I? This present attack +was by your own fault." While he spoke he was looking into her eyes, +contracted at their corners by her slight smile. The face was one of +those that show not merely that the world is all unknown to them, but +that it always will be so. It beamed with inquisitive intelligence, and +yet had the innocence almost of infancy. The Doctor made a discovery; +that it was this that made her beautiful. "She _is_ beautiful," he +insisted to himself when his critical faculty dissented. + +"You needn't doubt me, Doctor. I'll try my best to take care. Why, of +course I will,--for John's sake." She looked up into his face from the +tassel she was twisting around her finger, touching the floor with her +slippers' toe and faintly rocking. + +"Yes, there's a chance there," replied the grave man, seemingly not +overmuch pleased; "I dare say everything you do or leave undone is for +his sake." + +The little wife betrayed for a moment a pained perplexity, and then +exclaimed:-- + +"Well, of course!" and waited his answer with bright eyes. + +"I have known women to think of their own sakes," was the response. + +She laughed, and with unprecedented sparkle replied:-- + +"Why, whatever's his sake is my sake. I don't see the difference. Yes, I +see, of course, how there might be a difference; but I don't see how a +woman"-- She ceased, still smiling, and, dropping her eyes to her hands, +slowly stroked one wrist and palm with the tassel of her husband's robe. + +The Doctor rose, turned his back to the mantel-piece, and looked down +upon her. He thought of the great, wide world: its thorny ways, its +deserts, its bitter waters, its unrighteousness, its self-seeking +greeds, its weaknesses, its under and over reaching, its unfaithfulness; +and then again of this--child, thrust all at once a thousand miles into +it, with never--so far as he could see--an implement, a weapon, a sense +of danger, or a refuge; well pleased with herself, as it seemed, lifted +up into the bliss of self-obliterating wifehood, and resting in her +husband with such an assurance of safety and happiness as a saint might +pray for grace to show to Heaven itself. He stood silent, feeling too +grim to speak, and presently Mrs. Richling looked up with a sudden +liveliness of eye and a smile that was half apology and half +persistence. + +"Yes, Doctor, I'm going to take care of myself." + +"Mrs. Richling, is your father a man of fortune?" + +"My father is not living," said she, gravely. "He died two years ago. He +was the pastor of a small church. No, sir; he had nothing but his small +salary, except that for some years he taught a few scholars. He taught +me." She brightened up again. "I never had any other teacher." + +The Doctor folded his hands behind him and gazed abstractedly through +the upper sash of the large French windows. The street-door was heard to +open. + +"There's John," said the convalescent, quickly, and the next moment +her husband entered. A tired look vanished from his face as he saw the +Doctor. He hurried to grasp his hand, then turned and kissed his wife. +The physician took up his hat. + +"Doctor," said the wife, holding the hand he gave her, and looking up +playfully, with her cheek against the chair-back, "you surely didn't +suspect me of being a rich girl, did you?" + +"Not at all, madam." His emphasis was so pronounced that the husband +laughed. + +"There's one comfort in the opposite condition, Doctor," said the young +man. + +"Yes?" + +"Why, yes; you see, it requires no explanation." + +"Yes, it does," said the physician; "it is just as binding on people +to show good cause why they are poor as it is to show good cause why +they're rich. Good-day, madam." The two men went out together. His word +would have been good-by, but for the fear of fresh acknowledgments. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +HARD QUESTIONS. + + +Dr. Sevier had a simple abhorrence of the expression of personal +sentiment in words. Nothing else seemed to him so utterly hollow as +the attempt to indicate by speech a regard or affection which was not +already demonstrated in behavior. So far did he keep himself aloof from +insincerity that he had barely room enough left to be candid. + +"I need not see your wife any more," he said, as he went down the stairs +with the young husband at his elbow; and the young man had learned him +well enough not to oppress him with formal thanks, whatever might have +been said or omitted upstairs. + +Madame Zenobie contrived to be near enough, as they reached the lower +floor, to come in for a share of the meagre adieu. She gave her hand +with a dainty grace and a bow that might have been imported from Paris. + +Dr. Sevier paused on the front step, half turned toward the open door +where the husband still tarried. That was not speech; it was scarcely +action; but the young man understood it and was silent. In truth, the +Doctor himself felt a pang in this sort of farewell. A physician's way +through the world is paved, I have heard one say, with these broken +bits of other's lives, of all colors and all degrees of beauty. In +his reminiscences, when he can do no better, he gathers them up, +and, turning them over and over in the darkened chamber of his +retrospection, sees patterns of delight lit up by the softened rays of +bygone time. But even this renews the pain of separation, and Dr. Sevier +felt, right here at this door-step, that, if this was to be the last of +the Richlings, he would feel the twinge of parting every time they came +up again in his memory. + +He looked at the house opposite,--where there was really nothing to look +at,--and at a woman who happened to be passing, and who was only like a +thousand others with whom he had nothing to do. + +"Richling," he said, "what brings you to New Orleans, any way?" + +Richling leaned his cheek against the door-post. + +"Simply seeking my fortune, Doctor." + +"Do you think it is here?" + +"I'm pretty sure it is; the world owes me a living." + +The Doctor looked up. + +"When did you get the world in your debt?" + +Richling lifted his head pleasantly, and let one foot down a step. + +"It owes me a chance to earn a living, doesn't it?" + +"I dare say," replied the other; "that's what it generally owes." + +"That's all I ask of it," said Richling; "if it will let us alone we'll +let it alone." + +"You've no right to allow either," said the physician. "No, sir; no," he +insisted, as the young man looked incredulous. There was a pause. "Have +you any capital?" asked the Doctor. + +"Capital! No,"--with a low laugh. + +"But surely you have something to"-- + +"Oh, yes,--a little!" + +The Doctor marked the southern "Oh." There is no "O" in Milwaukee. + +"You don't find as many vacancies as you expected to see, I +suppose--h-m-m?" + +There was an under-glow of feeling in the young man's tone as he +replied:-- + +"I was misinformed." + +"Well," said the Doctor, staring down-street, "you'll find something. +What can you do?" + +"Do? Oh, I'm willing to do anything!" + +Dr. Sevier turned his gaze slowly, with a shade of disappointment in it. +Richling rallied to his defences. + +"I think I could make a good book-keeper, or correspondent, or cashier, +or any such"-- + +The Doctor interrupted, with the back of his head toward his listener, +looking this time up the street, riverward:-- + +"Yes;--or a shoe,--or a barrel,--h-m-m?" + +Richling bent forward with the frown of defective hearing, and the +physician raised his voice:-- + +"Or a cart-wheel--or a coat?" + +"I can make a living," rejoined the other, with a needlessly +resentful-heroic manner, that was lost, or seemed to be, on the +physician. + +"Richling,"--the Doctor suddenly faced around and fixed a kindly severe +glance on him,--"why didn't you bring letters?" + +"Why,"--the young man stopped, looked at his feet, and distinctly +blushed. "I think," he stammered--"it seems to me"--he looked up with a +faltering eye--"don't you think--I think a man ought to be able to +recommend _himself_." + +The Doctor's gaze remained so fixed that the self-recommended man could +not endure it silently. + +"_I_ think so," he said, looking down again and swinging his foot. +Suddenly he brightened. "Doctor, isn't this your carriage coming?" + +"Yes; I told the boy to drive by here when it was mended, and he might +find me." The vehicle drew up and stopped. "Still, Richling," the +physician continued, as he stepped toward it, "you had better get a +letter or two, yet; you might need them." + +The door of the carriage clapped to. There seemed a touch of vexation in +the sound. Richling, too, closed his door, but in the soft way of one in +troubled meditation. Was this a proper farewell? The thought came to +both men. + +"Stop a minute!" said Dr. Sevier to his driver. He leaned out a little +at the side of the carriage and looked back. "Never mind; he has gone +in." + +The young husband went upstairs slowly and heavily, more slowly and +heavily than might be explained by his all-day unsuccessful tramp after +employment. His wife still rested in the rocking-chair. He stood against +it, and she took his hand and stroked it. + +"Tired?" she asked, looking up at him. He gazed into the languishing +fire. + +"Yes." + +"You're not discouraged, are you?" + +"Discouraged? N-no. And yet," he said, slowly shaking his head, "I can't +see why I don't find something to do." + +"It's because you don't hunt for it," said the wife. + +He turned upon her with flashing countenance only to meet her laugh, and +to have his head pulled down to her lips. He dropped into the seat left +by the physician, laid his head back in his knit hands, and crossed his +feet under the chair. + +"John, I do _like_ Dr. Sevier." + +"Why?" The questioner looked at the ceiling. + +"Why, don't you like him?" asked the wife, and, as John smiled, she +added, "You know you like him." + +The husband grasped the poker in both hands, dropped his elbows upon his +knees, and began touching the fire, saying slowly:-- + +"I believe the Doctor thinks I'm a fool." + +"That's nothing," said the little wife; "that's only because you married +me." + +The poker stopped rattling between the grate-bars; the husband looked at +the wife. Her eyes, though turned partly away, betrayed their mischief. +There was a deadly pause; then a rush to the assault, a shower of +Cupid's arrows, a quick surrender. + +But we refrain. Since ever the world began it is Love's real, not his +sham, battles that are worth the telling. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +NESTING. + + +A fortnight passed. What with calls on his private skill, and appeals +to his public zeal, Dr. Sevier was always loaded like a dromedary. +Just now he was much occupied with the affairs of the great American +people. For all he was the furthest remove from a mere party contestant +or spoilsman, neither his righteous pugnacity nor his human sympathy +would allow him to "let politics alone." Often across this preoccupation +there flitted a thought of the Richlings. + +At length one day he saw them. He had been called by a patient, lodging +near Madame Zenobie's house. The proximity of the young couple occurred +to him at once, but he instantly realized the extreme poverty of the +chance that he should see them. To increase the improbability, the short +afternoon was near its close,--an hour when people generally were +sitting at dinner. + +But what a coquette is that same chance! As he was driving up at the +sidewalk's edge before his patient's door, the Richlings came out of +theirs, the husband talking with animation, and the wife, all sunshine, +skipping up to his side, and taking his arm with both hands, and +attending eagerly to his words. + +"Heels!" muttered the Doctor to himself, for the sound of Mrs. +Richling's gaiters betrayed that fact. Heels were an innovation still +new enough to rouse the resentment of masculine conservatism. But for +them she would have pleased his sight entirely. Bonnets, for years +microscopic, had again become visible, and her girlish face was prettily +set in one whose flowers and ribbon, just joyous and no more, were +reflected again in the double-skirted silk _barege_; while the dark +mantilla that drooped away from the broad lace collar, shading, without +hiding, her "Parodi" waist, seemed made for that very street of +heavy-grated archways, iron-railed balconies, and high lattices. The +Doctor even accepted patiently the free northern step, which is commonly +so repugnant to the southern eye. + +A heightened gladness flashed into the faces of the two young people as +they descried the physician. + +"Good-afternoon," they said, advancing. + +"Good-evening," responded the Doctor, and shook hands with each. The +meeting was an emphatic pleasure to him. He quite forgot the young man's +lack of credentials. + +"Out taking the air?" he asked. + +"Looking about," said the husband. + +"Looking up new quarters," said the wife, knitting her fingers about her +husband's elbow and drawing closer to it. + +"Were you not comfortable?" + +"Yes; but the rooms are larger than we need." + +"Ah!" said the Doctor; and there the conversation sank. There was no +topic suited to so fleeting a moment, and when they had smiled all round +again Dr. Sevier lifted his hat. Ah, yes, there was one thing. + +"Have you found work?" asked the Doctor of Richling. + +The wife glanced up for an instant into her husband's face, and then +down again. + +"No," said Richling, "not yet. If you should hear of anything, +Doctor"--He remembered the Doctor's word about letters, stopped +suddenly, and seemed as if he might even withdraw the request; but the +Doctor said:-- + +"I will; I will let you know." He gave his hand to Richling. It was on +his lips to add: "And should you need," etc.; but there was the wife at +the husband's side. So he said no more. The pair bowed their cheerful +thanks; but beside the cheer, or behind it, in the husband's face, was +there not the look of one who feels the odds against him? And yet, while +the two men's hands still held each other, the look vanished, and the +young man's light grasp had such firmness in it that, for this cause +also, the Doctor withheld his patronizing utterance. He believed he +would himself have resented it had he been in Richling's place. + +The young pair passed on, and that night, as Dr. Sevier sat at his +fireside, an uncompanioned widower, he saw again the young wife look +quickly up into her husband's face, and across that face flit and +disappear its look of weary dismay, followed by the air of fresh courage +with which the young couple had said good-by. + +"I wish I had spoken," he thought to himself; "I wish I had made the +offer." + +And again:-- + +"I hope he didn't tell her what I said about the letters. Not but I was +right, but it'll only wound her." + +But Richling had told her; he always "told her everything;" she could +not possibly have magnified wifehood more, in her way, than he did in +his. May be both ways were faulty; but they were extravagantly, +youthfully confident that they were not. + + * * * + +Unknown to Dr. Sevier, the Richlings had returned from their search +unsuccessful. Finding prices too much alike in Custom-house street they +turned into Burgundy. From Burgundy they passed into Du Maine. As they +went, notwithstanding disappointments, their mood grew gay and gayer. +Everything that met the eye was quaint and droll to them: men, women, +things, places,--all were more or less outlandish. The grotesqueness of +the African, and especially the French-tongued African, was to Mrs. +Richling particularly irresistible. Multiplying upon each and all of +these things was the ludicrousness of the pecuniary strait that brought +themselves and these things into contact. Everything turned to fun. + +Mrs. Richling's mirthful mood prompted her by and by to begin letting +into her inquiries and comments covert double meanings, intended for her +husband's private understanding. Thus they crossed Bourbon street. + +About there their mirth reached a climax; it was in a small house, a +sad, single-story thing, cowering between two high buildings, its eaves, +four or five feet deep, overshadowing its one street door and window. + +"Looks like a shade for weak eyes," said the wife. + +They had debated whether they should enter it or not. He thought no, she +thought yes; but he would not insist and she would not insist; she +wished him to do as he thought best, and he wished her to do as she +thought best, and they had made two or three false starts and retreats +before they got inside. But they were in there at length, and busily +engaged inquiring into the availability of a small, lace-curtained, +front room, when Richling took his wife so completely off her guard by +addressing her as "Madam," in the tone and manner of Dr. Sevier, that +she laughed in the face of the householder, who had been trying to talk +English with a French accent and a hare-lip, and they fled with haste +to the sidewalk and around the corner, where they could smile and smile +without being villains. + +"We must stop this," said the wife, blushing. "We _must_ stop it. We're +attracting attention." + +And this was true at least as to one ragamuffin, who stood on a +neighboring corner staring at them. Yet there is no telling to what +higher pitch their humor might have carried them if Mrs. Richling had +not been weighted down by the constant necessity of correcting her +husband's statement of their wants. This she could do, because his +exactions were all in the direction of her comfort. + +"But, John," she would say each time as they returned to the street and +resumed their quest, "those things cost; you can't afford them, can +you?" + +"Why, you can't be comfortable without them," he would answer. + +"But that's not the question, John. We _must_ take cheaper lodgings, +mustn't we?" + +Then John would be silent, and by littles their gayety would rise again. + +One landlady was so good-looking, so manifestly and entirely Caucasian, +so melodious of voice, and so modest in her account of the rooms she +showed, that Mrs. Richling was captivated. The back room on the second +floor, overlooking the inner court and numerous low roofs beyond, was +suitable and cheap. + +"Yes," said the sweet proprietress, turning to Richling, who hung in +doubt whether it was quite good enough, "yesseh, I think you be pretty +well in that room yeh.[1] Yesseh, I'm shoe you be _verrie_ well; +yesseh." + + [1] "Yeh"--_ye_, as in _yearn_. + +"Can we get them at once?" + +"Yes? At once? Yes? Oh, yes?" + +No downward inflections from her. + +"Well,"--the wife looked at the husband; he nodded,--"well, we'll take +it." + +"Yes?" responded the landlady; "well?" leaning against a bedpost and +smiling with infantile diffidence, "you dunt want no ref'ence?" + +"No," said John, generously, "oh, no; we can trust each other that far, +eh?" + +"Oh, yes?" replied the sweet creature; then suddenly changing +countenance, as though she remembered something. "But daz de troub'--de +room not goin' be vacate for t'ree mont'." + +She stretched forth her open palms and smiled, with one arm still around +the bedpost. + +"Why," exclaimed Mrs. Richling, the very statue of astonishment, "you +said just now we could have it at once!" + +"Dis room? _Oh_, no; nod _dis_ room." + +"I don't see how I could have misunderstood you." + +The landlady lifted her shoulders, smiled, and clasped her hands across +each other under her throat. Then throwing them apart she said +brightly:-- + +"No, I say at Madame La Rose. Me, my room is all fill'. At Madame La +Rose, I say, I think you be pritty well. I'm shoe you be verrie well +at Madame La Rose. I'm sorry. But you kin paz yondeh--'tiz juz ad the +cawneh? And I am shoe I think you be pritty well at Madame La Rose." + +She kept up the repetition, though Mrs. Richling, incensed, had turned +her back, and Richling was saying good-day. + +"She did say the room was vacant!" exclaimed the little wife, as they +reached the sidewalk. But the next moment there came a quick twinkle +from her eye, and, waving her husband to go on without her, she said, +"You kin paz yondeh; at Madame La Rose I am shoe you be pritty sick." +Thereupon she took his arm,--making everybody stare and smile to see a +lady and gentleman arm in arm by daylight,--and they went merrily on +their way. + +The last place they stopped at was in Royal street. The entrance +was bad. It was narrow even for those two. The walls were stained by +dampness, and the smell of a totally undrained soil came up through the +floor. The stairs ascended a few steps, came too near a low ceiling, and +shot forward into cavernous gloom to find a second rising place +farther on. But the rooms, when reached, were a tolerably pleasant +disappointment, and the proprietress a person of reassuring amiability. + +She bestirred herself in an obliging way that was the most charming +thing yet encountered. She gratified the young people every moment +afresh with her readiness to understand or guess their English queries +and remarks, hung her head archly when she had to explain away little +objections, delivered her No sirs with gravity and her Yes sirs with +bright eagerness, shook her head slowly with each negative announcement, +and accompanied her affirmations with a gracious bow and a smile full of +rice powder. + +She rendered everything so agreeable, indeed, that it almost seemed +impolite to inquire narrowly into matters, and when the question of +price had to come up it was really difficult to bring it forward, and +Richling quite lost sight of the economic rules to which he had silently +acceded in the _Rue Du Maine_. + +"And you will carpet the floor?" he asked, hovering off of the main +issue. + +"Put coppit? Ah! cettainlee!" she replied, with a lovely bow and a wave +of the hand toward Mrs. Richling, whom she had already given the same +assurance. + +"Yes," responded the little wife, with a captivated smile, and nodded to +her husband. + +"We want to get the decentest thing that is cheap," he said, as the +three stood close together in the middle of the room. + +The landlady flushed. + +"No, no, John," said the wife, quickly, "don't you know what we said?" +Then, turning to the proprietress, she hurried to add, "We want the +cheapest thing that is decent." + +But the landlady had not waited for the correction. + +"_Dis_sent! You want somesin _dis_sent!" She moved a step backward on +the floor, scoured and smeared with brick-dust, her ire rising visibly +at every heart-throb, and pointing her outward-turned open hand +energetically downward, added:-- + +"'Tis yeh!" She breathed hard. "_Mais_, no; you don't _want_ somesin +dissent. No!" She leaned forward interrogatively: "You want somesin +tchip?" She threw both elbows to the one side, cast her spread hands +off in the same direction, drew the cheek on that side down into the +collar-bone, raised her eyebrows, and pushed her upper lip with her +lower, scornfully. + +At that moment her ear caught the words of the wife's apologetic +amendment. They gave her fresh wrath and new opportunity. For her new +foe was a woman, and a woman trying to speak in defence of the husband +against whose arm she clung. + +"Ah-h-h!" Her chin went up; her eyes shot lightning; she folded her arms +fiercely, and drew herself to her best height; and, as Richling's eyes +shot back in rising indignation, cried:-- + +"Ziss pless? 'Tis not ze pless! Zis pless--is diss'nt pless! I am +diss'nt woman, me! Fo w'at you come in yeh?" + +"My dear madam! My husband"-- + +"Dass you' uzban'?" pointing at him. + +"Yes!" cried the two Richlings at once. + +The woman folded her arms again, turned half-aside, and, lifting her +eyes to the ceiling, simply remarked, with an ecstatic smile:-- + +"Humph!" and left the pair, red with exasperation, to find the street +again through the darkening cave of the stair-way. + + * * * + +It was still early the next morning, when Richling entered his wife's +apartment with an air of brisk occupation. She was pinning her brooch at +the bureau glass. + +"Mary," he exclaimed, "put something on and come see what I've +found! The queerest, most romantic old thing in the city; the most +comfortable--and the cheapest! Here, is this the wardrobe key? To save +time I'll get your bonnet." + +"No, no, no!" cried the laughing wife, confronting him with sparkling +eyes, and throwing herself before the wardrobe; "I can't let you touch +my bonnet!" + +There is a limit, it seems, even to a wife's subserviency. + +However, in a very short time afterward, by the feminine measure, they +were out in the street, and people were again smiling at the pretty pair +to see her arm in his, and she actually _keeping step_. 'Twas very +funny. + +As they went John described his discovery: A pair of huge, solid green +gates immediately on the sidewalk, in the dull facade of a tall, red +brick building with old carved vinework on its window and door frames. +Hinges a yard long on the gates; over the gates a semi-circular grating +of iron bars an inch in diameter; in one of these gates a wicket, and +on the wicket a heavy, battered, highly burnished brass knocker. A +short-legged, big-bodied, and very black slave to usher one through the +wicket into a large, wide, paved corridor, where from the middle joist +overhead hung a great iron lantern. Big double doors at the far end, +standing open, flanked with diamond-paned side-lights of colored glass, +and with an arch at the same, fan-shaped, above. Beyond these doors and +showing through them, a flagged court, bordered all around by a narrow, +raised parterre under pomegranate and fruit-laden orange, and +over-towered by vine-covered and latticed walls, from whose ragged +eaves vagabond weeds laughed down upon the flowers of the parterre below, +robbed of late and early suns. Stairs old fashioned, broad; rooms, their +choice of two; one looking down into the court, the other into the +street; furniture faded, capacious; ceilings high; windows, each opening +upon its own separate small balcony, where, instead of balustrades, was +graceful iron scroll-work, centered by some long-dead owner's monogram +two feet in length; and on the balcony next the division wall, close to +another on the adjoining property, a quarter circle of iron-work set +like a blind-bridle, and armed with hideous prongs for house-breakers to +get impaled on. + +"Why, in there," said Richling, softly, as they hurried in, "we'll be +hid from the whole world, and the whole world from us." + +The wife's answer was only the upward glance of her blue eyes into his, +and a faint smile. + +The place was all it had been described to be, and more,--except in one +particular. + +"And my husband tells me"--The owner of said husband stood beside him, +one foot a little in advance of the other, her folded parasol hanging +down the front of her skirt from her gloved hands, her eyes just +returning to the landlady's from an excursion around the ceiling, and +her whole appearance as fresh as the pink flowers that nestled between +her brow and the rim of its precious covering. She smiled as she began +her speech, but not enough to spoil what she honestly believed to be a +very business-like air and manner. John had quietly dropped out of the +negotiations, and she felt herself put upon her mettle as his agent. +"And my husband tells me the price of this front room is ten dollars a +month." + +"Munse?" + +The respondent was a very white, corpulent woman, who constantly panted +for breath, and was everywhere sinking down into chairs, with her limp, +unfortified skirt dropping between her knees, and her hands pressed on +them exhaustedly. + +"Munse?" She turned from husband to wife, and back again, a glance of +alarmed inquiry. + +Mary tried her hand at French. + +"Yes; _oui, madame_. Ten dollah the month--_le mois_." + +Intelligence suddenly returned. Madame made a beautiful, silent O with +her mouth and two others with her eyes. + +"Ah _non_! By munse? No, madame. Ah-h! impossybl'! By _wick_, yes; ten +dollah de wick! Ah!" + +She touched her bosom with the wide-spread fingers of one hand and threw +them toward her hearers. + +The room-hunters got away, yet not so quickly but they heard behind and +above them her scornful laugh, addressed to the walls of the empty room. + +A day or two later they secured an apartment, cheap, +and--morally--decent; but otherwise--ah! + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +DISAPPEARANCE. + + +It was the year of a presidential campaign. The party that afterward +rose to overwhelming power was, for the first time, able to put its +candidate fairly abreast of his competitors. The South was all afire. +Rising up or sitting down, coming or going, week-day or Sabbath-day, +eating or drinking, marrying or burying, the talk was all of slavery, +abolition, and a disrupted country. + +Dr. Sevier became totally absorbed in the issue. He was too +unconventional a thinker ever to find himself in harmony with all the +declarations of any party, and yet it was a necessity of his nature to +be in the _melee_. He had his own array of facts, his own peculiar +deductions; his own special charges of iniquity against this party and +of criminal forbearance against that; his own startling political +economy; his own theory of rights; his own interpretations of the +Constitution; his own threats and warnings; his own exhortations, and +his own prophecies, of which one cannot say all have come true. But he +poured them forth from the mighty heart of one who loved his country, +and sat down with a sense of duty fulfilled and wiped his pale forehead +while the band played a polka. + +It hardly need be added that he proposed to dispense with politicians, +or that, when "the boys" presently counted him into their party team for +campaign haranguing, he let them clap the harness upon him and splashed +along in the mud with an intention as pure as snow. + +"Hurrah for"-- + +Whom it is no matter now. It was not Fremont. Buchanan won the race. Out +went the lights, down came the platforms, rockets ceased to burst; it +was of no use longer to "Wait for the wagon"; "Old Dan Tucker" got "out +of the way," small boys were no longer fellow-citizens, dissolution was +postponed, and men began to have an eye single to the getting of money. + +A mercantile friend of Dr. Sevier had a vacant clerkship which it was +necessary to fill. A bright recollection flashed across the Doctor's +memory. + +"Narcisse!" + +"Yesseh!" + +"Go to Number 40 Custom-house street and inquire for Mr. Fledgeling; or, +if he isn't in, for Mrs. Fledge--humph! Richling, I mean; I"-- + +Narcisse laughed aloud. + +"Ha-ha-ha! daz de way, sometime'! My hant she got a honcl'--he says, +once 'pon a time"-- + +"Never mind! Go at once!" + +"All a-ight, seh!" + +"Give him this card"-- + +"Yesseh!" + +"These people"-- + +"Yesseh!" + +"Well, wait till you get your errand, can't you? These"-- + +"Yesseh!" + +"These people want to see him." + +"All a-ight, seh!" + +Narcisse threw open and jerked off a worsted jacket, took his coat down +from a peg, transferred a snowy handkerchief from the breast-pocket of +the jacket to that of the coat, felt in his pantaloons to be sure that +he had his match-case and cigarettes, changed his shoes, got his hat +from a high nail by a little leap, and put it on a head as handsome as +Apollo's. + +"Doctah Seveeah," he said, "in fact, I fine that a ve'y gen'lemany young +man, that Mistoo Itchlin, weely, Doctah." + +The Doctor murmured to himself from the letter he was writing. + +"Well, _au 'evoi'_, Doctah; I'm goin'." + +Out in the corridor he turned and jerked his chin up and curled his lip, +brought a match and cigarette together in the lee of his hollowed hand, +took one first, fond draw, and went down the stairs as if they were on +fire. + +At Canal street he fell in with two noble fellows of his own circle, and +the three went around by way of Exchange alley to get a glass of soda at +McCloskey's old down-town stand. His two friends were out of employment +at the moment,--making him, consequently, the interesting figure in the +trio as he inveighed against his master. + +"Ah, phooh!" he said, indicating the end of his speech by dropping the +stump of his cigarette into the sand on the floor and softly spitting +upon it,--"_le_ Shylock _de la rue_ Carondelet!"--and then in English, +not to lose the admiration of the Irish waiter:-- + +"He don't want to haugment me! I din hass 'im, because the 'lection. But +you juz wait till dat firce of Jannawerry!" + +The waiter swathed the zinc counter, and inquired why Narcisse did not +make his demands at the present moment. + +"W'y I don't hass 'im now? Because w'en I hass 'im he know' he's got to +_do_ it! You thing I'm goin' to kill myseff workin'?" + +Nobody said yes, and by and by he found himself alive in the house of +Madame Zenobie. The furniture was being sold at auction, and the house +was crowded with all sorts and colors of men and women. A huge sideboard +was up for sale as he entered, and the crier was crying:-- + +"Faw-ty-fi' dollah! faw-ty-fi' dollah, ladies an' gentymen! On'y +faw-ty-fi' dollah fo' thad magniffyzan sidebode! _Quarante-cinque +piastres, seulement, messieurs! Les_ knobs _vaut bien cette prix_! +Gentymen, de knobs is worse de money! Ladies, if you don' stop dat +talkin', I will not sell one thing mo'! _Et quarante cinque +piastres_--faw-ty-fi' dollah"-- + +"Fifty!" cried Narcisse, who had not owned that much at one time since +his father was a constable; realizing which fact, he slipped away +upstairs and found Madame Zenobie half crazed at the slaughter of her +assets. + +She sat in a chair against the wall of the room the Richlings had +occupied, a spectacle of agitated dejection. Here and there about the +apartment, either motionless in chairs, or moving noiselessly about, +and pulling and pushing softly this piece of furniture and that, were +numerous vulture-like persons of either sex, waiting the up-coming of +the auctioneer. Narcisse approached her briskly. + +"Well, Madame Zenobie!"--he spoke in French--"is it you who lives here? +Don't you remember me? What! No? You don't remember how I used to steal +figs from you?" + +The vultures slowly turned their heads. Madame Zenobie looked at him in +a dazed way. + +No, she did not remember. So many had robbed her--all her life. + +"But you don't look at me, Madame Zenobie. Don't you remember, for +example, once pulling a little boy--as little as _that_--out of your +fig-tree, and taking the half of a shingle, split lengthwise, in your +hand, and his head under your arm,--swearing you would do it if you died +for it,--and bending him across your knee,"--he began a vigorous but +graceful movement of the right arm, which few members of our fallen race +could fail to recognize,--"and you don't remember me, my old friend?" + +She looked up into the handsome face with a faint smile of affirmation. +He laughed with delight. + +"The shingle was _that_ wide. Ah! Madame Zenobie, you did it well!" He +softly smote the memorable spot, first with one hand and then with the +other, shrinking forward spasmodically with each contact, and throwing +utter woe into his countenance. The general company smiled. He suddenly +put on great seriousness. + +"Madame Zenobie, I hope your furniture is selling well?" He still spoke +in French. + +She cast her eyes upward pleadingly, caught her breath, threw the back +of her hand against her temple, and dashed it again to her lap, shaking +her head. + +Narcisse was sorry. + +"I have been doing what I could for you, downstairs,--running up the +prices of things. I wish I could stay to do more, for the sake of old +times. I came to see Mr. Richling, Madame Zenobie; is he in? Dr. Sevier +wants him." + +Richling? Why, the Richlings did not live there! The Doctor must know +it. Why should she be made responsible for this mistake? It was his +oversight. They had moved long ago. Dr. Sevier had seen them looking for +apartments. Where did they live now? Ah, me! _she_ could not tell. Did +Mr. Richling owe the Doctor something? + +"Owe? Certainly not. The Doctor--on the contrary"-- + +Ah! well, indeed, she didn't know where they lived, it is true; but the +fact was, Mr. Richling happened to be there just then!--_a-c't'eure_! He +had come to get a few trifles left by his madame. + +Narcisse made instant search. Richling was not on the upper floor. He +stepped to the landing and looked down. There he went! + +"Mistoo 'Itchlin!" + +Richling failed to hear. Sharper ears might have served him better. He +passed out by the street door. Narcisse stopped the auction by the noise +he made coming downstairs after him. He had some trouble with the front +door,--lost time there, but got out. + +Richling was turning a corner. Narcisse ran there and looked; looked +up--looked down--looked into every store and shop on either side of the +way clear back to Canal street; crossed it, went back to the Doctor's +office, and reported. If he omitted such details as having seen and then +lost sight of the man he sought, it may have been in part from the +Doctor's indisposition to give him speaking license. The conclusion was +simple: the Richlings could not be found. + + * * * + +The months of winter passed. No sign of them. + +"They've gone back home," the Doctor often said to himself. How +much better that was than to stay where they had made a mistake in +venturing, and become the nurslings of patronizing strangers! He gave his +admiration free play, now that they were quite gone. True courage that +Richling had--courage to retreat when retreat is best! And his wife--ah! +what a reminder of--hush, memory! + +"Yes, they must have gone home!" The Doctor spoke very positively, +because, after all, he was haunted by doubt. + +One spring morning he uttered a soft exclamation as he glanced at his +office-slate. The first notice on it read:-- + + Please call as soon as you can at number 292 St. Mary street, + corner of Prytania. Lower corner--opposite the asylum. + JOHN RICHLING. + +The place was far up in the newer part of the American quarter. The +signature had the appearance as if the writer had begun to write some +other name, and had changed it to Richling. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A QUESTION OF BOOK-KEEPING. + + +A day or two after Narcisse had gone looking for Richling at the house +of Madame Zenobie, he might have found him, had he known where to +search, in Tchoupitoulas street. + +Whoever remembers that thoroughfare as it was in those days, when the +commodious "cotton-float" had not quite yet come into use, and Poydras +and other streets did not so vie with Tchoupitoulas in importance as +they do now, will recall a scene of commercial hurly-burly that inspired +much pardonable vanity in the breast of the utilitarian citizen. Drays, +drays, drays! Not the light New York things; but big, heavy, solid +affairs, many of them drawn by two tall mules harnessed tandem. Drays +by threes and by dozens, drays in opposing phalanxes, drays in long +processions, drays with all imaginable kinds of burden; cotton in bales, +piled as high as the omnibuses; leaf tobacco in huge hogsheads; cases of +linens and silks; stacks of raw-hides; crates of cabbages; bales of +prints and of hay; interlocked heaps of blue and red ploughs; bags of +coffee, and spices, and corn; bales of bagging; barrels, casks, and +tierces; whisky, pork, onions, oats, bacon, garlic, molasses, and other +delicacies; rice, sugar,--what was there not? Wines of France and Spain +in pipes, in baskets, in hampers, in octaves; queensware from England; +cheeses, like cart-wheels, from Switzerland; almonds, lemons, raisins, +olives, boxes of citron, casks of chains; specie from Vera Cruz; cries +of drivers, cracking of whips, rumble of wheels, tremble of earth, +frequent gorge and stoppage. It seemed an idle tale to say that any one +could be lacking bread and raiment. "We are a great city," said the +patient foot-passengers, waiting long on street corners for opportunity +to cross the way. + +On one of these corners paused Richling. He had not found employment, +but you could not read that in his face; as well as he knew himself, he +had come forward into the world prepared amiably and patiently to be, to +do, to suffer anything, provided it was not wrong or ignominious. He did +not see that even this is not enough in this rough world; nothing had +yet taught him that one must often gently suffer rudeness and wrong. As +to what constitutes ignominy he had a very young man's--and, shall we +add? a very American--idea. He could not have believed, had he been +told, how many establishments he had passed by, omitting to apply in +them for employment. He little dreamed he had been too select. He had +entered not into any house of the Samaritans, to use a figure; much +less, to speak literally, had he gone to the lost sheep of the house of +Israel. Mary, hiding away in uncomfortable quarters a short stone's +throw from Madame Zenobie's, little imagined that, in her broad irony +about his not hunting for employment, there was really a tiny seed of +truth. She felt sure that two or three persons who had seemed about to +employ him had failed to do so because they detected the defect in his +hearing, and in one or two cases she was right. + +Other persons paused on the same corner where Richling stood, under the +same momentary embarrassment. One man, especially busy-looking, drew +very near him. And then and there occurred this simple accident,--that +at last he came in contact with the man who had work to give him. This +person good-humoredly offered an impatient comment on their enforced +delay. Richling answered in sympathetic spirit, and the first speaker +responded with a question:-- + +"Stranger in the city?" + +"Yes." + +"Buying goods for up-country?" + +It was a pleasant feature of New Orleans life that sociability to +strangers on the street was not the exclusive prerogative of gamblers' +decoys. + +"No; I'm looking for employment." + +"Aha!" said the man, and moved away a little. But in a moment Richling, +becoming aware that his questioner was glancing all over him with +critical scrutiny, turned, and the man spoke. + +"D'you keep books?" + +Just then a way opened among the vehicles; and the man, young and +muscular, darted into it, and Richling followed. + +"I _can_ keep books," he said, as they reached the farther curb-stone. + +The man seized him by the arm. + +"D'you see that pile of codfish and herring where that tall man is at +work yonder with a marking-pot and brush? Well, just beyond there is a +boarding-house, and then a hardware store; you can hear them throwing +down sheets of iron. Here; you can see the sign. See? Well, the next is +my store. Go in there--upstairs into the office--and wait till I come." + +Richling bowed and went. In the office he sat down and waited what +seemed a very long time. Could he have misunderstood? For the man did +not come. There was a person sitting at a desk on the farther side of +the office, writing, who had not lifted his head from first to last, +Richling said:-- + +"Can you tell me when the proprietor will be in?" + +The writer's eyes rose, and dropped again upon his writing. + +"What do you want with him?" + +"He asked me to wait here for him." + +"Better wait, then." + +Just then in came the merchant. Richling rose, and he uttered a rude +exclamation:-- + +"_I_ forgot you completely! Where did you say you kept books at, last?" + +"I've not kept anybody's books yet, but I can do it." + +The merchant's response was cold and prompt. He did not look at +Richling, but took a sample vial of molasses from a dirty mantel-piece +and lifted it between his eyes and the light, saying:-- + +"You can't do any such thing. I don't want you." + +"Sir," said Richling, so sharply that the merchant looked round, "if you +don't want me I don't want you; but you mustn't attempt to tell me that +what I say is not true!" He had stepped forward as he began to speak, +but he stopped before half his words were uttered, and saw his folly. +Even while his voice still trembled with passion and his head was up, he +colored with mortification. That feeling grew no less when his offender +simply looked at him, and the man at the desk did not raise his eyes. It +rather increased when he noticed that both of them were young--as young +as he. + +"I don't doubt your truthfulness," said the merchant, marking the effect +of his forbearance; "but you ought to know you can't come in and take +charge of a large set of books in the midst of a busy season, when +you've never kept books before." + +"I don't know it at all." + +"Well, I do," said the merchant, still more coldly than before. "There +are my books," he added, warming, and pointed to three great canvassed +and black-initialled volumes standing in a low iron safe, "left only +yesterday in such a snarl, by a fellow who had 'never kept books, but +knew how,' that I shall have to open another set! After this I shall +have a book-keeper who has kept books." + +He turned away. + +Some weeks afterward Richling recalled vividly a thought that had struck +him only faintly at this time: that, beneath much superficial severity +and energy, there was in this establishment a certain looseness of +management. It may have been this half-recognized thought that gave him +courage, now, to say, advancing another step:-- + +"One word, if you please." + +"It's no use, my friend." + +"It may be." + +"How?" + +"Get an experienced book-keeper for your new set of books"-- + +"You can bet your bottom dollar!" said the merchant, turning again and +running his hands down into his lower pockets. "And even he'll have as +much as he can do"-- + +"That is just what I wanted you to say," interrupted Richling, trying +hard to smile; "then you can let me straighten up the old set." + +"Give a new hand the work of an expert!" + +The merchant almost laughed out. He shook his head and was about to say +more, when Richling persisted:-- + +"If I don't do the work to your satisfaction don't pay me a cent." + +"I never make that sort of an arrangement; no, sir!" + +Unfortunately it had not been Richling's habit to show this pertinacity, +else life might have been easier to him as a problem; but these two +young men, his equals in age, were casting amused doubts upon his +ability to make good his professions. The case was peculiar. He reached +a hand out toward the books. + +"Let me look over them for one day; if I don't convince you the next +morning in five minutes that I can straighten them I'll leave them +without a word." + +The merchant looked down an instant, and then turned to the man at the +desk. + +"What do you think of that, Sam?" + +Sam set his elbows upon the desk, took the small end of his pen-holder +in his hands and teeth, and, looking up, said:-- + +"I don't know; you might--try him." + +"What did you say your name was?" asked the other, again facing +Richling. "Ah, yes! Who are your references, Mr. Richmond?" + +"Sir?" Richling leaned slightly forward and turned his ear. + +"I say, who knows you?" + +"Nobody." + +"Nobody! Where are you from?" + +"Milwaukee." + +The merchant tossed out his arm impatiently. + +"Oh, I can't do that kind o' business." + +He turned abruptly, went to his desk, and, sitting down half-hidden by +it, took up an open letter. + +"I bought that coffee, Sam," he said, rising again and moving farther +away. + +"Um-hum," said Sam; and all was still. + +Richling stood expecting every instant to turn on the next and go. Yet +he went not. Under the dusty front windows of the counting-room the +street was roaring below. Just beyond a glass partition at his back a +great windlass far up under the roof was rumbling with the descent of +goods from a hatchway at the end of its tense rope. Salesmen were +calling, trucks were trundling, shipping clerks and porters were +replying. One brawny fellow he saw, through the glass, take a herring +from a broken box, and stop to feed it to a sleek, brindled mouser. Even +the cat was valued; but he--he stood there absolutely zero. He saw it. +He saw it as he never had seen it before in his life. This truth smote +him like a javelin: that all this world wants is a man's permission to +do without him. Right then it was that he thought he swallowed all his +pride; whereas he only tasted its bitter brine as like a wave it took +him up and lifted him forward bodily. He strode up to the desk beyond +which stood the merchant, with the letter still in his hand, and said:-- + +"I've not gone yet! I may have to be turned off by you, but not in this +manner!" + +The merchant looked around at him with a smile of surprise, mixed with +amusement and commendation, but said nothing. Richling held out his open +hand. + +"I don't ask you to trust me. Don't trust me. Try me!" + +He looked distressed. He was not begging, but he seemed to feel as +though he were. + +The merchant dropped his eyes again upon the letter, and in that +attitude asked:-- + +"What do you say, Sam?" + +"He can't hurt anything," said Sam. + +The merchant looked suddenly at Richling. + +"You're not from Milwaukee. You're a Southern man." + +Richling changed color. + +"I said Milwaukee." + +"Well," said the merchant, "I hardly know. Come and see me further about +it to-morrow morning. I haven't time to talk now." + + * * * + +"Take a seat," he said, the next morning, and drew up a chair sociably +before the returned applicant. "Now, suppose I was to give you those +books, all in confusion as they are, what would you do first of all?" + +Mary fortunately had asked the same question the night before, and her +husband was entirely ready with an answer which they had studied out in +bed. + +"I should send your deposit-book to bank to be balanced, and, without +waiting for it, I should begin to take a trial-balance off the books. If +I didn't get one pretty soon, I'd drop that for the time being, and turn +in and render the accounts of everybody on the books, asking them to +examine and report." + +"All right," said the merchant, carelessly; "we'll try you." + +"Sir?" Richling bent his ear. + +"_All right; we'll try you!_ I don't care much about recommendations. I +generally most always make up my opinion about a man from looking at +him. I'm that sort of a man." + +He smiled with inordinate complacency. + +So, week by week, as has been said already, the winter passed,--Richling +on one side of the town, hidden away in his work, and Dr. Sevier on the +other, very positive that the "young pair" must have returned to +Milwaukee. + +At length the big books were readjusted in all their hundreds of pages, +were balanced, and closed. Much satisfaction was expressed; but another +man had meantime taken charge of the new books,--one who influenced +business, and Richling had nothing to do but put on his hat. + +However, the house cheerfully recommended him to a neighboring firm, +which also had disordered books to be righted; and so more weeks passed. +Happy weeks! Happy days! Ah, the joy of them! John bringing home money, +and Mary saving it! + +"But, John, it seems such a pity not to have stayed with A, B, & Co.; +doesn't it?" + +"I don't think so. I don't think they'll last much longer." + +And when he brought word that A, B, & Co. had gone into a thousand +pieces Mary was convinced that she had a very far-seeing husband. + +By and by, at Richling's earnest and restless desire, they moved their +lodgings again. And thus we return by a circuit to the morning when Dr. +Sevier, taking up his slate, read the summons that bade him call at the +corner of St. Mary and Prytania streets. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +WHEN THE WIND BLOWS. + + +The house stands there to-day. A small, pinched, frame, +ground-floor-and-attic, double tenement, with its roof sloping toward +St. Mary street and overhanging its two door-steps that jut out on the +sidewalk. There the Doctor's carriage stopped, and in its front room he +found Mary in bed again, as ill as ever. A humble German woman, living +in the adjoining half of the house, was attending to the invalid's +wants, and had kept her daughter from the public school to send her to +the apothecary with the Doctor's prescription. + +"It is the poor who help the poor," thought the physician. + +"Is this your home?" he asked the woman softly, as he sat down by the +patient's pillow. He looked about upon the small, cheaply furnished +room, full of the neat makeshifts of cramped housewifery. + +"It's mine," whispered Mary. Even as she lay there in peril of her life, +and flattened out as though Juggernaut had rolled over her, her eyes +shone with happiness and scintillated as the Doctor exclaimed in +undertone:-- + +"Yours!" He laid his hand upon her forehead. "Where is Mr. Richling?" + +"At the office." Her eyes danced with delight. She would have begun, +then and there, to tell him all that had happened,--"had taken care of +herself all along," she said, "until they began to move. In moving, had +been _obliged_ to overwork--hardly _fixed_ yet"-- + +But the Doctor gently checked her and bade her be quiet. + +"I will," was the faint reply; "I will; but--just one thing, Doctor, +please let me say." + +"Well?" + +"John"-- + +"Yes, yes; I know; he'd be here, only you wouldn't let him stay away +from his work." + +She smiled assent, and he smiled in return. + +"'Business is business,'" he said. + +She turned a quick, sparkling glance of affirmation, as if she had +lately had some trouble to maintain that ancient truism. She was going +to speak again, but the Doctor waved his hand downward soothingly toward +the restless form and uplifted eyes. + +"All right," she whispered, and closed them. + +The next day she was worse. The physician found himself, to use his +words, "only the tardy attendant of offended nature." When he dropped +his finger-ends gently upon her temple she tremblingly grasped his hand. + +"You'll save me?" she whispered. + +"Yes," he replied; "we'll do that--the Lord helping us." + +A glad light shone from her face as he uttered the latter clause. +Whereat he made haste to add:-- + +"I don't pray, but I'm sure you do." + +She silently pressed the hand she still held. + +On Sunday he found Richling at the bedside. Mary had improved +considerably in two or three days. She lay quite still as they talked, +only shifting her glance softly from one to the other as one and then +the other spoke. The Doctor heard with interest Richling's full account +of all that had occurred since he had met them last together. Mary's +eyes filled with merriment when John told the droller part of their +experiences in the hard quarters from which they had only lately +removed. But the Doctor did not so much as smile. Richling finished, +and the physician was silent. + +"Oh, we're getting along," said Richling, stroking the small, weak hand +that lay near him on the coverlet. But still the Doctor kept silence. + +"Of course," said Richling, very quietly, looking at his wife, "we +mustn't be surprised at a backset now and then. But we're getting on." + +Mary turned her eyes toward the Doctor. Was he not going to assent at +all? She seemed about to speak. He bent his ear, and she said, with a +quiet smile:-- + +"'When the wind blows, the cradle will rock.'" + +The physician gave only a heavy-eyed "Humph!" and a faint look of +amusement. + +"What did she say?" said Richling; the words had escaped his ear. The +Doctor repeated it, and Richling, too, smiled. + +Yet it was a good speech,--why not? But the patient also smiled, and +turned her eyes toward the wall with a disconcerted look, as if the +smile might end in tears. For herein lay the very difficulty that always +brought the Doctor's carriage to the door,--the cradle would not rock. + +For a few days more that carriage continued to appear, and then ceased. +Richling dropped in one morning at Number 3-1/2 Carondelet, and settled +his bill with Narcisse. + +The young Creole was much pleased to be at length brought into actual +contact with a man of his own years, who, without visible effort, had +made an impression on Dr. Sevier. + +Until the money had been paid and the bill receipted nothing more than +a formal business phrase or two passed between them. But as Narcisse +delivered the receipted bill, with an elaborate gesture of courtesy, and +Richling began to fold it for his pocket, the Creole remarked:-- + +"I 'ope you will excuse the 'an'-a-'iting." + +Richling reopened the paper; the penmanship was beautiful. + +"Do you ever write better than this?" he asked. "Why, I wish I could +write half as well!" + +"No; I do not fine that well a-'itten. I cannot see 'ow that is,--I +nevva 'ite to the satizfagtion of my abil'ty soon in the mawnin's. I am +dest'oying my chi'og'aphy at that desk yeh." + +"Indeed?" said Richling; "why, I should think"-- + +"Yesseh, 'tis the tooth. But consunning the chi'og'aphy, Mistoo Itchlin, +I 'ave descovvud one thing to a maul cettainty, and that is, if I 'ave +something to 'ite to a young lady, I always dizguise my chi'og'aphy. +Ha-ah! I 'ave learn that! You will be aztonizh' to see in 'ow many +diffe'n' fawm' I can make my 'an'-a-'iting to appeah. That paz thoo my +fam'ly, in fact, Mistoo Itchlin. My hant, she's got a honcle w'at use' +to be cluck in a bank, w'at could make the si'natu'e of the pwesiden', +as well as of the cashieh, with that so absolute puffegtion, that they +tu'n 'im out of the bank! Yesseh. In fact, I thing you ought to know 'ow +to 'ite a ve'y fine 'an', Mistoo Itchlin." + +"N-not very," said Richling; "my hand is large and legible, but not well +adapted for--book-keeping; it's too heavy." + +"You 'ave the 'ight physio'nomie, I am shu'. You will pe'haps believe me +with difficulty, Mistoo Itchlin, but I assu' you I can tell if a man 'as +a fine chi'og'aphy aw no, by juz lookin' upon his liniment. Do you know +that Benjamin Fwanklin 'ote a v'ey fine chi'og'aphy, in fact? Also, +Voltaire. Yesseh. An' Napoleon Bonaparte. Lawd By'on muz 'ave 'ad a +beaucheouz chi'og'aphy. 'Tis impossible not to be, with that face. He is +my favo'ite poet, that Lawd By'on. Moze people pwefeh 'im to Shakspere, +in fact. Well, you muz go? I am ve'y 'appy to meck yo' acquaintanze, +Mistoo Itchlin, seh. I am so'y Doctah Seveeah is not theh pwesently. The +negs time you call, Mistoo Itchlin, you muz not be too much aztonizh to +fine me gone from yeh. Yesseh. He's got to haugment me ad the en' of +that month, an' we 'ave to-day the fifteenth Mawch. Do you smoke, Mistoo +Itchlin?" He extended a package of cigarettes. Richling accepted one. "I +smoke lawgely in that weatheh," striking a match on his thigh. "I feel +ve'y sultwy to-day. Well,"--he seized the visitor's hand,--"_au' evoi'_, +Mistoo Itchlin." And Narcisse returned to his desk happy in the +conviction that Richling had gone away dazzled. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +GENTLES AND COMMONS. + + +Dr. Sevier sat in the great easy-chair under the drop-light of his +library table trying to read a book. But his thought was not on the +page. He expired a long breath of annoyance, and lifted his glance +backward from the bottom of the page to its top. + +Why must his mind keep going back to that little cottage in St. Mary +street? What good reason was there? Would they thank him for his +solicitude? Indeed! He almost smiled his contempt of the supposition. +Why, when on one or two occasions he had betrayed a least little bit of +kindly interest,--what? Up had gone their youthful vivacity like an +umbrella. Oh, yes!--like all young folks--_their_ affairs were intensely +private. Once or twice he had shaken his head at the scantiness of all +their provisions for life. Well? They simply and unconsciously stole a +hold upon one another's hand or arm, as much as to say, "To love is +enough." When, gentlemen of the jury, it isn't enough! + +"Pshaw!" The word escaped him audibly. He drew partly up from his half +recline, and turned back a leaf of the book to try once more to make out +the sense of it. + +But there was Mary, and there was her husband. Especially Mary. Her +image came distinctly between his eyes and the page. There she was, just +as on his last visit,--a superfluous one--no charge,--sitting and plying +her needle, unaware of his approach, gently moving her rocking-chair, +and softly singing, "Flow on, thou shining river,"--the song his own +wife used to sing. "O child, child! do you think it's always going to be +'shining'?" They shouldn't be so contented. Was pride under that cloak? +Oh, no, no! But even if the content was genuine, it wasn't good. Why, +they oughtn't to be _able_ to be happy so completely out of their true +sphere. It showed insensibility. But, there again,--Richling wasn't +insensible, much less Mary. + +The Doctor let his book sink, face downward, upon his knee. + +"They're too big to be playing in the sand." He took up the book again. +"'Tisn't my business to tell them so." But before he got the volume +fairly before his eyes his professional bell rang, and he tossed the +book upon the table. + +"Well, why don't you bring him in?" he asked, in a tone of reproof, of a +servant who presented a card; and in a moment the visitor entered. + +He was a person of some fifty years of age, with a patrician face, in +which it was impossible to tell where benevolence ended and pride began. +His dress was of fine cloth, a little antique in cut, and fitting rather +loosely on a form something above the medium height, of good width, but +bent in the shoulders, and with arms that had been stronger. Years, it +might be, or possibly some unflinching struggle with troublesome facts, +had given many lines of his face a downward slant. He apologized for the +hour of his call, and accepted with thanks the chair offered him. + +"You are not a resident of the city?" asked Dr. Sevier. + +"I am from Kentucky." The voice was rich, and the stranger's general +air one of rather conscious social eminence. + +"Yes?" said the Doctor, not specially pleased, and looked at him closer. +He wore a black satin neck-stock, and dark-blue buttoned gaiters. His +hair was dyed brown. A slender frill adorned his shirt-front. + +"Mrs."--the visitor began to say, not giving the name, but waving his +index-finger toward his card, which Dr. Sevier had laid upon the table, +just under the lamp,--"my wife, Doctor, seems to be in a very feeble +condition. Her physicians have advised her to try the effects of a +change of scene, and I have brought her down to your busy city, sir." + +The Doctor assented. The stranger resumed:-- + +"Its hurry and energy are a great contrast to the plantation life, sir." + +"They're very unlike," the physician admitted. + +"This chafing of thousands of competitive designs," said the visitor, +"this great fretwork of cross purposes, is a decided change from the +quiet order of our rural life. Hmm! There everything is under the +administration of one undisputed will, and is executed by the +unquestioning obedience of our happy and contented slave peasantry. I +prefer the country. But I thought this was just the change that would +arouse and electrify an invalid who has really no tangible complaint." + +"Has the result been unsatisfactory?" + +"Entirely so. I am unexpectedly disappointed." The speaker's thought +seemed to be that the climate of New Orleans had not responded with +that hospitable alacrity which was due so opulent, reasonable, and +universally obeyed a guest. + +There was a pause here, and Dr. Sevier looked around at the book which +lay at his elbow. But the visitor did not resume, and the Doctor +presently asked:-- + +"Do you wish me to see your wife?" + +"I called to see you alone first," said the other, "because there might +be questions to be asked which were better answered in her absence." + +"Then you think you know the secret of her illness, do you?" + +"I do. I think, indeed I may say I know, it is--bereavement." + +The Doctor compressed his lips and bowed. + +The stranger drooped his head somewhat, and, resting his elbows on the +arms of his chair, laid the tips of his thumbs and fingers softly +together. + +"The truth is, sir, she cannot recover from the loss of our son." + +"An infant?" asked the Doctor. His bell rang again as he put the +question. + +"No, sir; a young man,--one whom I had thought a person of great +promise; just about to enter life." + +"When did he die?" + +"He has been dead nearly a year. I"-- The speaker ceased as the +mulatto waiting-man appeared at the open door, with a large, simple, +German face looking easily over his head from behind. + +"Toctor," said the owner of this face, lifting an immense open hand, +"Toctor, uf you bleace, Toctor, you vill bleace ugscooce me." + +The Doctor frowned at the servant for permitting the interruption. But +the gentleman beside him said:-- + +"Let him come in, sir; he seems to be in haste, sir, and I am not,--I am +not, at all." + +"Come in," said the physician. + +The new-comer stepped into the room. He was about six feet three inches +in height, three feet six in breadth, and the same in thickness. Two +kindly blue eyes shone softly in an expanse of face that had been +clean-shaven every Saturday night for many years, and that ended in a +retreating chin and a dewlap. The limp, white shirt-collar just below +was without a necktie, and the waist of his pantaloons, which seemed +intended to supply this deficiency, did not quite, but only almost +reached up to the unoccupied blank. He removed from his respectful head +a soft gray hat, whitened here and there with flour. + +"Yentlemen," he said, slowly, "you vill ugscooce me to interruptet +you,--yentlemen." + +"Do you wish to see me?" asked Dr. Sevier. + +The German made an odd gesture of deferential assent, lifting one open +hand a little in front of him to the level of his face, with the wrist +bent forward and the fingers pointing down. + +"Uf you bleace, Toctor, I toose; undt tat's te fust time I effer _tit_ +vanted a toctor. Undt you mus' ugscooce me, Toctor, to callin' on you, +ovver I vish you come undt see mine"-- + +To the surprise of all, tears gushed from his eyes. + +"Mine poor vife, Toctor!" He turned to one side, pointed his broad hand +toward the floor, and smote his forehead. + +"I yoost come in fun mine paykery undt comin' into mine howse, fen--I +see someting"--he waved his hand downward again--"someting--layin' on +te--floor--face pleck ans a nigger's; undt fen I look to see who udt +iss,--_udt is Mississ Reisen_! Toctor, I vish you come right off! I +couldn't shtayndt udt you toandt come right avay!" + +"I'll come," said the Doctor, without rising; "just write your name and +address on that little white slate yonder." + +"Toctor," said the German, extending and dipping his hat, "I'm ferra +much a-velcome to you, Toctor; undt tat's yoost fot te pottekerra by +mine corner sayt you vould too. He sayss, 'Reisen,' he sayss, 'you yoost +co to Toctor Tsewier.'" He bent his great body over the farther end of +the table and slowly worked out his name, street, and number. "Dtere udt +iss, Toctor; I put udt town on teh schlate; ovver, I hope you ugscooce +te hayndtwriding." + +"Very well. That's right. That's all." + +The German lingered. The Doctor gave a bow of dismission. + +"That's all, I say. I'll be there in a moment. That's all. Dan, order my +carriage!" + +"Yentlemen, you vill ugscooce me?" + +The German withdrew, returning each gentleman's bow with a faint wave of +the hat. + +During this interview the more polished stranger had sat with bowed +head, motionless and silent, lifting it only once and for a moment at +the German's emotional outburst. Then the upward and backward turned +face was marked with a commiseration partly artificial, but also partly +natural. He now looked up at the Doctor. + +"I shall have to leave you," said the Doctor. + +"Certainly, sir," replied the other; "by all means!" The willingness +was slightly overdone and the benevolence of tone was mixed with +complacency. "By all means," he said again; "this is one of those cases +where it is only a proper grace in the higher to yield place to the +lower." He waited for a response, but the Doctor merely frowned into +space and called for his boots. The visitor resumed:-- + +"I have a good deal of feeling, sir, for the unlettered and the vulgar. +They have their station, but they have also--though doubtless in smaller +capacity than we--their pleasures and pains." + +Seeing the Doctor ready to go, he began to rise. + +"I may not be gone long," said the physician, rather coldly; "if you +choose to wait"-- + +"I thank you; n-no-o"--The visitor stopped between a sitting and a +rising posture. + +"Here are books," said the Doctor, "and the evening papers,--'Picayune,' +'Delta,' 'True Delta.'" It seemed for a moment as though the gentleman +might sink into his seat again. "And there's the 'New York Herald.'" + +"No, sir!" said the visitor quickly, rising and smoothing himself out; +"nothing from that quarter, if you please." Yet he smiled. The Doctor +did not notice that, while so smiling, he took his card from the table. +There was something familiar in the stranger's face which the Doctor was +trying to make out. They left the house together. Outside the street +door the physician made apologetic allusion to their interrupted +interview. + +"Shall I see you at my office to-morrow? I would be happy"-- + +The stranger had raised his hat. He smiled again, as pleasantly as he +could, which was not delightful, and said, after a moment's +hesitation:-- + +"--Possibly." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +A PANTOMIME. + + +It chanced one evening about this time--the vernal equinox had just +passed--that from some small cause Richling, who was generally detained +at the desk until a late hour, was home early. The air was soft and +warm, and he stood out a little beyond his small front door-step, +lifting his head to inhale the universal fragrance, and looking in +every moment, through the unlighted front room, toward a part of the +diminutive house where a mild rattle of domestic movements could be +heard, and whence he had, a little before, been adroitly requested to +absent himself. He moved restlessly on his feet, blowing a soft tune. + +Presently he placed a foot on the step and a hand on the door-post, and +gave a low, urgent call. + +A distant response indicated that his term of suspense was nearly over. +He turned about again once or twice, and a moment later Mary appeared in +the door, came down upon the sidewalk, looked up into the moonlit sky +and down the empty, silent street, then turned and sat down, throwing +her wrists across each other in her lap, and lifting her eyes to her +husband's with a smile that confessed her fatigue. + +The moon was regal. It cast its deep contrasts of clear-cut light and +shadow among the thin, wooden, unarchitectural forms and weed-grown +vacancies of the half-settled neighborhood, investing the matter-of-fact +with mystery, and giving an unexpected charm to the unpicturesque. It +was--as Richling said, taking his place beside his wife--midspring in +March. As he spoke he noticed she had brought with her the odor of +flowers. They were pinned at her throat. + +"Where did you get them?" he asked, touching them with his fingers. + +Her face lighted up. + +"Guess." + +How could he guess? As far as he knew neither she nor he had made an +acquaintance in the neighborhood. He shook his head, and she replied:-- + +"The butcher." + +"You're a queer girl," he said, when they had laughed. + +"Why?" + +"You let these common people take to you so." + +She smiled, with a faint air of concern. + +"You don't dislike it, do you?" she asked. + +"Oh, no," he said, indifferently, and spoke of other things. + +And thus they sat, like so many thousands and thousands of young pairs +in this wide, free America, offering the least possible interest to +the great human army round about them, but sharing, or believing they +shared, in the fruitful possibilities of this land of limitless bounty, +fondling their hopes and recounting the petty minutiae of their daily +experiences. Their converse was mainly in the form of questions from +Mary and answers from John. + +"And did he say that he would?" etc. "And didn't you insist that he +should?" etc. "I don't understand how he could require you to," etc., +etc. Looking at everything from John's side, as if there never could be +any other, until at last John himself laughed softly when she asked why +he couldn't take part of some outdoor man's work, and give him part of +his own desk-work in exchange, and why he couldn't say plainly that his +work was too sedentary. + +Then she proposed a walk in the moonlight, and insisted she was not +tired; she wanted it on her own account. And so, when Richling had gone +into the house and returned with some white worsted gauze for her head +and neck and locked the door, they were ready to start. + +They were tarrying a moment to arrange this wrapping when they found it +necessary to move aside from where they stood in order to let two +persons pass on the sidewalk. + +These were a man and woman, who had at least reached middle age. The +woman wore a neatly fitting calico gown; the man, a short pilot-coat. +His pantaloons were very tight and pale. A new soft hat was pushed +forward from the left rear corner of his closely cropped head, with +the front of the brim turned down over his right eye. At each step he +settled down with a little jerk alternately on this hip and that, at the +same time faintly dropping the corresponding shoulder. They passed. John +and Mary looked at each other with a nod of mirthful approval. Why? +Because the strangers walked silently hand-in-hand. + +It was a magical night. Even the part of town where they were, so devoid +of character by day, had become all at once romantic with phantasmal +lights and glooms, echoes and silences. Along the edge of a wide +chimney-top on one blank, new hulk of a house, that nothing else could +have made poetical, a mocking-bird hopped and ran back and forth, +singing as if he must sing or die. The mere names of the streets they +traversed suddenly became sweet food for the fancy. Down at the first +corner below they turned into one that had been an old country road, +and was still named Felicity. + +Richling called attention to the word painted on a board. He merely +pointed to it in playful silence, and then let his hand sink and rest +on hers as it lay in his elbow. They were walking under the low boughs +of a line of fig-trees that overhung a high garden wall. Then some gay +thought took him; but when his downward glance met the eyes uplifted to +meet his they were grave, and there came an instantaneous tenderness +into the exchange of looks that would have been worse than uninteresting +to you or me. But the next moment she brightened up, pressed herself +close to him, and caught step. They had not owned each other long enough +to have settled into sedate possession, though they sometimes thought +they had done so. There was still a tingling ecstasy in one another's +touch and glance that prevented them from quite behaving themselves when +under the moon. + +For instance, now, they began, though in cautious undertone, to sing. +Some person approached them, and they hushed. When the stranger had +passed, Mary began again another song, alone:-- + + "Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?" + +"Hush!" said John, softly. + +She looked up with an air of mirthful inquiry, and he added:-- + +"That was the name of Dr. Sevier's wife." + +"But he doesn't hear me singing." + +"No; but it seems as if he did." + +And they sang no more. + +They entered a broad, open avenue, with a treeless, grassy way in the +middle, up which came a very large and lumbering street-car, with +smokers' benches on the roof, and drawn by tandem horses. + +"Here we turn down," said Richling, "into the way of the Naiads." (That +was the street's name.) "They're not trying to get me away." + +He looked down playfully. She was clinging to him with more energy than +she knew. + +"I'd better hold you tight," she answered. Both laughed. The nonsense of +those we love is better than the finest wit on earth. They walked on in +their bliss. Shall we follow? Fie! + +They passed down across three or four of a group of parallel streets +named for the nine muses. At Thalia they took the left, went one square, +and turned up by another street toward home. + +Their conversation had flagged. Silence was enough. The great earth was +beneath their feet, firm and solid; the illimitable distances of the +heavens stretched above their heads and before their eyes. Here was Mary +at John's side, and John at hers; John her property and she his, and +time flowing softly, shiningly on. Yea, even more. If one might believe +the names of the streets, there were Naiads on the left and Dryads on +the right; a little farther on, Hercules; yonder corner the dark +trysting-place of Bacchus and Melpomene; and here, just in advance, +the corner where Terpsichore crossed the path of Apollo. + +They came now along a high, open fence that ran the entire length +of a square. Above it a dense rank of bitter orange-trees overhung the +sidewalk, their dark mass of foliage glittering in the moonlight. Within +lay a deep, old-fashioned garden. Its white shell-walks gleamed in many +directions. A sweet breath came from its parterres of mingled hyacinths +and jonquils that hid themselves every moment in black shadows of +lagustrums and laurestines. Here, in severe order, a pair of palms, prim +as mediaeval queens, stood over against each other; and in the midst of +the garden, rising high against the sky, appeared the pillared veranda +and immense, four-sided roof of an old French colonial villa, as it +stands unchanged to-day. + +The two loiterers slackened their pace to admire the scene. There was +much light shining from the house. Mary could hear voices, and, in a +moment, words. The host was speeding his parting guests. + +"The omnibus will put you out only one block from the hotel," some one +said. + + * * * + +Dr. Sevier, returning home from a visit to a friend in Polymnia street, +had scarcely got well seated in the omnibus before he witnessed from its +window a singular dumb show. He had handed his money up to the driver as +they crossed Euterpe street, had received the change and deposited his +fare as they passed Terpsichore, and was just sitting down when the only +other passenger in the vehicle said, half-rising:-- + +"Hello! there's going to be a shooting scrape!" + +A rather elderly man and woman on the sidewalk, both of them extremely +well dressed, and seemingly on the eve of hailing the omnibus, suddenly +transferred their attention to a younger couple a few steps from them, +who appeared to have met them entirely by accident. The elderly lady +threw out her arms toward the younger man with an expression on her face +of intensest mental suffering. She seemed to cry out; but the deafening +rattle of the omnibus, as it approached them, intercepted the sound. +All four of the persons seemed, in various ways, to experience the most +violent feelings. The young man more than once moved as if about to +start forward, yet did not advance; his companion, a small, very shapely +woman, clung to him excitedly and pleadingly. The older man shook a +stout cane at the younger, talking furiously as he did so. He held the +elderly lady to him with his arm thrown about her, while she now cast +her hands upward, now covered her face with them, now wrung them, +clasped them, or extended one of them in seeming accusation against the +younger person of her own sex. In a moment the omnibus was opposite the +group. The Doctor laid his hand on his fellow-passenger's arm. + +"Don't get out. There will be no shooting." + +The young man on the sidewalk suddenly started forward, with his +companion still on his farther arm, and with his eyes steadily fixed on +those of the elder and taller man, a clenched fist lifted defensively, +and with a tense, defiant air walked hurriedly and silently by within +easy sweep of the uplifted staff. At the moment when the slight distance +between the two men began to increase, the cane rose higher, but stopped +short in its descent and pointed after the receding figure. + +"I command you to leave this town, sir!" + +Dr. Sevier looked. He looked with all his might, drawing his knee under +him on the cushion and leaning out. The young man had passed. He still +moved on, turning back as he went a face full of the fear that men show +when they are afraid of their own violence; and, as the omnibus +clattered away, he crossed the street at the upper corner and +disappeared in the shadows. + +"That's a very strange thing," said the other passenger to Dr. Sevier, +as they resumed the corner seats by the door. + +"It certainly is!" replied the Doctor, and averted his face. For when +the group and he were nearest together and the moon shone brightly +upon the four, he saw, beyond all question, that the older man was his +visitor of a few evenings before and that the younger pair were John and +Mary Richling. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +"SHE'S ALL THE WORLD." + + +Excellent neighborhood, St. Mary street, and Prytania was even better. +Everybody was very retired though, it seemed. Almost every house +standing in the midst of its shady garden,--sunny gardens are a newer +fashion of the town,--a bell-knob on the gate-post, and the gate locked. +But the Richlings cared nothing for this; not even what they should have +cared. Nor was there any unpleasantness in another fact. + +"Do you let this window stand wide this way when you are at work here, +all day?" asked the husband. The opening alluded to was on Prytania +street, and looked across the way to where the asylumed widows of "St +Anna's" could glance down into it over their poor little window-gardens. + +"Why, yes, dear!" Mary looked up from her little cane rocker with that +thoughtful contraction at the outer corners of her eyes and that +illuminated smile that between them made half her beauty. And then, +somewhat more gravely and persuasively: "Don't you suppose they like it? +They must like it. I think we can do that much for them. Would you +rather I'd shut it?" + +For answer John laid his hand on her head and gazed into her eyes. + +"Take care," she whispered; "they'll see you." + +He let his arm drop in amused despair. + +"Why, what's the window open for? And, anyhow, they're all abed and +asleep these two hours." + +They did like it, those aged widows. It fed their hearts' hunger to +see the pretty unknown passing and repassing that open window in the +performance of her morning duties, or sitting down near it with her +needle, still crooning her soft morning song,--poor, almost as poor as +they, in this world's glitter; but rich in hope and courage, and rich +beyond all count in the content of one who finds herself queen of ever +so little a house, where love is. + +"Love is enough!" said the widows. + +And certainly she made it seem so. The open window brought, now and +then, a moisture to the aged eyes, yet they liked it open. + +But, without warning one day, there was a change. It was the day after +Dr. Sevier had noticed that queer street quarrel. The window was not +closed, but it sent out no more light. The song was not heard, and many +small, faint signs gave indication that anxiety had come to be a guest +in the little house. At evening the wife was seen in her front door and +about its steps, watching in a new, restless way for her husband's +coming; and when he came it could be seen, all the way from those upper +windows, where one or two faces appeared now and then, that he was +troubled and care-worn. There were two more days like this one; but at +the end of the fourth the wife read good tidings in her husband's +countenance. He handed her a newspaper, and pointed to a list of +departing passengers. + +"They're gone!" she exclaimed. + +He nodded, and laid off his hat. She cast her arms about his neck, and +buried her head in his bosom. You could almost have seen Anxiety flying +out at the window. By morning the widows knew of a certainty that the +cloud had melted away. + +In the counting-room one evening, as Richling said good-night with +noticeable alacrity, one of his employers, sitting with his legs crossed +over the top of a desk, said to his partner:-- + +"Richling works for his wages." + +"That's all," replied the other; "he don't see his interests in ours any +more than a tinsmith would, who comes to mend the roof." + +The first one took a meditative puff or two from his cigar, tipped off +its ashes, and responded:-- + +"Common fault. He completely overlooks his immense indebtedness to the +world at large, and his dependence on it. He's a good fellow, and +bright; but he actually thinks that he and the world are starting even." + +"His wife's his world," said the other, and opened the Bills Payable +book. Who will say it is not well to sail in an ocean of love? But the +Richlings were becalmed in theirs, and, not knowing it, were satisfied. + +Day in, day out, the little wife sat at her window, and drove her +needle. Omnibuses rumbled by; an occasional wagon or cart set the dust +a-flying; the street venders passed, crying the praises of their goods +and wares; the blue sky grew more and more intense as weeks piled up +upon weeks; but the empty repetitions, and the isolation, and, worst of +all, the escape of time,--she smiled at all, and sewed on and crooned +on, in the sufficient thought that John would come, each time, when only +hours enough had passed away forever. + +Once she saw Dr. Sevier's carriage. She bowed brightly, but he--what +could it mean?--he lifted his hat with such austere gravity. Dr. Sevier +was angry. He had no definite charge to make, but that did not lessen +his displeasure. After long, unpleasant wondering, and long trusting to +see Richling some day on the street, he had at length driven by this +way purposely to see if they had indeed left town, as they had been so +imperiously commanded to do. + +This incident, trivial as it was, roused Mary to thought; and all the +rest of the day the thought worked with energy to dislodge the frame of +mind that she had acquired from her husband. + +When John came home that night and pressed her to his bosom she was +silent. And when he held her off a little and looked into her eyes, and +she tried to better her smile, those eyes stood full to the lashes and +she looked down. + +"What's the matter?" asked he, quickly. + +"Nothing!" She looked up again, with a little laugh. + +He took a chair and drew her down upon his lap. + +"What's the matter with my girl?" + +"I don't know." + +"How,--you don't know?" + +"Why, I simply don't. I can't make out what it is. If I could I'd tell +you; but I don't know at all." After they had sat silent a few +moments:-- + +"I wonder"--she began. + +"You wonder what?" asked he, in a rallying tone. + +"I wonder if there's such a thing as being too contented." + +Richling began to hum, with a playful manner:-- + + "'And she's all the world to me.' + +Is that being too"-- + +"Stop!" said Mary. "That's it." She laid her hand upon his shoulder. +"You've said it. That's what I ought not to be!" + +"Why, Mary, what on earth"-- His face flamed up "John, I'm willing to +be _more_ than all the rest of the world to you. I always must be +that. I'm going to be that forever. And you"--she kissed him +passionately--"you're all the world to me! But I've no right to be _all_ +the world to _you_. And you mustn't allow it. It's making it too small!" + +"Mary, what are you saying?" + +"Don't, John. Don't speak that way. I'm not saying anything. I'm only +trying to say something, I don't know what." + +"Neither do I," was the mock-rueful answer. + +"I only know," replied Mary, the vision of Dr. Sevier's carriage +passing before her abstracted eyes, and of the Doctor's pale face bowing +austerely within it, "that if you don't take any part or interest in the +outside world it'll take none in you; do you think it will?" + +"And who cares if it doesn't?" cried John, clasping her to his bosom. + +"I do," she replied. "Yes, I do. I've no right to steal you from the +rest of the world, or from the place in it that you ought to fill. +John"-- + +"That's my name." + +"Why can't I do something to help you?" + +John lifted his head unnecessarily. + +"No!" + +"Well, then, let's think of something we can do, without just waiting +for the wind to blow us along,--I mean," she added appeasingly, "I mean +without waiting to be employed by others." + +"Oh, yes; but that takes capital!" + +"Yes, I know; but why don't you think up something,--some new enterprise +or something,--and get somebody with capital to go in with you?" + +He shook his head. + +"You're out of your depth. And that wouldn't make so much difference, +but you're out of mine. It isn't enough to think of something; you must +know how to do it. And what do I know how to do? Nothing! Nothing that's +worth doing!" + +"I know one thing you could do." + +"What's that?" + +"You could be a professor in a college." + +John smiled bitterly. + +"Without antecedents?" he asked. + +Their eyes met; hers dropped, and both voices were silent. Mary drew a +soft sigh. She thought their talk had been unprofitable. But it had not. +John laid hold of work from that day on in a better and wiser spirit. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE BOUGH BREAKS. + + +By some trivial chance, she hardly knew what, Mary found herself one day +conversing at her own door with the woman whom she and her husband had +once smiled at for walking the moonlit street with her hand in willing +and undisguised captivity. She was a large and strong, but extremely +neat, well-spoken, and good-looking Irish woman, who might have seemed +at ease but for a faintly betrayed ambition. + +She praised with rather ornate English the good appearance and +convenient smallness of Mary's house; said her own was the same size. +That person with whom she sometimes passed "of a Sundeh"--yes, and +moonlight evenings--that was her husband. He was "ferst ingineeur" on a +steam-boat. There was a little, just discernible waggle in her head as +she stated things. It gave her decided character. + +"Ah! engineer," said Mary. + +"_Ferst_ ingineeur," repeated the woman; "you know there bees ferst +ingineeurs, an' secon' ingineeurs, an' therd ingineeurs. Yes." She +unconsciously fanned herself with a dust-pan that she had just bought +from a tin peddler. + +She lived only some two or three hundred yards away, around the corner, +in a tidy little cottage snuggled in among larger houses in Coliseum +street. She had had children, but she had lost them; and Mary's +sympathy when she told her of them--the girl and two boys--won the +woman as much as the little lady's pretty manners had dazed her. It was +not long before she began to drop in upon Mary in the hour of twilight, +and sit through it without speaking often, or making herself especially +interesting in any way, but finding it pleasant, notwithstanding. + +"John," said Mary,--her husband had come in unexpectedly,--"our +neighbor, Mrs. Riley." + +John's bow was rather formal, and Mrs. Riley soon rose and said +good-evening. + +"John," said the wife again, laying her hands on his shoulders as she +tiptoed to kiss him, "what troubles you?" Then she attempted a rallying +manner: "Don't my friends suit you?" + +He hesitated only an instant, and said:-- + +"Oh, yes, that's all right!" + +"Well, then, I don't see why you look so." + +"I've finished the task I was to do." + +"What! you haven't"-- + +"I'm out of employment." + +They went and sat down on the little hair-cloth sofa that Mrs. Riley had +just left. + +"I thought they said they would have other work for you." + +"They said they might have; but it seems they haven't." + +"And it's just in the opening of summer, too," said Mary; "why, what +right"-- + +"Oh!"--a despairing gesture and averted gaze--"they've a perfect right +if they think best. I asked them that myself at first--not too politely, +either; but I soon saw I was wrong." + +They sat without speaking until it had grown quite dark. Then John said, +with a long breath, as he rose:-- + +"It passes my comprehension." + +"What passes it?" asked Mary, detaining him by one hand. + +"The reason why we are so pursued by misfortunes." + +"But, John," she said, still holding him, "_is_ it misfortune? When I +know so well that you deserve to succeed, I think maybe it's good +fortune in disguise, after all. Don't you think it's possible? You +remember how it was last time, when A., B., & Co. failed. Maybe the best +of all is to come now!" She beamed with courage. "Why, John, it seems to +me I'd just go in the very best of spirits, the first thing to-morrow, +and tell Dr. Sevier you are looking for work. Don't you think it +might"-- + +"I've been there." + +"Have you? What did he say?" + +"He wasn't in." + + * * * + +There was another neighbor, with whom John and Mary did not get +acquainted. Not that it was more his fault than theirs; it may have been +less. Unfortunately for the Richlings there was in their dwelling no +toddling, self-appointed child commissioner to find his way in unwatched +moments to the play-ground of some other toddler, and so plant the good +seed of neighbor acquaintanceship. + +This neighbor passed four times a day. A man of fortune, aged a hale +sixty or so, who came and stood on the corner, and sometimes even rested +a foot on Mary's door-step, waiting for the Prytania omnibus, and who, +on his returns, got down from the omnibus step a little gingerly, went +by Mary's house, and presently shut himself inside a very ornamental +iron gate, a short way up St. Mary street. A child would have made him +acquainted. Even as it was, they did not escape his silent notice. It +was pleasant for him, from whose life the early dew had been dried away +by a well-risen sun, to recall its former freshness by glimpses of this +pair of young beginners. It was like having a bird's nest under his +window. + +John, stepping backward from his door one day, saying a last word to his +wife, who stood on the threshold, pushed against this neighbor as he was +moving with somewhat cumbersome haste to catch the stage, turned +quickly, and raised his hat. + +"Pardon!" + +The other uncovered his bald head and circlet of white, silken locks, +and hurried on to the conveyance. + +"President of one of the banks down-town," whispered John. + +That is the nearest they ever came to being acquainted. And even this +accident might not have occurred had not the man of snowy locks been +glancing at Mary as he passed instead of at his omnibus. + +As he sat at home that evening he remarked:-- + +"Very pretty little woman that, my dear, that lives in the little house +at the corner; who is she?" + +The lady responded, without lifting her eyes from the newspaper in which +she was interested; she did not know. The husband mused and twirled his +penknife between a finger and thumb. + +"They seem to be starting at the bottom," he observed. + +"Yes?" + +"Yes; much the same as we did." + +"I haven't noticed them particularly." + +"They're worth noticing," said the banker. + +He threw one fat knee over the other, and laid his head on the back of +his easy-chair. + +The lady's eyes were still on her paper, but she asked:-- + +"Would you like me to go and see them?" + +"No, no--unless you wish." + +She dropped the paper into her lap with a smile and a sigh. + +"Don't propose it. I have so much going to do"-- She paused, removed her +glasses, and fell to straightening the fringe of the lamp-mat. "Of +course, if you think they're in need of a friend; but from your +description"-- + +"No," he answered, quickly, "not at all. They've friends, no doubt. +Everything about them has a neat, happy look. That's what attracted my +notice. They've got friends, you may depend." He ceased, took up a +pamphlet, and adjusted his glasses. "I think I saw a sofa going in there +to-day as I came to dinner. A little expansion, I suppose." + +"It was going out," said the only son, looking up from a story-book. + +But the banker was reading. He heard nothing, and the word was not +repeated. He did not divine that a little becalmed and befogged bark, +with only two lovers in her, too proud to cry "Help!" had drifted just +yonder upon the rocks, and, spar by spar and plank by plank, was +dropping into the smooth, unmerciful sea. + +Before the sofa went there had gone, little by little, some smaller +valuables. + +"You see," said Mary to her husband, with the bright hurry of a wife +bent upon something high-handed, "we both have to have furniture; we +must have it; and I don't have to have jewelry. Don't you see?" + +"No, I"-- + +"Now, John!" There could be but one end to the debate; she had +determined that. The first piece was a bracelet. "No, I wouldn't pawn +it," she said. "Better sell it outright at once." + +But Richling could not but cling to hope and to the adornments that had +so often clasped her wrists and throat or pinned the folds upon her +bosom. Piece by piece he pawned them, always looking out ahead with +strained vision for the improbable, the incredible, to rise to his +relief. + +"Is _nothing_ going to happen, Mary?" + +Yes; nothing happened--except in the pawn-shop. + +So, all the sooner, the sofa had to go. + +"It's no use talking about borrowing," they both said. Then the bureau +went. Then the table. Then, one by one, the chairs. Very slyly it was +all done, too. Neighbors mustn't know. "Who lives there?" is a question +not asked concerning houses as small as theirs; and a young man, in a +well-fitting suit of only too heavy goods, removing his winter hat to +wipe the standing drops from his forehead; and a little blush-rose +woman at his side, in a mist of cool muslin and the cunningest of +millinery,--these, who always paused a moment, with a lost look, in +the vestibule of the sepulchral-looking little church on the corner of +Prytania and Josephine streets, till the sexton ushered them in, and who +as often contrived, with no end of ingenuity, despite the little woman's +fresh beauty, to get away after service unaccosted by the elders,--who +could imagine that _these_ were from so deep a nook in poverty's vale? + +There was one person who guessed it: Mrs. Riley, who was not asked to +walk in any more when she called at the twilight hour. She partly saw +and partly guessed the truth, and offered what each one of the pair had +been secretly hoping somebody, anybody, would offer--a loan. But when +it actually confronted them it was sweetly declined. + +"Wasn't it kind?" said Mary; and John said emphatically, "Yes." Very +soon it was their turn to be kind to Mrs. Riley. They attended her +husband's funeral. He had been killed by an explosion. Mrs. Riley beat +upon the bier with her fists, and wailed in a far-reaching voice:-- + +"O Mike, Mike! Me jew'l, me jew'l! Why didn't ye wait to see the babe +that's unborn?" + +And Mary wept. And when she and John reentered their denuded house she +fell upon his neck with fresh tears, and kissed him again and again, and +could utter no word, but knew he understood. Poverty was so much better +than sorrow! She held him fast, and he her, while he tenderly hushed +her, lest a grief, the very opposite of Mrs. Riley's, should overtake +her. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +HARD SPEECHES AND HIGH TEMPER. + + +Dr. Sevier found occasion, one morning, to speak at some length, and +very harshly, to his book-keeper. He had hardly ceased when John +Richling came briskly in. + +"Doctor," he said, with great buoyancy, "how do you do?" + +The physician slightly frowned. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Richling." + +Richling was tamed in an instant; but, to avoid too great a contrast +of manner, he retained a semblance of sprightliness, as he said:-- + +"This is the first time I have had this pleasure since you were last +at our house, Doctor." + +"Did you not see me one evening, some time ago, in the omnibus?" asked +Dr. Sevier. + +"Why, no," replied the other, with returning pleasure; "was I in the +same omnibus?" + +"You were on the sidewalk." + +"No-o," said Richling, pondering. "I've seen you in your carriage +several times, but you"-- + +"I didn't see you." + +Richling was stung. The conversation failed. He recommenced it in a tone +pitched intentionally too low for the alert ear of Narcisse. + +"Doctor, I've simply called to say to you that I'm out of work and +looking for employment again." + +"Um--hum," said the Doctor, with a cold fulness of voice that hurt +Richling afresh. "You'll find it hard to get anything this time of +year," he continued, with no attempt at undertone; "it's very hard for +anybody to get anything these days, even when well recommended." + +Richling smiled an instant. The Doctor did not, but turned partly away +to his desk, and added, as if the smile had displeased him:-- + +"Well, maybe you'll not find it so." + +Richling turned fiery red. + +"Whether I do or not," he said, rising, "my affairs sha'n't trouble +anybody. Good-morning!" + +He started out. + +"How's Mrs. Richling?" asked the Doctor. + +"She's well," responded Richling, putting on his hat and disappearing in +the corridor. Each footstep could be heard as he went down the stairs. + +"He's a fool!" muttered the physician. + +He looked up angrily, for Narcisse stood before him. + +"Well, Doctah," said the Creole, hurriedly arranging his coat-collar, +and drawing his handkerchief, "I'm goin' ad the poss-office." + +"See here, sir!" exclaimed the Doctor, bringing his fist down upon the +arm of his chair, "every time you've gone out of this office for the +last six months you've told me you were going to the post-office; now +don't you ever tell me that again!" + +The young man bowed with injured dignity and responded:-- + +"All a-ight, seh." + +He overtook Richling just outside the street entrance. Richling had +halted there, bereft of intention, almost of outward sense, and +choking with bitterness. It seemed to him as if in an instant all his +misfortunes, disappointments, and humiliations, that never before had +seemed so many or so great, had been gathered up into the knowledge of +that hard man upstairs, and, with one unmerciful downward wrench, had +received his seal of approval. Indignation, wrath, self-hatred, dismay, +in undefined confusion, usurped the faculties of sight and hearing and +motion. + +"Mistoo Itchlin," said Narcisse, "I 'ope you fine you'seff O.K., seh, if +you'll egscuse the slang expwession." + +Richling started to move away, but checked himself. + +"I'm well, sir, thank you, sir; yes, sir, I'm very well." + +"I billieve you, seh. You ah lookin' well." + +Narcisse thrust his hands into his pockets, and turned upon the outer +sides of his feet, the embodiment of sweet temper. Richling found him a +wonderful relief at the moment. He quit gnawing his lip and winking into +vacancy, and felt a malicious good-humor run into all his veins. + +"I dunno 'ow 'tis, Mistoo Itchlin," said Narcisse, "but I muz tell you +the tooth; you always 'ave to me the appe'ance ligue the chile of +p'ospe'ity." + +"Eh?" said Richling, hollowing his hand at his ear,--"child of"-- + +"P'ospe'ity?" + +"Yes--yes," replied the deaf man vaguely, "I--have a relative of that +name." + +"Oh!" exclaimed the Creole, "thass good faw luck! Mistoo Itchlin, look' +like you a lil mo' hawd to yeh--but egscuse me. I s'pose you muz be +advancing in business, Mistoo Itchlin. I say I s'pose you muz be gittin' +along!" + +"I? Yes; yes, I must." + +He started. + +"I'm 'appy to yeh it!" said Narcisse. + +His innocent kindness was a rebuke. Richling began to offer a cordial +parting salutation, but Narcisse said:-- + +"You goin' that way? Well, I kin go that way." + +They went. + +"I was goin' ad the poss-office, but"--he waved his hand and curled his +lip. "Mistoo Itchlin, in fact, if you yeh of something suitable to me I +would like to yeh it. I am not satisfied with that pless yondeh with +Doctah Seveeah. I was compel this mawnin', biffo you came in, to 'epoove +'im faw 'is 'oodness. He called me a jackass, in fact. I woon allow +that. I 'ad to 'epoove 'im. 'Doctah Seveeah,' says I, 'don't you call me +a jackass ag'in!' An' 'e din call it me ag'in. No, seh. But 'e din like +to 'ush up. Thass the rizz'n 'e was a lil miscutteous to you. Me, I am +always polite. As they say, 'A nod is juz as good as a kick f'om a bline +hoss.' You are fon' of maxim, Mistoo Itchlin? Me, I'm ve'y fon' of them. +But they's got one maxim what you may 'ave 'eard--I do not fine that +maxim always come t'ue. 'Ave you evva yeah that maxim, 'A fool faw +luck'? That don't always come t'ue. I 'ave discove'd that." + +"No," responded Richling, with a parting smile, "that doesn't always +come true." + +Dr. Sevier denounced the world at large, and the American nation in +particular, for two days. Within himself, for twenty-four hours, he +grumly blamed Richling for their rupture; then for twenty-four hours +reproached himself, and, on the morning of the third day knocked at the +door, corner of St. Mary and Prytania. + +No one answered. He knocked again. A woman in bare feet showed herself +at the corresponding door-way in the farther half of the house. + +"Nobody don't live there no more, sir," she said. + +"Where have they gone?" + +"Well, reely, I couldn't tell you, sir. Because, reely, I don't know +nothing about it. I haint but jest lately moved in here myself, and I +don't know nothing about nobody around here scarcely at all." + +The Doctor shut himself again in his carriage and let himself be whisked +away, in great vacuity of mind. + +"They can't blame anybody but themselves," was, by-and-by, his rallying +thought. "Still"--he said to himself after another vacant interval, and +said no more. The thought that whether _they_ could blame others or not +did not cover all the ground, rested heavily on him. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +THE CRADLE FALLS. + + +In the rear of the great commercial centre of New Orleans, on that part +of Common street where it suddenly widens out, broad, unpaved, and +dusty, rises the huge dull-brown structure of brick, famed, well-nigh +as far as the city is known, as the Charity Hospital. + +Twenty-five years ago, when the emigrant ships used to unload their +swarms of homeless and friendless strangers into the streets of New +Orleans to fall a prey to yellow-fever or cholera, that solemn pile +sheltered thousands on thousands of desolate and plague-stricken Irish +and Germans, receiving them unquestioned, until at times the very floors +were covered with the sick and dying, and the sawing and hammering in +the coffin-shop across the inner court ceased not day or night. Sombre +monument at once of charity and sin! For, while its comfort and succor +cost the houseless wanderer nothing, it lived and grew, and lives and +grows still, upon the licensed vices of the people,--drinking, harlotry, +and gambling. + +The Charity Hospital of St. Charles--such is its true name--is, however, +no mere plague-house. Whether it ought to be, let doctors decide. How +good or necessary such modern innovations as "ridge ventilation," +"movable bases," the "pavilion plan," "trained nurses," etc., may be, +let the Auxiliary Sanitary Association say. There it stands as of old, +innocent of all sins that may be involved in any of these changes, +rising story over story, up and up: here a ward for poisonous fevers, +and there a ward for acute surgical cases; here a story full of simple +ailments, and there a ward specially set aside for women. + +In 1857 this last was Dr. Sevier's ward. Here, at his stated hour one +summer morning in that year, he tarried a moment, yonder by that window, +just where you enter the ward and before you come to the beds. He had +fallen into discourse with some of the more inquiring minds among the +train of students that accompanied him, and waited there to finish and +cool down to a physician's proper temperature. The question was public +sanitation. + +He was telling a tall Arkansan, with high-combed hair, self-conscious +gloves, and very broad, clean-shaven lower jaw, how the peculiar +formation of delta lands, by which they drain away from the larger +watercourses, instead of into them, had made the swamp there in the rear +of the town, for more than a century, "the common dumping-ground and +cesspool of the city, sir!" + +Some of the students nodded convincedly to the speaker; some looked +askance at the Arkansan, who put one forearm meditatively under his +coat-tail; some looked through the window over the regions alluded to, +and some only changed their pose and looked around for a mirror. + +The Doctor spoke on. Several of his hearers were really interested in +the then unusual subject, and listened intelligently as he pointed +across the low plain at hundreds of acres of land that were nothing but +a morass, partly filled in with the foulest refuse of a semi-tropical +city, and beyond it where still lay the swamp, half cleared of its +forest and festering in the sun--"every drop of its waters, and every +inch of its mire," said the Doctor, "saturated with the poisonous +drainage of the town!" + +"I happen," interjected a young city student; but the others bent their +ear to the Doctor, who continued:-- + +"Why, sir, were these regions compactly built on, like similar areas in +cities confined to narrow sites, the mortality, with the climate we +have, would be frightful." + +"I happen to know," essayed the city student; but the Arkansan had made +an interrogatory answer to the Doctor, that led him to add:-- + +"Why, yes; you see the houses here on these lands are little, flimsy, +single ground-story affairs, loosely thrown together, and freely exposed +to sun and air." + +"I hap--," said the city student. + +"And yet," exclaimed the Doctor, "Malaria is king!" + +He paused an instant for his hearers to take in the figure. + +"Doctor, I happen to"-- + +Some one's fist from behind caused the speaker to turn angrily, and the +Doctor resumed:-- + +"Go into any of those streets off yonder,--Treme, Prieur, Marais. Why, +there are often ponds under the houses! The floors of bedrooms are +within a foot or two of these ponds! The bricks of the surrounding +pavements are often covered with a fine, dark moss! Water seeps up +through the sidewalks! That's his realm, sir! Here and there among the +residents--every here and there--you'll see his sallow, quaking subjects +dragging about their work or into and out of their beds, until a fear +of a fatal ending drives them in here. Congestion? Yes, sometimes +congestion pulls them under suddenly, and they're gone before they know +it. Sometimes their vitality wanes slowly, until Malaria beckons in +Consumption." + +"Why, Doctor," said the city student, ruffling with pride of his town, +"there are plenty of cities as bad as this. I happen to know, for +instance"-- + +Dr. Sevier turned away in quiet contempt. + +"It will not improve our town to dirty others, or to clean them, +either." + +He moved down the ward, while two or three members among the moving +train, who never happened to know anything, nudged each other joyfully. + +The group stretched out and came along, the Doctor first and the +young men after, some of one sort, some of another,--the dull, the +frivolous, the earnest, the kind, the cold,--following slowly, pausing, +questioning, discoursing, advancing, moving from each clean, slender bed +to the next, on this side and on that, down and up the long sanded +aisles, among the poor, sick women. + +Among these, too, there was variety. Some were stupid and ungracious, +hardened and dulled with long penury as some in this world are hardened +and dulled with long riches. Some were as fat as beggars; some were old +and shrivelled; some were shrivelled and young; some were bold; some +were frightened; and here and there was one almost fair. + +Down at the far end of one aisle was a bed whose occupant lay watching +the distant, slowly approaching group with eyes of unspeakable dread. +There was not a word or motion, only the steadfast gaze. Gradually the +throng drew near. The faces of the students could be distinguished. +This one was coarse; that one was gentle; another was sleepy; another +trivial and silly; another heavy and sour; another tender and gracious. +Presently the tones of the Doctor's voice could be heard, soft, clear, +and without that trumpet quality that it had beyond the sick-room. How +slowly, yet how surely, they came! The patient's eyes turned away toward +the ceiling; they could not bear the slowness of the encounter. They +closed; the lips moved in prayer. The group came to the bed that was +only the fourth away; then to the third; then to the second. There +they pause some minutes. Now the Doctor approaches the very next bed. +Suddenly he notices this patient. She is a small woman, young, fair to +see, and, with closed eyes and motionless form, is suffering an agony of +consternation. One startled look, a suppressed exclamation, two steps +forward,--the patient's eyes slowly open. Ah, me! It is Mary Richling. + +"Good-morning, madam," said the physician, with a cold and distant bow; +and to the students, "We'll pass right along to the other side," and +they moved into the next aisle. + +"I am a little pressed for time this morning," he presently remarked, as +the students showed some unwillingness to be hurried. As soon as he +could he parted with them and returned to the ward alone. + +As he moved again down among the sick, straight along this time, turning +neither to right nor left, one of the Sisters of Charity--the hospital +and its so-called nurses are under their oversight--touched his arm. He +stopped impatiently. + +"Well, Sister"--(bowing his ear). + +"I--I--the--the"--His frown had scared away her power of speech. + +"Well, what is it, Sister?" + +"The--the last patient down on this side"-- + +He was further displeased. "_I'll_ attend to the patients, Sister," he +said; and then, more kindly, "I'm going there now. No, you stay here, if +you please." And he left her behind. + +He came and stood by the bed. The patient gazed on him. + +"Mrs. Richling," he softly began, and had to cease. + +She did not speak or move; she tried to smile, but her eyes filled, her +lips quivered. + +"My dear madam," exclaimed the physician, in a low voice, "what brought +you here?" + +The answer was inarticulate, but he saw it on the moving lips. + +"Want," said Mary. + +"But your husband?" He stooped to catch the husky answer. + +"Home." + +"Home?" He could not understand. "Not gone to--back--up the river?" + +She slowly shook her head: "No, home. In Prieur street." + +Still her words were riddles. He could not see how she had come to this. +He stood silent, not knowing how to utter his thought. At length he +opened his lips to speak, hesitated an instant, and then asked:-- + +"Mrs. Richling, tell me plainly, has your husband gone wrong?" + +Her eyes looked up a moment, upon him, big and staring, and suddenly she +spoke:-- + +"O Doctor! My husband go wrong? John go wrong?" The eyelids closed down, +the head rocked slowly from side to side on the flat hospital pillow, +and the first two tears he had ever seen her shed welled from the long +lashes and slipped down her cheeks. + +"My poor child!" said the Doctor, taking her hand in his. "No, no! God +forgive me! He hasn't gone wrong; he's not going wrong. You'll tell me +all about it when you're stronger." + +The Doctor had her removed to one of the private rooms of the pay-ward, +and charged the Sisters to take special care of her. "Above all things," +he murmured, with a beetling frown, "tell that thick-headed nurse not to +let her know that this is at anybody's expense. Ah, yes; and when her +husband comes, tell him to see me at my office as soon as he possibly +can." + +As he was leaving the hospital gate he had an afterthought. "I might +have left a note." He paused, with his foot on the carriage-step. "I +suppose they'll tell him,"--and so he got in and drove off, looking at +his watch. + +On his second visit, although he came in with a quietly inspiring +manner, he had also, secretly, the feeling of a culprit. But, midway of +the room, when the young head on the pillow turned its face toward him, +his heart rose. For the patient smiled. As he drew nearer she slid out +her feeble hand. "I'm glad I came here," she murmured. + +"Yes," he replied; "this room is much better than the open ward." + +"I didn't mean this room," she said. "I meant the whole hospital." + +"The whole hospital!" He raised his eyebrows, as to a child. + +"Ah! Doctor," she responded, her eyes kindling, though moist. + +"What, my child?" + +She smiled upward to his bent face. + +"The poor--mustn't be ashamed of the poor, must they?" + +The Doctor only stroked her brow, and presently turned and addressed his +professional inquiries to the nurse. He went away. Just outside the door +he asked the nurse:-- + +"Hasn't her husband been here?" + +"Yes," was the reply, "but she was asleep, and he only stood there at +the door and looked in a bit. He trembled," the unintelligent woman +added, for the Doctor seemed waiting to hear more,--"he trembled all +over; and that's all he did, excepting his saying her name over to +himself like, over and over, and wiping of his eyes." + +"And nobody told him anything?" + +"Oh, not a word, sir!" came the eager answer. + +"You didn't tell him to come and see me?" + +The woman gave a start, looked dismayed, and began:-- + +"N-no, sir; you didn't tell"-- + +"Um--hum," growled the Doctor. He took out a card and wrote on it. "Now +see if you can remember to give him that." + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +MANY WATERS. + + +As the day faded away it began to rain. The next morning the water was +coming down in torrents. Richling, looking out from a door in Prieur +street, found scant room for one foot on the inner edge of the sidewalk; +all the rest was under water. By noon the sidewalks were completely +covered in miles of streets. By two in the afternoon the flood was +coming into many of the houses. By three it was up at the door-sill on +which he stood. There it stopped. + +He could do nothing but stand and look. Skiffs, canoes, hastily +improvised rafts, were moving in every direction, carrying the unsightly +chattels of the poor out of their overflowed cottages to higher ground. +Barrels, boxes, planks, hen-coops, bridge lumber, piles of straw that +waltzed solemnly as they went, cord-wood, old shingles, door-steps, +floated here and there in melancholy confusion; and down upon all still +drizzled the slackening rain. At length it ceased. + +Richling still stood in the door-way, the picture of mute helplessness. +Yes, there was one other thing he could do; he could laugh. It would +have been hard to avoid it sometimes, there were such ludicrous +sights,--such slips and sprawls into the water; so there he stood in +that peculiar isolation that deaf people content themselves with, now +looking the picture of anxious waiting, now indulging a low, deaf man's +chuckle when something made the rowdies and slatterns of the street +roar. + +Presently he noticed, at a distance up the way, a young man in a canoe, +passing, much to their good-natured chagrin, a party of three in a +skiff, who had engaged him in a trial of speed. From both boats a shower +of hilarious French was issuing. At the nearest corner the skiff party +turned into another street and disappeared, throwing their lingual +fireworks to the last. The canoe came straight on with the speed of a +fish. Its dexterous occupant was no other than Narcisse. + +There was a grace in his movement that kept Richling's eyes on him, when +he would rather have withdrawn into the house. Down went the paddle +always on the same side, noiselessly, in front; on darted the canoe; +backward stretched the submerged paddle and came out of the water +edgewise at full reach behind, with an almost imperceptible swerving +motion that kept the slender craft true to its course. No rocking; no +rush of water before or behind; only the one constant glassy ripple +gliding on either side as silently as a beam of light. Suddenly, without +any apparent change of movement in the sinewy wrists, the narrow shell +swept around in a quarter circle, and Narcisse sat face to face with +Richling. + +Each smiled brightly at the other. The handsome Creole's face was aglow +with the pure delight of existence. + +"Well, Mistoo Itchlin, 'ow you enjoyin' that watah? As fah as myseff am +concerned, 'I am afloat, I am afloat on the fee-us 'olling tide.' I +don't think you fine that stweet pwetty dusty to-day, Mistoo Itchlin?" + +Richling laughed. + +"It don't inflame my eyes to-day," he said. + +"You muz egscuse my i'ony, Mistoo Itchlin; I can't 'ep that sometime'. +It come natu'al to me, in fact. I was on'y speaking i'oniously juz now +in calling allusion to that dust; because, of co'se, theh is no dust +to-day, because the g'ound is all covvud with watah, in fact. Some +people don't understand that figgah of i'ony." + +"I don't understand as much about it myself as I'd like to," said +Richling. + +"Me, I'm ve'y fon' of it," responded the Creole. "I was making seve'al +i'onies ad those fwen' of mine juz now. We was 'unning a 'ace. An' thass +anotheh thing I am fon' of. I would 'ather 'un a 'ace than to wuck faw a +livin'. Ha! ha! ha! I should thing so! Anybody would, in fact. But thass +the way with me--always making some i'onies." He stopped with a sudden +change of countenance, and resumed gravely: "Mistoo Itchlin, looks to me +like you' lookin' ve'y salad." He fanned himself with his hat. "I dunno +'ow 'tis with you, Mistoo Itchlin, but I fine myseff ve'y oppwessive +thiz evening." + +"I don't find you so," said Richling, smiling broadly. + +And he did not. The young Creole's burning face and resplendent wit were +a sunset glow in the darkness of this day of overpowering adversity. His +presence even supplied, for a moment, what seemed a gleam of hope. Why +wasn't there here an opportunity to visit the hospital? He need not tell +Narcisse the object of his visit. + +"Do you think," asked Richling, persuasively, crouching down upon one of +his heels, "that I could sit in that thing without turning it over?" + +"In that pee-ogue?" Narcisse smiled the smile of the proficient as he +waved his paddle across the canoe. "Mistoo Itchlin,"--the smile passed +off,--"I dunno if you'll billiv me, but at the same time I muz tell you +the tooth?"-- + +He paused inquiringly. + +"Certainly," said Richling, with evident disappointment. + +"Well, it's juz a poss'bil'ty that you'll wefwain fum spillin' out +fum yeh till the negs cawneh. Thass the manneh of those who ah not +acquainted with the pee-ogue. 'Lost to sight, to memo'y deah'--if you'll +egscuse the maxim. Thass Chawles Dickens mague use of that egspwession." + +Richling answered with a gay shake of the head. "I'll keep out of it." +If Narcisse detected his mortified chagrin, he did not seem to. It was +hard; the day's last hope was blown out like a candle in the wind. +Richling dared not risk the wetting of his suit of clothes; they were +his sole letter of recommendation and capital in trade. + +"Well, _au 'evoi'_, Mistoo Itchlin." He turned and moved off--dip, +glide, and away. + + * * * + +Dr. Sevier stamped his wet feet on the pavement of the hospital porch. +It was afternoon of the day following that of the rain. The water still +covering the streets about the hospital had not prevented his carriage +from splashing through it on his double daily round. A narrow and +unsteady plank spanned the immersed sidewalk. Three times, going and +coming, he had crossed it safely, and this fourth time he had made half +the distance well enough; but, hearing distant cheers and laughter, he +looked up street; when--splatter!--and the cheers were redoubled. + +"Pretty thing to laugh at!" he muttered. Two or three bystanders, +leaning on their umbrellas in the lodge at the gate and in the porch, +where he stood stamping, turned their backs and smoothed their mouths. + +"Hah!" said the tall Doctor, stamping harder. Stamp!--stamp! He shook +his leg.--"Bah!" He stamped the other long, slender, wet foot and looked +down at it, turning one side and then the other.--"F-fah!"--The first +one again.--"Pshaw!"--The other.--Stamp!--stamp!--"_Right_--_into_ +it!--up to my _ankles!_" He looked around with a slight scowl at one +man, who seemed taken with a sudden softening of the spine and knees, +and who turned his back quickly and fell against another, who, also with +his back turned, was leaning tremulously against a pillar. + +But the object of mirth did not tarry. He went as he was to Mary's room, +and found her much better--as, indeed, he had done at every visit. He +sat by her bed and listened to her story. + +"Why, Doctor, you see, we did nicely for a while. John went on getting +the same kind of work, and pleasing everybody, of course, and all he +lacked was finding something permanent. Still, we passed through one +month after another, and we really began to think the sun was coming +out, so to speak." + +"Well, I thought so, too," put in the Doctor. "I thought if it didn't +you'd let me know." + +"Why, no, Doctor, we couldn't do that; you couldn't be taking care of +well people." + +"Well," said the Doctor, dropping that point, "I suppose as the busy +season began to wane that mode of livelihood, of course, disappeared." + +"Yes,"--a little one-sided smile,--"and so did our money. And then, of +course,"--she slightly lifted and waved her hand. + +"You had to live," said Dr. Sevier, sincerely. + +She smiled again, with abstracted eyes. "We thought we'd like to," she +said. "I didn't mind the loss of the things so much,--except the little +table we ate from. You remember that little round table, don't you?" + +The visitor had not the heart to say no. He nodded. + +"When that went there was but one thing left that could go." + +"Not your bed?" + +"The bedstead; yes." + +"You didn't sell your bed, Mrs. Richling?" + +The tears gushed from her eyes. She made a sign of assent. + +"But then," she resumed, "we made an excellent arrangement with a good +woman who had just lost her husband, and wanted to live cheaply, too." + +"What amuses you, madam?" + +"Nothing great. But I wish you knew her. She's funny. Well, so we moved +down-town again. Didn't cost much to move." + +She would smile a little in spite of him. + +"And then?" said he, stirring impatiently and leaning forward. "What +then?" + +"Why, then I worked a little harder than I thought,--pulling trunks +around and so on,--and I had this third attack." + +The Doctor straightened himself up, folded his arms, and muttered:-- + +"Oh!--oh! _Why_ wasn't I instantly sent for?" + +The tears were in her eyes again, but-- + +"Doctor," she answered, with her odd little argumentative smile, "how +could we? We had nothing to pay with. It wouldn't have been just." + +"Just!" exclaimed the physician, angrily. + +"Doctor," said the invalid, and looked at him. + +"Oh--all right!" + +She made no answer but to look at him still more pleadingly. + +"Wouldn't it have been just as fair to let me be generous, madam?" His +faint smile was bitter. "For once? Simply for once?" + +"We couldn't make that proposition, could we, Doctor?" + +He was checkmated. + +"Mrs. Richling," he said suddenly, clasping the back of his chair as if +about to rise, "tell me,--did you or your husband act this way for +anything I've ever said or done?" + +"No, Doctor! no, no; never! But"-- + +"But kindness should seek--not be sought," said the physician, starting +up. + +"No, Doctor, we didn't look on it so. Of course we didn't. If there's +any fault it's all mine. For it was my own proposition to John, that as +we _had_ to seek charity we should just be honest and open about it. I +said, 'John, as I need the best attention, and as that can be offered +free only in the hospital, why, to the hospital I ought to go.'" + +She lay still, and the Doctor pondered. Presently he said:-- + +"And Mr. Richling--I suppose he looks for work all the time?" + +"From daylight to dark!" + +"Well, the water is passing off. He'll be along by and by to see you, no +doubt. Tell him to call, first thing to-morrow morning, at my office." +And with that the Doctor went off in his wet boots, committed a series +of indiscretions, reached home, and fell ill. + +In the wanderings of fever he talked of the Richlings, and in lucid +moments inquired for them. + +"Yes, yes," answered the sick Doctor's physician, "they're attended to. +Yes, all their wants are supplied. Just dismiss them from your mind." In +the eyes of this physician the Doctor's life was invaluable, and these +patients, or pensioners, an unknown and, most likely, an inconsiderable +quantity; two sparrows, as it were, worth a farthing. But the sick man +lay thinking. He frowned. + +"I wish they would go home." + +"I have sent them." + +"You have? Home to Milwaukee?" + +"Yes." + +"Thank God!" + +He soon began to mend. Yet it was weeks before he could leave the house. +When one day he reentered the hospital, still pale and faint, he was +prompt to express to the Mother-Superior the comfort he had felt in his +sickness to know that his brother physician had sent those Richlings to +their kindred. + +The Sister shook her head. He saw the deception in an instant. As best +his strength would allow, he hurried to the keeper of the rolls. There +was the truth. Home? Yes,--to Prieur street,--discharged only one week +before. He drove quickly to his office. + +"Narcisse, you will find that young Mr. Richling living in Prieur +street, somewhere between Conti and St. Louis. I don't know the house; +you'll have to find it. Tell him I'm in my office again, and to come and +see me." + +Narcisse was no such fool as to say he knew the house. He would get the +praise of finding it quickly. + +"I'll do my mose awduous, seh," he said, took down his coat, hung up his +jacket, put on his hat, and went straight to the house and knocked. Got +no answer. Knocked again, and a third time; but in vain. Went next door +and inquired of a pretty girl, who fell in love with him at a glance. + +"Yes, but they had moved. She wasn't _jess ezac'ly_ sure where they +_had_ moved to, _unless-n_ it was in that little house yondeh between +St. Louis and Toulouse; and if they wasn't there she didn't know _where_ +they was. People ought to leave words where they's movin' at, but they +don't. You're very welcome," she added, as he expressed his thanks; and +he would have been welcome had he questioned her for an hour. His +parting bow and smile stuck in her heart a six-months. + +He went to the spot pointed out. As a Creole he was used to seeing very +respectable people living in very small and plain houses. This one was +not too plain even for his ideas of Richling, though it was but a little +one-street-door-and-window affair, with an alley on the left running +back into the small yard behind. He knocked. Again no one answered. He +looked down the alley and saw, moving about the yard, a large woman, +who, he felt certain, could not be Mrs. Richling. + +Two little short-skirted, bare-legged girls were playing near him. He +spoke to them in French. Did they know where Monsieu' Itchlin lived? The +two children repeated the name, looking inquiringly at each other. + +"_Non, miche._"--"No, sir, they didn't know." + +"_Qui reste ici?_" he asked. "Who lives here?" + +"_Ici? Madame qui reste la c'est Mizziz Ri-i-i-ly!_" said one. + +"Yass," said the other, breaking into English and rubbing a musquito off +of her well-tanned shank with the sole of her foot, "tis Mizziz +Ri-i-i-ly what live there. She jess move een. She's got a lill +baby.--Oh! you means dat lady what was in de Chatty Hawspill!" + +"No, no! A real, nice _lady_. She nevva saw that Cha'ity Hospi'l." + +The little girls shook their heads. They couldn't imagine a person who +had never seen the Charity Hospital. + +"Was there nobody else who had moved into any of these houses about here +lately?" He spoke again in French. They shook their heads. Two boys came +forward and verified the testimony. Narcisse went back with his report: +"Moved,--not found." + +"I fine that ve'y d'oll, Doctah Seveeah," concluded the unaugmented, +hanging up his hat; "some peop' always 'ard to fine. I h-even notiz that +sem thing w'en I go to colic' some bill. I dunno 'ow' tis, Doctah, but I +assu' you I kin tell that by a man's physio'nomie. Nobody teach me that. +'Tis my own in_geen_u'ty 'as made me to discoveh that, in fact." + +The Doctor was silent. Presently he drew a piece of paper toward him +and, dipping his pen into the ink, began to write:-- + +"Information wanted of the whereabouts of John Richling"-- + +"Narcisse," he called, still writing, "I want you to take an +advertisement to the 'Picayune' office." + +"With the gweatez of pleazheh, seh." The clerk began his usual shifting +of costume. "Yesseh! I assu' you, Doctah, that is a p'oposition moze +enti'ly to my satizfagtion; faw I am suffe'ing faw a smoke, and +deztitute of a ciga'ette! I am aztonizh' 'ow I did that, to egshauz them +unconsciouzly, in fact." He received the advertisement in an envelope, +whipped his shoes a little with his handkerchief, and went out. One +would think to hear him thundering down the stairs, that it was +twenty-five cents' worth of ice. + +"Hold o--" The Doctor started from his seat, then turned and paced +feebly up and down. Who, besides Richling, might see that notice? What +might be its unexpected results? Who was John Richling? A man with a +secret at the best; and a secret, in Dr. Sevier's eyes, was detestable. +Might not Richling be a man who had fled from something? "No! no!" The +Doctor spoke aloud. He had promised to think nothing ill of him. Let the +poor children have their silly secret. He spoke again: "They'll find out +the folly of it by and by." He let the advertisement go; and it went. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +RAPHAEL RISTOFALO. + + +Richling had a dollar in his pocket. A man touched him on the shoulder. + +But let us see. On the day that John and Mary had sold their only +bedstead, Mrs. Riley, watching them, had proposed the joint home. The +offer had been accepted with an eagerness that showed itself in nervous +laughter. Mrs. Riley then took quarters in Prieur street, where John and +Mary, for a due consideration, were given a single neatly furnished back +room. The bedstead had brought seven dollars. Richling, on the day after +the removal, was in the commercial quarter, looking, as usual, for +employment. + +The young man whom Dr. Sevier had first seen, in the previous October, +moving with a springing step and alert, inquiring glances from number to +number in Carondelet street was slightly changed. His step was firm, but +something less elastic, and not quite so hurried. His face was more +thoughtful, and his glance wanting in a certain dancing freshness that +had been extremely pleasant. He was walking in Poydras street toward the +river. + +As he came near to a certain man who sat in the entrance of a store with +the freshly whittled corner of a chair between his knees, his look and +bow were grave, but amiable, quietly hearty, deferential, and also +self-respectful--and uncommercial: so palpably uncommercial that the +sitter did not rise or even shut his knife. + +He slightly stared. Richling, in a low, private tone, was asking him for +employment. + +"What?" turning his ear up and frowning downward. + +The application was repeated, the first words with a slightly resentful +ring, but the rest more quietly. + +The store-keeper stared again, and shook his head slowly. + +"No, sir," he said, in a barely audible tone. Richling moved on, not +stopping at the next place, or the next, or the next; for he felt the +man's stare all over his back until he turned the corner and found +himself in Tchoupitoulas street. Nor did he stop at the first place +around the corner. It smelt of deteriorating potatoes and up-river +cabbages, and there were open barrels of onions set ornamentally aslant +at the entrance. He had a fatal conviction that his services would not +be wanted in malodorous places. + +"Now, isn't that a shame?" asked the chair-whittler, as Richling passed +out of sight. "Such a gentleman as that, to be beggin' for work from +door to door!" + +"He's not beggin' f'om do' to do'," said a second, with a Creole accent +on his tongue, and a match stuck behind his ear like a pen. "Beside, +he's too _much_ of a gennlemun." + +"That's where you and him differs," said the first. He frowned upon the +victim of his delicate repartee with make-believe defiance. Number Two +drew from an outside coat-pocket a wad of common brown wrapping-paper, +tore from it a small, neat parallelogram, dove into an opposite pocket +for some loose smoking-tobacco, laid a pinch of it in the paper, and, +with a single dexterous turn of the fingers, thumbs above, the rest +beneath,--it looks simple, but 'tis an amazing art,--made a cigarette. +Then he took down his match, struck it under his short coat-skirt, +lighted his cigarette, drew an inhalation through it that consumed a +third of its length, and sat there, with his eyes half-closed, and all +that smoke somewhere inside of him. + +"That young man," remarked a third, wiping a toothpick on his thigh and +putting it in his vest-pocket, as he stepped to the front, "don't know +how to _look_ fur work. There's one way fur a day-laborer to look fur +work, and there's another way fur a gentleman to look fur work, and +there's another way fur a--a--a man with money to look fur somethin' +to put his money into. _It's just like fishing!_" He threw both hands +outward and downward, and made way for a porter's truck with a load of +green meat. The smoke began to fall from Number Two's nostrils in two +slender blue streams. Number Three continued:-- + +"You've got to know what kind o' hooks you want, and what kind o' bait +you want, and then, after _that_, you've"-- + +Numbers One and Two did not let him finish. + +"--Got to know how to fish," they said; "that's so!" The smoke continued +to leak slowly from Number Two's nostrils and teeth, though he had not +lifted his cigarette the second time. + +"Yes, you've got to know how to fish," reaffirmed the third. "If you +don't know how to fish, it's as like as not that nobody can tell you +what's the matter; an' yet, all the same, you aint goin' to ketch no +fish." + +"Well, now," said the first man, with an unconvinced swing of his chin, +"_spunk_ 'll sometimes pull a man through; and you can't say he aint +spunky." Number Three admitted the corollary. Number Two looked up: his +chance had come. + +"He'd a w'ipped you faw a dime," said he to Number One, took a +comforting draw from his cigarette, and felt a great peace. + +"I take notice he's a little deaf," said Number Three, still alluding to +Richling. + +"That'd spoil him for me," said Number One. + +Number Three asked why. + +"Oh, I just wouldn't have him about me. Didn't you ever notice that a +deaf man always seems like a sort o' stranger? I can't bear 'em." + +Richling meanwhile moved on. His critics were right. He was not wanting +in courage; but no man from the moon could have been more an alien on +those sidewalks. He was naturally diligent, active, quick-witted, and +of good, though maybe a little too scholarly address; quick of temper, +it is true, and uniting his quickness of temper with a certain +bashfulness,--an unlucky combination, since, as a consequence, nobody +had to get out of its way; but he was generous in fact and in speech, +and never held malice a moment. But, besides the heavy odds which his +small secret seemed to be against him, stopping him from accepting such +valuable friendships as might otherwise have come to him, and besides +his slight deafness, he was by nature a recluse, or, at least, a +dreamer. Every day that he set foot on Tchoupitoulas, or Carondelet, or +Magazine, or Fulton, or Poydras street he came from a realm of thought, +seeking service in an empire of matter. + +There is a street in New Orleans called Triton _Walk_. That is what all +the ways of commerce and finance and daily bread-getting were to +Richling. He was a merman--ashore. It was the feeling rather than the +knowledge of this that prompted him to this daily, aimless trudging +after mere employment. He had a proper pride; once in a while a little +too much; nor did he clearly see his deficiencies; and yet the +unrecognized consciousness that he had not the commercial instinct made +him willing--as Number Three would have said--to "cut bait" for any +fisherman who would let him do it. + +He turned without any distinct motive and, retracing his steps to the +corner, passed up across Poydras street. A little way above it he paused +to look at some machinery in motion. He liked machinery,--for itself +rather than for its results. He would have gone in and examined the +workings of this apparatus had it not been for the sign above his head, +"No Admittance." Those words always seemed painted for him. A slight +modification in Richling's character might have made him an inventor. +Some other faint difference, and he might have been a writer, a +historian, an essayist, or even--there is no telling--a well-fed poet. +With the question of food, raiment, and shelter permanently settled, +he might have become one of those resplendent flash lights that at +intervals dart their beams across the dark waters of the world's +ignorance, hardly from new continents, but from the observatory, the +study, the laboratory. But he was none of these. There had been a crime +committed somewhere in his bringing up, and as a result he stood in the +thick of life's battle, weaponless. He gazed upon machinery with +childlike wonder; but when he looked around and saw on every hand +men,--good fellows who ate in their shirt-sleeves at restaurants, told +broad jokes, spread their mouths and smote their sides when they +laughed, and whose best wit was to bombard one another with bread-crusts +and hide behind the sugar-bowl; men whom he could have taught in every +kind of knowledge that they were capable of grasping, except the +knowledge of how to get money,--when he saw these men, as it seemed to +him, grow rich daily by simply flipping beans into each other's faces, +or slapping each other on the back, the wonder of machinery was +eclipsed. Do as they did? He? He could no more reach a conviction as to +what the price of corn would be to-morrow than he could remember what +the price of sugar was yesterday. + +He called himself an accountant, gulping down his secret pride with an +amiable glow that commanded, instantly, an amused esteem. And, to judge +by his evident familiarity with Tonti's beautiful scheme of mercantile +records, he certainly--those guessed whose books he had extricated +from confusion--had handled money and money values in days before his +unexplained coming to New Orleans. Yet a close observer would have +noticed that he grasped these tasks only as problems, treated them in +their mathematical and enigmatical aspect, and solved them without any +appreciation of their concrete values. When they were done he felt less +personal interest in them than in the architectural beauty of the +store-front, whose window-shutters he had never helped to close without +a little heart-leap of pleasure. + +But, standing thus, and looking in at the machinery, a man touched him +on the shoulder. + +"Good-morning," said the man. He wore a pleasant air. It seemed to say, +"I'm nothing much, but you'll recognize me in a moment; I'll wait." He +was short, square, solid, beardless; in years, twenty-five or six. His +skin was dark, his hair almost black, his eyebrows strong. In his mild +black eyes you could see the whole Mediterranean. His dress was coarse, +but clean; his linen soft and badly laundered. But under all the rough +garb and careless, laughing manner was visibly written again and again +the name of the race that once held the world under its feet. + +"You don't remember me?" he added, after a moment. + +"No," said Richling, pleasantly, but with embarrassment. The man waited +another moment, and suddenly Richling recalled their earlier meeting. +The man, representing a wholesale confectioner in one of the smaller +cities up the river, had bought some cordials and syrups of the house +whose books Richling had last put in order. + +"Why, yes I do, too!" said Richling. "You left your pocket-book in my +care for two or three days; your own private money, you said." + +"Yes." The man laughed softly. "Lost that money. Sent it to the boss. +Boss died--store seized--everything gone." His English was well +pronounced, but did not escape a pretty Italian accent, too delicate for +the printer's art. + +"Oh! that was too bad!" Richling laid his hand upon an awning-post and +twined an arm and leg around it as though he were a vine. "I--I forget +your name." + +"Ristofalo. Raphael Ristofalo. Yours is Richling. Yes, knocked me flat. +Not got cent in world." The Italian's low, mellow laugh claimed +Richling's admiration. + +"Why, when did that happen?" he asked. + +"Yes'day," replied the other, still laughing. + +"And how are you going to provide for the future?" Richling asked, +smiling down into the face of the shorter man. The Italian tossed the +future away with the back of his hand. + +"I got nothin' do with that." His words were low, but very distinct. + +Thereupon Richling laughed, leaning his cheek against the post. + +"Must provide for the present," said Raphael Ristofalo. Richling dropped +his eyes in thought. The present! He had never been able to see that it +was the present which must be provided against, until, while he was +training his guns upon the future, the most primitive wants of the +present burst upon him right and left like whooping savages. + +"Can you lend me dollar?" asked the Italian. "Give you back dollar an' +quarter to-morrow." + +Richling gave a start and let go the post. "Why, Mr. Risto--falo, +I--I--, the fact is, I"--he shook his head--"I haven't much money." + +"Dollar will start me," said the Italian, whose feet had not moved an +inch since he touched Richling's shoulder. "Be aw righ' to-morrow." + +"You can't invest one dollar by itself," said the incredulous Richling. + +"Yes. Return her to-morrow." + +Richling swung his head from side to side as an expression of disrelish. +"I haven't been employed for some time." + +"I goin' t'employ myself," said Ristofalo. + +Richling laughed again. There was a faint betrayal of distress in his +voice as it fell upon the cunning ear of the Italian; but he laughed +too, very gently and innocently, and stood in his tracks. + +"I wouldn't like to refuse a dollar to a man who needs it," said +Richling. He took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair. +"I've seen the time when it was much easier to lend than it is just +now." He thrust his hand down into his pocket and stood gazing at the +sidewalk. + +The Italian glanced at Richling askance, and with one sweep of the eye +from the softened crown of his hat to the slender, white bursted slit in +the outer side of either well-polished shoe, took in the beauty of his +face and a full understanding of his condition. His hair, somewhat dry, +had fallen upon his forehead. His fine, smooth skin was darkened by the +exposure of his daily wanderings. His cheek-bones, a trifle high, +asserted their place above the softly concave cheeks. His mouth was +closed and the lips were slightly compressed; the chin small, gracefully +turned, not weak,--not strong. His eyes were abstracted, deep, pensive. +His dress told much. The fine plaits of his shirt had sprung apart and +been neatly sewed together again. His coat was a little faulty in the +set of the collar, as if the person who had taken the garment apart and +turned the goods had not put it together again with practised skill. It +was without spot and the buttons were new. The edges of his shirt-cuffs +had been trimmed with the scissors. Face and vesture alike revealed to +the sharp eye of the Italian the woe underneath. "He has a wife," +thought Ristofalo. + +Richling looked up with a smile. "How can you be so sure you will make, +and not lose?" + +"I never fail." There was not the least shade of boasting in the man's +manner. Richling handed out his dollar. It was given without patronage +and taken with simple thanks. + +"Where goin' to meet to-morrow morning?" asked Ristofalo. "Here?" + +"Oh! I forgot," said Richling. "Yes, I suppose so; and then you'll tell +me how you invested it, will you?" + +"Yes, but you couldn't do it." + +"Why not?" + +Raphael Ristofalo laughed. "Oh! fifty reason'." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +HOW HE DID IT. + + +Ristofalo and Richling had hardly separated, when it occurred to the +latter that the Italian had first touched him from behind. Had Ristofalo +recognized him with his back turned, or had he seen him earlier and +followed him? The facts were these: about an hour before the time when +Richling omitted to apply for employment in the ill-smelling store in +Tchoupitoulas street, Mr. Raphael Ristofalo halted in front of the same +place,--which appeared small and slovenly among its more pretentious +neighbors,--and stepped just inside the door to where stood a single +barrel of apples,--a fruit only the earliest varieties of which were +beginning to appear in market. These were very small, round, and smooth, +and with a rather wan blush confessed to more than one of the senses +that they had seen better days. He began to pick them up and throw them +down--one, two, three, four, seven, ten; about half of them were +entirely sound. + +"How many barrel' like this?" + +"No got-a no more; dass all," said the dealer. He was a Sicilian. "Lame +duck," he added. "Oael de rest gone." + +"How much?" asked Ristofalo, still handling the fruit. + +The Sicilian came to the barrel, looked in, and said, with a gesture of +indifference:-- + +"'M--doll' an' 'alf." + +Ristofalo offered to take them at a dollar if he might wash and sort +them under the dealer's hydrant, which could be heard running in the +back yard. The offer would have been rejected with rude scorn but for +one thing: it was spoken in Italian. The man looked at him with pleased +surprise, and made the concession. The porter of the store, in a red +worsted cap, had drawn near. Ristofalo bade him roll the barrel on its +chine to the rear and stand it by the hydrant. + +"I will come back pretty soon," he said, in Italian, and went away. + +By and by he returned, bringing with him two swarthy, heavy-set, little +Sicilian lads, each with his inevitable basket and some clean rags. A +smile and gesture to the store-keeper, a word to the boys, and in a +moment the barrel was upturned, and the pair were washing, wiping, and +sorting the sound and unsound apples at the hydrant. + +Ristofalo stood a moment in the entrance of the store. The question now +was where to get a dollar. Richling passed, looked in, seemed to +hesitate, went on, turned, and passed again, the other way. Ristofalo +saw him all the time and recognized him at once, but appeared not to +observe him. + +"He will do," thought the Italian. "Be back few minute'," he said, +glancing behind him. + +"Or-r righ'," said the store-keeper, with a hand-wave of good-natured +confidence. He recognized Mr. Raphael Ristofalo's species. + +The Italian walked up across Poydras street, saw Richling stop and look +at the machinery, approached, and touched him on the shoulder. + +On parting with him he did not return to the store where he had left the +apples. He walked up Tchoupitoulas street about a mile, and where St. +Thomas street branches acutely from it, in a squalid district full of +the poorest Irish, stopped at a dirty fruit-stand and spoke in Spanish +to its Catalan proprietor. Half an hour later twenty-five cents had +changed hands, the Catalan's fruit shelves were bright with small +pyramids--sound side foremost--of Ristofalo's second grade of apples, +the Sicilian had Richling's dollar, and the Italian was gone with his +boys and his better grade of fruit. Also, a grocer had sold some sugar, +and a druggist a little paper of some harmless confectioner's dye. + +Down behind the French market, in a short, obscure street that runs from +Ursulines to Barracks street, and is named in honor of Albert Gallatin, +are some old buildings of three or four stories' height, rented, in John +Richling's day, to a class of persons who got their livelihood by +sub-letting the rooms, and parts of rooms, to the wretchedest poor of +New Orleans,--organ-grinders, chimney-sweeps, professional beggars, +street musicians, lemon-peddlers, rag-pickers, with all the yet dirtier +herd that live by hook and crook in the streets or under the wharves; a +room with a bed and stove, a room without, a half-room with or without +ditto, a quarter-room with or without a blanket or quilt, and with only +a chalk-mark on the floor instead of a partition. Into one of these went +Mr. Raphael Ristofalo, the two boys, and the apples. Whose assistance or +indulgence, if any, he secured in there is not recorded; but when, late +in the afternoon, the Italian issued thence--the boys, meanwhile, +had been coming and going--an unusual luxury had been offered the +roustabouts and idlers of the steam-boat landings, and many had +bought and eaten freely of the very small, round, shiny, sugary, and +artificially crimson roasted apples, with neatly whittled white-pine +stems to poise them on as they were lifted to the consumer's watering +teeth. When, the next morning Richling laughed at the story, the Italian +drew out two dollars and a half, and began to take from it a dollar. + +"But you have last night's lodging and so forth yet to pay for." + +"No. Made friends with Sicilian luggerman. Slept in his lugger." He +showed his brow and cheeks speckled with mosquito-bites. "Ate little +hard-tack and coffee with him this morning. Don't want much." He offered +the dollar with a quarter added. Richling declined the bonus. + +"But why not?" + +"Oh, I just couldn't do it," laughed Richling; "that's all." + +"Well," said the Italian, "lend me that dollar one day more, I return +you dollar and half in its place to-morrow." + +The lender had to laugh again. "You can't find an odd barrel of damaged +apples every day." + +"No. No apples to-day. But there's regiment soldiers at lower landing; +whole steam-boat load; going to sail this evenin' to Florida. They'll +eat whole barrel hard-boil' eggs."--And they did. When they sailed, the +Italian's pocket was stuffed with small silver. + +Richling received his dollar and fifty cents. As he did so, "I would +give, if I had it, a hundred dollars for half your art," he said, +laughing unevenly. He was beaten, surpassed, humbled. Still he said, +"Come, don't you want this again? You needn't pay me for the use of it." + +But the Italian refused. He had outgrown his patron. A week afterward +Richling saw him at the Picayune Tier, superintending the unloading of a +small schooner-load of bananas. He had bought the cargo, and was +reselling to small fruiterers. + +"Make fifty dolla' to-day," said the Italian, marking his tally-board +with a piece of chalk. + +Richling clapped him joyfully on the shoulder, but turned around with +inward distress and hurried away. He had not found work. + +Events followed of which we have already taken knowledge. Mary, we have +seen, fell sick and was taken to the hospital. + +"I shall go mad!" Richling would moan, with his dishevelled brows +between his hands, and then start to his feet, exclaiming, "I must not! +I must not! I must keep my senses!" And so to the commercial regions or +to the hospital. + +Dr. Sevier, as we know, left word that Richling should call and see him; +but when he called, a servant--very curtly, it seemed to him--said the +Doctor was not well and didn't want to see anybody. This was enough for +a young man who _hadn't_ his senses. The more he needed a helping hand +the more unreasonably shy he became of those who might help him. + +"Will nobody come and find us?" Yet he would not cry "Whoop!" and how, +then, was anybody to come? + +Mary returned to the house again (ah! what joys there are in the vale of +tribulation!), and grew strong,--stronger, she averred, than ever she +had been. + +"And now you'll _not_ be cast down, _will_ you?" she said, sliding into +her husband's lap. She was in an uncommonly playful mood. + +"Not a bit of it," said John. "Every dog has his day. I'll come to the +top. You'll see." + +"Don't I know that?" she responded, "Look here, now," she exclaimed, +starting to her feet and facing him, "_I'll_ recommend you to anybody. +_I've_ got confidence in you!" Richling thought she had never looked +quite so pretty as at that moment. He leaped from his chair with a +laughing ejaculation, caught and swung her an instant from her feet, and +landed her again before she could cry out. If, in retort, she smote him +so sturdily that she had to retreat backward to rearrange her shaken +coil of hair, it need not go down on the record; such things will +happen. The scuffle and suppressed laughter were detected even in Mrs. +Riley's room. + +"Ah!" sighed the widow to herself, "wasn't it Kate Riley that used to +get the sweet, haird knocks!" Her grief was mellowing. + +Richling went out on the old search, which the advancing summer made +more nearly futile each day than the day before. + +Stop. What sound was that? + +"Richling! Richling!" + +Richling, walking in a commercial street, turned. A member of the firm +that had last employed him beckoned him to halt. + +"What are you doing now, Richling? Still acting deputy assistant city +surveyor _pro tem._?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, see here! Why haven't you been in the store to see us lately? Did +I seem a little preoccupied the last time you called?" + +"I"--Richling dropped his eyes with an embarrassed smile--"_I was_ +afraid I was in the way--or should be." + +"Well and suppose you were? A man that's looking for work must put +himself in the way. But come with me. I think I may be able to give you +a lift." + +"How's that?" asked Richling, as they started off abreast. + +"There's a house around the corner here that will give you some +work,--temporary anyhow, and may be permanent." + +So Richling was at work again, hidden away from Dr. Sevier between +journal and ledger. His employers asked for references. Richling looked +dismayed for a moment, then said, "I'll bring somebody to recommend me," +went away, and came back with Mary. + +"All the recommendation I've got," said he, with timid elation. There +was a laugh all round. + +"Well, madam, if you say he's all right, we don't doubt he is!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +ANOTHER PATIENT. + + +"Doctah Seveeah," said Narcisse, suddenly, as he finished sticking with +great fervor the postage-stamps on some letters the Doctor had written, +and having studied with much care the phraseology of what he had to say, +and screwed up his courage to the pitch of utterance, "I saw yo' notiz +on the noozpapeh this mornin'." + +The unresponding Doctor closed his eyes in unutterable weariness of the +innocent young gentleman's prepared speeches. + +"Yesseh. 'Tis a beaucheouz notiz. I fine that w'itten with the gweatez +ac_cu_'acy of diction, in fact. I made a twanslation of that faw my +hant. Thaz a thing I am fon' of, twanslation. I dunno 'ow 'tis, Doctah," +he continued, preparing to go out,--"I dunno 'ow 'tis, but I thing, you +goin' to fine that Mistoo Itchlin ad the en'. I dunno 'ow 'tis. Well, +I'm goin' ad the"-- + +The Doctor looked up fiercely. + +"Bank," said Narcisse, getting near the door. + +"All right!" grumbled the Doctor, more politely. + +"Yesseh--befo' I go ad the poss-office." + +A great many other persons had seen the advertisement. There were many +among them who wondered if Mr. John Richling could be such a fool as to +fall into that trap. There were others--some of them women, alas!--who +wondered how it was that nobody advertised for information concerning +them, and who wished, yes, "wished to God," that such a one, or such a +one, who had had his money-bags locked up long enough, would die, and +then you'd see who'd be advertised for. Some idlers looked in vain into +the city directory to see if Mr. John Richling were mentioned there. +But Richling himself did not see the paper. His employers, or some +fellow-clerk, might have pointed it out to him, but--we shall see in a +moment. + +Time passed. It always does. At length, one morning, as Dr. Sevier lay +on his office lounge, fatigued after his attentions to callers, and much +enervated by the prolonged summer heat, there entered a small female +form, closely veiled. He rose to a sitting posture. + +"Good-morning, Doctor," said a voice, hurriedly, behind the veil. +"Doctor," it continued, choking,--"Doctor"-- + +"Why, Mrs. Richling!" + +He sprang and gave her a chair. She sank into it. + +"Doctor,--O Doctor! John is in the Charity Hospital!" + +She buried her face in her handkerchief and sobbed aloud. The Doctor was +silent a moment, and then asked:-- + +"What's the matter with him?" + +"Chills." + +It seemed as though she must break down again, but the Doctor stopped +her savagely. + +"Well, my dear madam, don't cry! Come, now, you're making too much of a +small matter. Why, what are chills? We'll break them in forty-eight +hours. He'll have the best of care. You needn't cry! Certainly this +isn't as bad as when you were there." + +She was still, but shook her head. She couldn't agree to that. + +"Doctor, will you attend him?" + +"Mine is a female ward." + +"I know; but"-- + +"Oh--if you wish it--certainly; of course I will. But now, where have +you moved, Mrs. Richling? I sent"-- He looked up over his desk toward +that of Narcisse. + +The Creole had been neither deaf nor idle. Hospital? Then those children +in Prieur street had told him right. He softly changed his coat and +shoes. As the physician looked over the top of the desk Narcisse's +silent form, just here at the left, but out of the range of vision, +passed through the door and went downstairs with the noiselessness of a +moonbeam. + +Mary explained the location and arrangement of her residence. + +"Yes," she said, "that's the way your clerk must have overlooked us. We +live behind--down the alleyway." + +"Well, at any rate, madam," said the Doctor, "you are here now, and +before you go I want to"-- He drew out his pocket-book. + +There was a quick gesture of remonstrance and a look of pleading. + +"No, no, Doctor, please don't! please don't! Give my poor husband one +more chance; don't make me take that. I don't refuse it for pride's +sake!" + +"I don't know about that," he replied; "why do you do it?" + +"For his sake, Doctor. I know just as well what he'd say--we've no right +to take it anyhow. We don't know when we could pay it back." Her head +sank. She wiped a tear from her hand. + +"Why, I don't care if you never pay it back!" The Doctor reddened +angrily. + +Mary raised her veil. + +"Doctor,"--a smile played on her lips,--"I want to say one thing." She +was a little care-worn and grief-worn; and yet, Narcisse, you should +have seen her; you would not have slipped out. + +"Say on, madam," responded the Doctor. + +"If we have to ask anybody, Doctor, it will be you. John had another +situation, but lost it by his chills. He'll get another. I'm sure he +will." A long, broken sigh caught her unawares. Dr. Sevier thrust his +pocket-book back into its place, compressing his lips and giving his +head an unpersuaded jerk. And yet, was she not right, according to all +his preaching? He asked himself that. "Why didn't your husband come to +see me, as I requested him to do, Mrs. Richling?" + +She explained John's being turned away from the door during the Doctor's +illness. "But anyhow, Doctor, John has always been a little afraid of +you." + +The Doctor's face did not respond to her smile. + +"Why, you are not," he said. + +"No." Her eyes sparkled, but their softer light quickly returned. She +smiled and said:-- + +"I will ask a favor of you now, Doctor." + +They had risen, and she stood leaning sidewise against his low desk and +looking up into his face. + +"Can you get me some sewing? John says I may take some." + +The Doctor was about to order two dozen shirts instanter, but common +sense checked him, and he only said:-- + +"I will. I will find you some. And I shall see your husband within an +hour. Good-by." She reached the door. "God bless you!" he added. + +"What, sir?" she asked, looking back. + +But the Doctor was reading. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +ALICE. + + +A little medicine skilfully prescribed, the proper nourishment, two or +three days' confinement in bed, and the Doctor said, as he sat on the +edge of Richling's couch:-- + +"No, you'd better stay where you are to-day; but to-morrow, if the +weather is good, you may sit up." + +Then Richling, with the unreasonableness of a convalescent, wanted to +know why he couldn't just as well go home. But the Doctor said again, +no. + +"Don't be impatient; you'll have to go anyhow before I would prefer to +send you. It would be invaluable to you to pass your entire +convalescence here, and go home only when you are completely recovered. +But I can't arrange it very well. The Charity Hospital is for sick +people." + +"And where is the place for convalescents?" + +"There is none," replied the physician. + +"I shouldn't want to go to it, myself," said Richling, lolling +pleasantly on his pillow; "all I should ask is strength to get home, +and I'd be off." + +The Doctor looked another way. + +"The sick are not the wise," he said, abstractedly. "However, in your +case, I should let you go to your wife as soon as you safely could." At +that he fell into so long a reverie that Richling studied every line of +his face again and again. + +A very pleasant thought was in the convalescent's mind the while. The +last three days had made it plain to him that the Doctor was not only +his friend, but was willing that Richling should be his. + +At length the physician spoke:-- + +"Mary is wonderfully like Alice, Richling." + +"Yes?" responded Richling, rather timidly. And the Doctor continued:-- + +"The same age, the same stature, the same features. Alice was a shade +paler in her style of beauty, just a shade. Her hair was darker; but +otherwise her whole effect was a trifle quieter, even, than Mary's. She +was beautiful,--outside and in. Like Mary, she had a certain richness of +character--but of a different sort. I suppose I would not notice the +difference if they were not so much alike. She didn't stay with me +long." + +"Did you lose her--here?" asked Richling, hardly knowing how to break +the silence that fell, and yet lead the speaker on. + +"No. In Virginia." The Doctor was quiet a moment, and then resumed:-- + +"I looked at your wife when she was last in my office, Richling; she +had a little timid, beseeching light in her eyes that is not usual with +her--and a moisture, too; and--it seemed to me as though Alice had come +back. For my wife lived by my moods. Her spirits rose or fell just as my +whim, conscious or unconscious, gave out light or took on shadow." The +Doctor was still again, and Richling only indicated his wish to hear +more by shifting himself on his elbow. + +"Do you remember, Richling, when the girl you had been bowing down to +and worshipping, all at once, in a single wedding day, was transformed +into your adorer?" + +"Yes, indeed," responded the convalescent, with beaming face. "Wasn't +it wonderful? I couldn't credit my senses. But how did you--was it the +same"-- + +"It's the same, Richling, with every man who has really secured a +woman's heart with her hand. It was very strange and sweet to me. Alice +would have been a spoiled child if her parents could have spoiled her; +and when I was courting her she was the veriest little empress that ever +walked over a man." + +"I can hardly imagine," said Richling, with subdued amusement, looking +at the long, slender form before him. The Doctor smiled very sweetly. + +"Yes." Then, after another meditative pause: "But from the moment I +became her husband she lived in continual trepidation. She so magnified +me in her timid fancy that she was always looking tremulously to me to +see what should be her feeling. She even couldn't help being afraid of +me. I hate for any one to be afraid of me." + +"Do you, Doctor?" said Richling, with surprise and evident +introspection. + +"Yes." + +Richling felt his own fear changing to love. + +"When I married," continued Dr. Sevier, "I had thought Alice was one +that would go with me hand in hand through life, dividing its cares and +doubling its joys, as they say; I guiding her and she guiding me. But if +I had let her, she would have fallen into me as a planet might fall into +the sun. I didn't want to be the sun to her. I didn't want her to shine +only when I shone on her, and be dark when I was dark. No man ought to +want such a thing. Yet she made life a delight to me; only she wanted +that development which a better training, or even a harder training, +might have given her; that subserving of the emotions to the"--he waved +his hand--"I can't philosophize about her. We loved one another with +our might, and she's in heaven." + +Richling felt an inward start. The Doctor interrupted his intended +speech. + +"Our short experience together, Richling, is the one great light place +in my life; and to me, to-day, sere as I am, the sweet--the sweetest +sound--on God's green earth"--the corners of his mouth quivered--"is the +name of Alice. Take care of Mary, Richling; she's a priceless treasure. +Don't leave the making and sustaining of the home sunshine all to her, +any more than you'd like her to leave it all to you." + +"I'll not, Doctor; I'll not." Richling pressed the Doctor's hand +fervently; but the Doctor drew it away with a certain energy, and rose, +saying:-- + +"Yes, you can sit up to-morrow." + +The day that Richling went back to his malarious home in Prieur street +Dr. Sevier happened to meet him just beyond the hospital gate. Richling +waved his hand. He looked weak and tremulous. "Homeward bound," he said, +gayly. + +The physician reached forward in his carriage and bade his driver stop. +"Well, be careful of yourself; I'm coming to see you in a day or two." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +THE SUN AT MIDNIGHT. + + +Dr. Sevier was daily overtasked. His campaigns against the evils of our +disordered flesh had even kept him from what his fellow-citizens thought +was only his share of attention to public affairs. + +"Why," he cried to a committee that came soliciting his cooeperation, +"here's one little unprofessional call that I've been trying every day +for two weeks to make--and ought to have made--and must make; and I +haven't got a step toward it yet. Oh, no, gentlemen!" He waved their +request away. + +He was very tired. The afternoon was growing late. He dismissed his +jaded horse toward home, walked down to Canal street, and took that +yellow Bayou-Road omnibus whose big blue star painted on its corpulent +side showed that quadroons, etc., were allowed a share of its +accommodation, and went rumbling and tumbling over the cobble-stones +of the French quarter. + +By and by he got out, walked a little way southward in the hot, luminous +shade of low-roofed tenement cottages that closed their window-shutters +noiselessly, in sensitive-plant fashion, at his slow, meditative +approach, and slightly and as noiselessly reopened them behind him, +showing a pair of wary eyes within. Presently he recognized just ahead +of him, standing out on the sidewalk, the little house that had been +described to him by Mary. + +In a door-way that opened upon two low wooden sidewalk steps stood Mrs. +Riley, clad in a crisp black and white calico, a heavy, fat babe poised +easily in one arm. The Doctor turned directly toward the narrow alley, +merely touching his hat to her as he pushed its small green door inward, +and disappeared, while she lifted her chin at the silent liberty and +dropped her eyelids. + +Dr. Sevier went down the cramped, ill-paved passage very slowly and +softly. Regarding himself objectively, he would have said the deep shade +of his thoughts was due partly, at least, to his fatigue. But that would +hardly have accounted for a certain faint glow of indignation that came +into them. In truth, he began distinctly to resent this state of affairs +in the life of John and Mary Richling. An ill-defined anger beat about +in his brain in search of some tangible shortcoming of theirs upon which +to thrust the blame of their helplessness. "Criminal helplessness," he +called it, mutteringly. He tried to define the idea--or the idea tried +to define itself--that they had somehow been recreant to their social +caste, by getting down into the condition and estate of what one may +call the alien poor. Carondelet street had in some way specially vexed +him to-day, and now here was this. It was bad enough, he thought, for +men to slip into riches through dark back windows; but here was a brace +of youngsters who had glided into poverty, and taken a place to which +they had no right to stoop. Treachery,--that was the name for it. And +now he must be expected,--the Doctor quite forgot that nobody had asked +him to do it,--he must be expected to come fishing them out of their +hole, like a rag-picker at a trash barrel. + +--"Bringing me into this wretched alley!" he silently thought. His foot +slipped on a mossy brick. Oh, no doubt they thought they were punishing +some negligent friend or friends by letting themselves down into this +sort of thing. Never mind! He recalled the tender, confiding, friendly +way in which he had talked to John, sitting on the edge of his hospital +bed. He wished, now, he had every word back he had uttered. They might +hide away to the full content of their poverty-pride. Poverty-pride: he +had invented the term; it was the opposite pole to purse-pride--and just +as mean,--no, meaner. There! Must he yet slip down? He muttered an angry +word. Well, well, this was making himself a little the cheapest he had +ever let himself be made. And probably this was what they wanted! +Misery's revenge. Umhum! They sit down in sour darkness, eh! and make +relief seek them. It wouldn't be the first time he had caught the poor +taking savage comfort in the blush which their poverty was supposed to +bring to the cheek of better-kept kinsfolk. True, he didn't know this +was the case with the Richlings. But wasn't it? Wasn't it? And have they +a dog, that will presently hurl himself down this alley at one's legs? +He hopes so. He would so like to kick him clean over the twelve-foot +close plank fence that crowded his right shoulder. Never mind! His anger +became solemn. + +The alley opened into a small, narrow yard, paved with ashes from the +gas-works. At the bottom of the yard a rough shed spanned its breadth, +and a woman was there, busily bending over a row of wash-tubs. + +The Doctor knocked on a door near at hand, then waited a moment, and, +getting no response, turned away toward the shed and the deep, wet, +burring sound of a wash-board. The woman bending over it did not hear +his footfall. Presently he stopped. She had just straightened up, +lifting a piece of the washing to the height of her head, and letting it +down with a swash and slap upon the board. It was a woman's garment, +but certainly not hers. For she was small and slight. Her hair was +hidden under a towel. Her skirts were shortened to a pair of dainty +ankles by an extra under-fold at the neat, round waist. Her feet were +thrust into a pair of sabots. She paused a moment in her work, and, +lifting with both smoothly rounded arms, bared nearly to the shoulder, a +large apron from her waist, wiped the perspiration from her forehead. It +was Mary. + +The red blood came up into the Doctor's pale, thin face. This was too +outrageous. This was insult! He stirred as if to move forward. He would +confront her. Yes, just as she was. He would speak. He would speak +bluntly. He would chide sternly. He had the right. The only friend in +the world from whom she had not escaped beyond reach,--he would speak +the friendly, angry word that would stop this shocking-- + +But, truly, deeply incensed as he was, and felt it his right to be, +hurt, wrung, exasperated, he did not advance. She had reached down and +taken from the wash-bench the lump of yellow soap that lay there, and +was soaping the garment on the board before her, turning it this way and +that. As she did this she began, all to herself and for her own ear, +softly, with unconscious richness and tenderness of voice, to sing. And +what was her song? + + "Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?" + +Down drooped the listener's head. Remember? Ah, memory!--The old, +heart-rending memory! Sweet Alice! + + "Sweet Alice, whose hair was so brown?" + +Yes, yes; so brown!--so brown! + + "She wept with delight when you gave her a smile, + And trembled with fear at your frown." + +Ah! but the frown is gone! There is a look of supplication now. Sing no +more! Oh, sing no more! Yes, surely, she will stop there! + +No. The voice rises gently--just a little--into the higher key, soft and +clear as the note of a distant bird, and all unaware of a listener. Oh! +in mercy's name-- + + "In the old church-yard in the valley, Ben Bolt, + In a corner obscure and alone, + They have fitted a slab of granite so gray, + And sweet Alice lies under the stone." + +The little toiling figure bent once more across the wash-board and began +to rub. He turned, the first dew of many a long year welling from each +eye, and stole away, out of the little yard and down the dark, slippery +alley, to the street. + +Mrs. Riley still stood on the door-sill, holding the child. + +"Good-evening, madam!" + +"Sur, to you." She bowed with dignity. + +"Is Mrs. Richling in?" + +There was a shadow of triumph in her faint smile. + +"She is." + +"I should like to see her." + +Mrs. Riley hoisted her chin. "I dunno if she's a-seein' comp'ny to-day." +The voice was amiably important. "Wont ye walk in? Take a seat and sit +down, sur, and I'll go and infarm the laydie." + +"Thank you," said the Doctor, but continued to stand. + +Mrs. Riley started and stopped again. + +"Ye forgot to give me yer kyaird, sur." She drew her chin in again +austerely. + +"Just say Dr. Sevier." + +"Certainly, sur; yes, that'll be sufficiend. And dispinse with the +kyaird." She went majestically. + +The Doctor, left alone, cast his uninterested glance around the smart +little bare-floored parlor, upon its new, jig-sawed, gray hair-cloth +furniture, and up upon a picture of the Pope. When Mrs. Riley, in a +moment, returned he stood looking out the door. + +"Mrs. Richling consints to see ye, sur. She'll be in turreckly. Take a +seat and sit down." She readjusted the infant on her arm and lifted and +swung a hair-cloth arm-chair toward him without visible exertion. +"There's no use o' having chayers if ye don't sit on um," she added +affably. + +The Doctor sat down, and Mrs. Riley occupied the exact centre of the +small, wide-eared, brittle-looking sofa, where she filled in the silent +moments that followed by pulling down the skirts of the infant's +apparel, oppressed with the necessity of keeping up a conversation and +with the want of subject-matter. The child stared at the Doctor, and +suddenly plunged toward him with a loud and very watery coo. + +"Ah-h!" said Mrs. Riley, in ostentatious rebuke. "Mike!" she cried, +laughingly, as the action was repeated. "Ye rowdy, air ye go-un to fight +the gintleman?" + +She laughed sincerely, and the Doctor could but notice how neat and +good-looking she was. He condescended to crook his finger at the babe. +This seemed to exasperate the so-called rowdy. He planted his pink feet +on his mother's thigh and gave a mighty lunge and whoop. + +"He's go-un to be a wicked bruiser," said proud Mrs. Riley. "He"--the +pronoun stood, this time, for her husband--"he never sah the child. He +was kilt with an explosion before the child was barn." + +She held the infant on her strong arm as he struggled to throw himself, +with wide-stretched jaws, upon her bosom; and might have been devoured +by the wicked bruiser had not his attention been diverted by the +entrance of Mary, who came in at last, all in fragrant white, with +apologies for keeping the Doctor waiting. + +He looked down into her uplifted eyes. What a riddle is woman! Had he +not just seen this one in sabots? Did she not certainly know, through +Mrs. Riley, that he must have seen her so? Were not her skirts but just +now hitched up with an under-tuck, and fastened with a string? Had she +not just laid off, in hot haste, a suds-bespattered apron and the +garments of toil beneath it? Had not a towel been but now unbound from +the hair shining here under his glance in luxuriant brown coils? This +brightness of eye, that seemed all exhilaration, was it not trepidation +instead? And this rosiness, so like redundant vigor, was it not the +flush of her hot task? He fancied he saw--in truth he may have seen--a +defiance in the eyes as he glanced upon, and tardily dropped, the little +water-soaked hand with a bow. + +Mary turned to present Mrs. Riley, who bowed and said, trying to hold +herself with majesty while Mike drew her head into his mouth: "Sur," +then turned with great ceremony to Mary, and adding, "I'll withdrah," +withdrew with the head and step of a duchess. + +"How is your husband, madam?" + +"John?--is not well at all, Doctor; though he would say he was if he +were here. He doesn't shake off his chills. He is out, though, looking +for work. He'd go as long as he could stand." + +She smiled; she almost laughed; but half an eye could see it was only to +avoid the other thing. + +"Where does he go?" + +"Everywhere!" She laughed this time audibly. + +"If he went everywhere I should see him," said Dr. Sevier. + +"Ah! naturally," responded Mary, playfully. "But he does go wherever he +thinks there's work to be found. He doesn't wander clear out among the +plantations, of course, where everybody has slaves, and there's no work +but slaves' work. And he says it's useless to think of a clerkship this +time of year. It must be, isn't it?" + +The Doctor made no answer. + +There was a footstep in the alley. + +"He's coming now," said Mary,--"that's he. He must have got work to-day. +He has an acquaintance, an Italian, who promised to have something for +him to do very soon. Doctor,"--she began to put together the split +fractions of a palm-leaf fan, smiling diffidently at it the while,--"I +can't see how it is any discredit to a man not to have a _knack_ for +making money?" + +She lifted her peculiar look of radiant inquiry. + +"It is not, madam." + +Mary laughed for joy. The light of her face seemed to spread clear into +her locks. + +"Well, I knew you'd say so! John blames himself; he can make money, you +know, Doctor, but he blames himself because he hasn't that natural gift +for it that Mr. Ristofalo has. Why, Mr. Ristofalo is simply wonderful!" +She smiled upon her fan in amused reminiscence. "John is always wishing +he had his gift." + +"My dear madam, don't covet it! At least don't exchange it for anything +else." + +The Doctor was still in this mood of disapprobation when John entered. +The radiancy of the young husband's greeting hid for a moment, but only +so long, the marks of illness and adversity. Mary followed him with her +smiling eyes as the two men shook hands, and John drew a chair near to +her and sat down with a sigh of mingled pleasure and fatigue. + +She told him of whom she and their visitor had just been speaking. + +"Raphael Ristofalo!" said John, kindling afresh. "Yes; I've been with +him all day. It humiliates me to think of him." + +Dr. Sevier responded quietly:-- + +"You've no right to let it humiliate you, sir." + +Mary turned to John with dancing eyes, but he passed the utterance as a +mere compliment, and said, through his smiles:-- + +"Just see how it is to-day. I have been overseeing the unloading of a +little schooner from Ruatan island loaded with bananas, cocoanuts, and +pine-apples. I've made two dollars; he has made a hundred." + +Richling went on eagerly to tell about the plain, lustreless man whose +one homely gift had fascinated him. The Doctor was entertained. The +narrator sparkled and glowed as he told of Ristofalo's appearance, and +reproduced his speeches and manner. + +"Tell about the apples and eggs," said the delighted Mary. + +He did so, sitting on the front edge of his chair-seat, and sprawling +his legs now in front and now behind him as he swung now around to his +wife and now to the Doctor. Mary laughed softly at every period, and +watched the Doctor, to see his slight smile at each detail of the story. +Richling enjoyed telling it; he had worked; his earnings were in his +pocket; gladness was easy. + +"Why, I'm learning more from Raphael Ristofalo than I ever learned from +my school-masters: I'm learning the art of livelihood." + +He ran on from Ristofalo to the men among whom he had been mingling all +day. He mimicked the strange, long swing of their Sicilian speech; told +of their swarthy faces and black beards, their rich instinct for color +in costume; their fierce conversation and violent gestures; the energy +of their movements when they worked, and the profoundness of their +repose when they rested; the picturesqueness and grotesqueness of the +negroes, too; the huge, flat, round baskets of fruit which the black men +carried on their heads, and which the Sicilians bore on their shoulders +or the nape of the neck. The "captain" of the schooner was a central +figure. + +"Doctor," asked Richling, suddenly, "do you know anything about the +island of Cozumel?" + +"Aha!" thought Mary. So there was something besides the day's earning +that elated him. + +She had suspected it. She looked at her husband with an expression of +the most alert pleasure. The Doctor noticed it. + +"No," he said, in reply to Richling's question. + +"It stands out in the Gulf of Mexico, off the coast of Yucatan," began +Richling. + +"Yes, I know that." + +"Well, Mary, I've almost promised the schooner captain that we'll go +there. He wants to get up a colony." + +Mary started. + +"Why, John!" She betrayed a look of dismay, glanced at their visitor, +tried to say "Have you?" approvingly, and blushed. + +The Doctor made no kind of response. + +"Now, don't conclude," said John to Mary, coloring too, but smiling. He +turned to the physician. "It's a wonderful spot, Doctor." + +But the Doctor was still silent, and Richling turned. + +"Just to think, Mary, of a place where you can raise all the products of +two zones; where health is almost perfect; where the yellow fever has +never been; and where there is such beauty as can be only in the tropics +and a tropical sea. Why, Doctor, I can't understand why Europeans or +Americans haven't settled it long ago." + +"I suppose we can find out before we go, can't we?" said Mary, looking +timorously back and forth between John and the Doctor. + +"The reason is," replied John, "it's so little known. Just one island +away out by itself. Three crops of fruit a year. One acre planted in +bananas feeds fifty men. All the capital a man need have is an axe to +cut down the finest cabinet and dye-woods in the world. The thermometer +never goes above ninety nor below forty. You can hire all the labor you +want at a few cents a day." + +Mary's diligent eye detected a cloud on the Doctor's face. But John, +though nettled, pushed on the more rapidly. + +"A man can make--easily!--a thousand dollars the first year, and live on +two hundred and fifty. It's the place for a poor man." + +He looked a little defiant. + +"Of course," said Mary, "I know you wouldn't come to an opinion"--she +smiled with the same restless glance--"until you had made all the +inquiries necessary. It mu--must--be a delightful place. Doctor?" + +Her eyes shone blue as the sky. + +"I wouldn't send a convict to such a place," said Dr. Sevier. + +Richling flamed up. + +"Don't you think," he began to say with visible restraint and a faint, +ugly twist of the head,--"don't you think it's a better place for a poor +man than a great, heartless town?" + +"This isn't a heartless town," said the Doctor. + +"He doesn't mean it as you do, Doctor," interposed Mary, with alarm. +"John, you ought to explain." + +"Than a great town," said Richling, "where a man of honest intentions +and real desire to live and be useful and independent; who wants to earn +his daily bread at any honorable cost, and who can't do it because the +town doesn't want his services, and will not have them--can +go"-- He ceased, with his sentence all tangled. + +"No!" the Doctor was saying meanwhile. "No! No! No!" + +"Here I go, day after day," persisted Richling, extending his arm and +pointing indefinitely through the window. + +"No, no, you don't, John," cried Mary, with an effort at gayety; "you +don't go by the window, John; you go by the door." She pulled his arm +down tenderly. + +"I go by the alley," said John. Silence followed. The young pair +contrived to force a little laugh, and John made an apologetic move. + +"Doctor," he exclaimed, with an air of pleasantry, "the whole town's +asleep!--sound asleep, like a negro in the sunshine! There isn't work +for one man in fifty!" He ended tremulously. Mary looked at him with +dropped face but lifted eyes, handling the fan, whose rent she had made +worse. + +"Richling, my friend,"--the Doctor had never used that term +before,--"what does your Italian money-maker say to the idea?" + +Richling gave an Italian shrug and his own pained laugh. + +"Exactly! Why, Mr. Richling, you're on an island now,--an island in +mid-ocean. Both of you!" He waved his hands toward the two without +lifting his head from the back of the easy-chair, where he had dropped +it. + +"What do you mean, Doctor?" + +"Mean? Isn't my meaning plain enough? I mean you're too independent. +You know very well, Richling, that you've started out in life with some +fanciful feud against the 'world.' What it is I don't know, but I'm sure +it's not the sort that religion requires. You've told this world--you +remember you said it to me once--that if it will go one road you'll +go another. You've forgotten that, mean and stupid and bad as your +fellow-creatures are, they're your brothers and sisters, and that +they have claims on you as such, and that you have claims on them as +such.--Cozumel! You're there now! Has a friend no rights? I don't know +your immediate relatives, and I say nothing about them"-- + +John gave a slight start, and Mary looked at him suddenly. + +"But here am I," continued the speaker. "Is it just to me for you to +hide away here in want that forces you and your wife--I beg your pardon, +madam--into mortifying occupations, when one word to me--a trivial +obligation, not worthy to be called an obligation, contracted with +me--would remove that necessity, and tide you over the emergency of the +hour?" + +Richling was already answering, not by words only, but by his confident +smile:-- + +"Yes, sir; yes, it is just: ask Mary." + +"Yes, Doctor," interposed the wife. "We went over"-- + +"We went over it together," said John. "We weighed it well. It _is_ +just,--not to ask aid as long as there's hope without it." + +The Doctor responded with the quiet air of one who is sure of his +position:-- + +"Yes, I see. But, of course--I know without asking--you left the +question of health out of your reckoning. Now, Richling, put the whole +world, if you choose, in a selfish attitude"-- + +"No, no," said Richling and his wife. "Ah, no!" But the Doctor +persisted. + +"--a purely selfish attitude. Wouldn't it, nevertheless, rather help a +well man or woman than a sick one? Wouldn't it pay better?" + +"Yes, but"-- + +"Yes," said the Doctor. "But you're taking the most desperate risks +against health and life." He leaned forward in his chair, jerked in his +legs, and threw out his long white hands. "You're committing slow +suicide." + +"Doctor," began Mary; but her husband had the floor. + +"Doctor," he said, "can you put yourself in our place? Wouldn't you +rather die than beg? _Wouldn't_ you?" + +The Doctor rose to his feet as straight as a lance. + +"It isn't what you'd rather, sir! You haven't your choice! You haven't +your choice at all, sir! When God gets ready for you to die he'll let +you know, sir! And you've no right to trifle with his mercy in the +meanwhile. I'm not a man to teach men to whine after each other for aid; +but every principle has its limitations, Mr. Richling. You say you went +over the whole subject. Yes; well, didn't you strike the fact that +suicide is an affront to civilization and humanity?" + +"Why, Doctor!" cried the other two, rising also. "We're not going to +commit suicide." + +"No," retorted he, "you're not. That's what I came here to tell you. I'm +here to prevent it." + +"Doctor," exclaimed Mary, the big tears standing in her eyes, and the +Doctor melting before them like wax, "it's not so bad as it looks. I +wash--some--because it pays so much better than sewing. I find I'm +stronger than any one would believe. I'm stronger than I ever was before +in my life. I am, indeed. I _don't_ wash _much_. And it's only for the +present. We'll all be laughing at this, some time, together." She began +a small part of the laugh then and there. + +"You'll do it no more," the Doctor replied. He drew out his pocket-book. +"Mr. Richling, will you please send me through the mail, or bring me, +your note for fifty dollars,--at your leisure, you know,--payable on +demand?" He rummaged an instant in the pocket-book, and extended his +hand with a folded bank-note between his thumb and finger. But Richling +compressed his lips and shook his head, and the two men stood silently +confronting each other. Mary laid her hand upon her husband's shoulder +and leaned against him, with her eyes on the Doctor's face. + +"Come, Richling,"--the Doctor smiled,--"your friend Ristofalo did not +treat you in this way." + +"I never treated Ristofalo so," replied Richling, with a smile tinged +with bitterness. It was against himself that he felt bitter; but the +Doctor took it differently, and Richling, seeing this, hurried to +correct the impression. + +"I mean I lent him no such amount as that." + +"It was just one-fiftieth of that," said Mary. + +"But you gave liberally, without upbraiding," said the Doctor. + +"Oh, no, Doctor! no!" exclaimed she, lifting the hand that lay on her +husband's near shoulder and reaching it over to the farther one. "Oh! a +thousand times no! John never meant that. Did you, John?" + +"How could I?" said John. "No!" Yet there was confession in his look. He +had not meant it, but he had felt it. + +Dr. Sevier sat down, motioned them into their seats, drew the arm-chair +close to theirs. Then he spoke. He spoke long, and as he had not spoken +anywhere but at the bedside scarce ever in his life before. The young +husband and wife forgot that he had ever said a grating word. A soft +love-warmth began to fill them through and through. They seemed to +listen to the gentle voice of an older and wiser brother. A hand of Mary +sank unconsciously upon a hand of John. They smiled and assented, and +smiled, and assented, and Mary's eyes brimmed up with tears, and John +could hardly keep his down. The Doctor made the whole case so plain and +his propositions so irresistibly logical that the pair looked from his +eyes to each other's and laughed. "Cozumel!" They did not utter the +name; they only thought of it both at one moment. It never passed their +lips again. Their visitor brought them to an arrangement. The fifty +dollars were to be placed to John's credit on the books kept by +Narcisse, as a deposit from Richling, and to be drawn against by him in +such littles as necessity might demand. It was to be "secured"--they all +three smiled at that word--by Richling's note payable on demand. The +Doctor left a prescription for the refractory chills. + +As he crossed Canal street, walking in slow meditation homeward at the +hour of dusk, a tall man standing against a wall, tin cup in hand,--a +full-fledged mendicant of the steam-boiler explosion, tin-proclamation +type,--asked his alms. He passed by, but faltered, stopped, let his hand +down into his pocket, and looked around to see if his pernicious example +was observed. None saw him. He felt--he saw himself--a drivelling +sentimentalist. But weak, and dazed, sore wounded of the archers, he +turned and dropped a dime into the beggar's cup. + +Richling was too restless with the joy of relief to sit or stand. He +trumped up an errand around the corner, and hardly got back before he +contrived another. He went out to the bakery for some crackers--fresh +baked--for Mary; listened to a long story across the baker's counter, +and when he got back to his door found he had left the crackers at the +bakery. He went back for them and returned, the blood about his heart +still running and leaping and praising God. + +"The sun at midnight!" he exclaimed, knitting Mary's hands in his. +"You're very tired. Go to bed. Me? I can't yet. I'm too restless." + +He spent more than an hour chatting with Mrs. Riley, and had never found +her so "nice" a person before; so easy comes human fellowship when we +have had a stroke of fortune. When he went again to his room there was +Mary kneeling by the bedside, with her head slipped under the snowy +mosquito net, all in fine linen, white as the moonlight, frilled and +broidered, a remnant of her wedding glory gleaming through the long, +heavy wefts of her unbound hair. + +"Why, Mary"-- + +There was no answer. + +"Mary?" he said again, laying his hand upon her head. + +The head was slowly lifted. She smiled an infant's smile, and dropped +her cheek again upon the bedside. She had fallen asleep at the foot of +the Throne. + +At that same hour, in an upper chamber of a large, distant house, there +knelt another form, with bared, bowed head, but in the garb in which it +had come in from the street. Praying? This white thing overtaken by +sleep here was not more silent. Yet--yes, praying. But, all the while, +the prayer kept running to a little tune, and the words repeating +themselves again and again; "Oh, don't you remember sweet Alice--with +hair so brown--so brown--so brown? Sweet Alice, with hair so brown?" And +God bent his ear and listened. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +BORROWER TURNED LENDER. + + +It was only a day or two later that the Richlings, one afternoon, having +been out for a sunset walk, were just reaching Mrs. Riley's door-step +again, when they were aware of a young man approaching from the opposite +direction with the intention of accosting them. They brought their +conversation to a murmurous close. + +For it was not what a mere acquaintance could have joined them in, +albeit its subject was the old one of meat and raiment. Their talk had +been light enough on their starting out, notwithstanding John had earned +nothing that day. But it had toned down, or, we might say up, to a +sober, though not a sombre, quality. John had in some way evolved the +assertion that even the life of the body alone is much more than food +and clothing and shelter; so much more, that only a divine provision can +sustain it; so much more, that the fact is, when it fails, it generally +fails with meat and raiment within easy reach. + +Mary devoured his words. His spiritual vision had been a little clouded +of late, and now, to see it clear-- She closed her eyes for bliss. + +"Why, John," she said, "you make it plainer than any preacher I ever +heard." + +This, very naturally, silenced John. And Mary, hoping to start him +again, said:-- + +"Heaven provides. And yet I'm sure you're right in seeking our food and +raiment?" She looked up inquiringly. + +"Yes; like the fowls, the provision is made _for_ us through us. The +mistake is in making those things the _end_ of our search." + +"Why, certainly!" exclaimed Mary, softly. She took fresh hold in her +husband's arm; the young man was drawing near. + +"It's Narcisse!" murmured John. The Creole pressed suddenly forward with +a joyous smile, seized Richling's hand, and, lifting his hat to Mary as +John presented him, brought his heels together and bowed from the hips. + +"I wuz juz coming at yo' 'ouse, Mistoo Itchlin. Yesseh. I wuz juz +sitting in my 'oom afteh dinneh, envelop' in my _'obe de chambre_, when +all at once I says to myseff, 'Faw distwaction I will go and see Mistoo +Itchlin!'" + +"Will you walk in?" said the pair. + +Mrs. Riley, standing in the door of her parlor, made way by descending +to the sidewalk. Her calico was white, with a small purple figure, and +was highly starched and beautifully ironed. Purple ribbons were at her +waist and throat. As she reached the ground Mary introduced Narcisse. +She smiled winningly, and when she said, with a courtesy: "Proud to know +ye, sur," Narcisse was struck with the sweetness of her tone. But she +swept away with a dramatic tread. + +"Will you walk in?" Mary repeated; and Narcisse responded:-- + +"If you will pummit me yo' attention a few moment'." He bowed again and +made way for Mary to precede him. + +"Mistoo Itchlin," he continued, going in, "in fact you don't give Misses +Witchlin my last name with absolute co'ectness." + +"Did I not? Why, I hope you'll pardon"-- + +"Oh, I'm glad of it. I don' feel lak a pusson is my fwen' whilst they +don't call me Nahcisse." He directed his remark particularly to Mary. + +"Indeed?" responded she. "But, at the same time, Mr. Richling would +have"-- She had turned to John, who sat waiting to catch her eye with +such intense amusement betrayed in his own that she saved herself +from laughter and disgrace only by instant silence. + +"Yesseh," said Narcisse to Richling, "'tis the tooth." + +He cast his eye around upon the prevailing hair-cloth and varnish. + +"Misses Witchlin, I muz tell you I like yo' tas'e in that pawlah." + +"It's Mrs. Riley's taste," said Mary. + +"'Tis a beaucheouz tas'e," insisted the Creole, contemplatively, gazing +at the Pope's vestments tricked out with blue, scarlet, and gilt +spangles. "Well, Mistoo Itchlin, since some time I've been stipulating +me to do myseff that honoh, seh, to come at yo' 'ouse; well, ad the end +I am yeh. I think you fine yoseff not ve'y well those days. Is that nod +the case, Mistoo Itchlin?" + +"Oh, I'm well enough!" Richling ended with a laugh, somewhat +explosively. Mary looked at him with forced gravity as he suppressed it. +He had to draw his nose slowly through his thumb and two fingers before +he could quite command himself. Mary relieved him by responding:-- + +"No, Mr. Richling hasn't been well for some time." + +Narcisse responded triumphantly:-- + +"It stwuck me--so soon I pe'ceive you--that you 'ave the ai' of a +valedictudina'y. Thass a ve'y fawtunate that you ah 'esiding in a +'ealthsome pawt of the city, in fact." + +Both John and Mary laughed and demurred. + +"You don't think?" asked the smiling visitor. "Me, I dunno,--I fine one +thing. If a man don't die fum one thing, yet, still, he'll die fum +something. I 'ave study that out, Mistoo Itchlin. 'To be, aw to not be, +thaz the queztion,' in fact. I don't ca'e if you live one place aw if +you live anotheh place, 'tis all the same,--you've got to pay to live!" + +The Richlings laughed again, and would have been glad to laugh more; but +each, without knowing it of the other, was reflecting with some +mortification upon the fact that, had they been talking French, Narcisse +would have bitten his tongue off before any of his laughter should have +been at their expense. + +"Indeed you have got to pay to live," said John, stepping to the window +and drawing up its painted paper shade. "Yes, and"-- + +"Ah!" exclaimed Mary, with gentle disapprobation. She met her husband's +eye with a smile of protest. "John," she said, "Mr. ----" she couldn't +think of the name. + +"Nahcisse," said the Creole. + +"Will think," she continued, her amusement climbing into her eyes in +spite of her, "you're in earnest." + +"Well, I am, partly. Narcisse knows, as well as we do that there are two +sides to the question." He resumed his seat. "I reckon"-- + +"Yes," said Narcisse, "and what you muz look out faw, 'tis to git on the +soff side." + +They all laughed. + +"I was going to say," said Richling, "the world takes us as we come, +'sight-unseen.' Some of us pay expenses, some don't." + +"Ah!" rejoined Narcisse, looking up at the whitewashed ceiling, +"those egspenze'!" He raised his hand and dropped it. "I _fine_ it so +_diffycul'_ to defeat those egspenze'! In fact, Mistoo Itchlin, such ah +the state of my financial emba'assment that I do not go out at all. I +stay in, in fact. I stay at my 'ouse--to light' those egspenze'!" + +They were all agreed that expenses could be lightened thus. + +"And by making believe you don't want things," said Mary. + +"Ah!" exclaimed Narcisse, "I nevvah kin do that!" and Richling gave a +laugh that was not without sympathy. "But I muz tell you, Mistoo +Itchlin, I am aztonizh at _you_." + +An instant apprehension seized John and Mary. They _knew_ their +ill-concealed amusement would betray them, and now they were to be +called to account. But no. + +"Yesseh," continued Narcisse, "you 'ave the gweatez o'casion to be the +subjec' of congwatulation, Mistoo Itchlin, to 'ave the poweh to +_ac_cum'late money in those hawd time' like the pwesen'!" + +The Richlings cried out with relief and amused surprise. + +"Why, you couldn't make a greater mistake!" + +"Mistaken! Hah! W'en I ged that memo'andum f'om Dr. Seveeah to paz that +fifty dollah at yo' cwedit, it burz f'om me, that egs_clam_ation! +'Acchilly! 'ow that Mistoo Itchlin deserve the 'espect to save a lill +quantity of money like that!" + +The laughter of John and Mary did not impede his rhapsody, nor their +protestations shake his convictions. + +"Why," said Richling, lolling back, "the Doctor has simply omitted to +have you make the entry of"-- + +But he had no right to interfere with the Doctor's accounts. However, +Narcisse was not listening. + +"You' compel' to be witch some day, Mistoo Itchlin, ad that wate of +p'ogwess; I am convince of that. I can deteg that indis_pu_tably in yo' +physio'nomie. Me--I _can't_ save a cent! Mistoo Itchlin, you would be +aztonizh to know 'ow bad I want some money, in fact; exceb that I am +_too_ pwoud to dizclose you that state of my condition!" + +He paused and looked from John to Mary, and from Mary to John again. + +"Why, I'll declare," said Richling, sincerely, dropping forward with his +chin on his hand, "I'm sorry to hear"-- + +But Narcisse interrupted. + +"Diffyculty with me--I am not willing to baw'." + +Mary drew a long breath and glanced at her husband. He changed his +attitude and, looking upon the floor, said, "Yes, yes." He slowly marked +the bare floor with the edge of his shoe-sole. "And yet there are times +when duty actually"-- + +"I believe you, Mistoo Itchlin," said Narcisse, quickly forestalling +Mary's attempt to speak. "Ah, Mistoo Itchlin! _if_ I had baw'd money +ligue the huncle of my hant!" He waved his hand to the ceiling and +looked up through that obstruction, as it were, to the witnessing sky. +"But I _hade_ that--to baw'! I tell you 'ow 'tis with me, Mistoo +Itchlin; I nevvah would consen' to baw' money on'y if I pay a big +inte'es' on it. An' I'm compel' to tell you one thing, Mistoo Itchlin, +in fact: I nevvah would leave money with Doctah Seveeah to invez faw +me--no!" + +Richling gave a little start, and cast his eyes an instant toward his +wife. She spoke. + +"We'd rather you wouldn't say that to us, Mister ----" There was a +commanding smile at one corner of her lips. "You don't know what a +friend"-- + +Narcisse had already apologized by two or three gestures to each of his +hearers. + +"Misses Itchlin--Mistoo Itchlin,"--he shook his head and smiled +skeptically,--"you think you kin admiah Doctah Seveeah mo' than me? 'Tis +uzeless to attempt. 'With all 'is fault I love 'im still.'" + +Richling and his wife both spoke at once. + +"But John and I," exclaimed Mary, electrically, "love him, faults and +all!" + +She looked from husband to visitor, and from visitor to husband, and +laughed and laughed, pushing her small feet back and forth alternately +and softly clapping her hands. Narcisse felt her in the centre of his +heart. He laughed. John laughed. + +"What I mean, Mistoo Itchlin," resumed Narcisse, preferring to avoid +Mary's aroused eye,--"what I mean--Doctah Seveeah don't un'stan' that +kine of business co'ectly. Still, ad the same time, if I was you I know +I would 'ate faw my money not to be makin' me some inte'es'. I tell you +what I would do with you, Mistoo Itchlin, in fact: I kin baw' that fifty +dollah f'om you myseff." + +Richling repressed a smile. "Thank you! But I don't care to invest it." + +"Pay you ten pe' cent. a month." + +"But we can't spare it," said Richling, smiling toward Mary. "We may +need part of it ourselves." + +"I tell you, 'eally, Mistoo Itchlin, I nevveh baw' money; but it juz +'appen I kin use that juz at the pwesent." + +"Why, John," said Mary, "I think you might as well say plainly that the +money is borrowed money." + +"That's what it is," responded Richling, and rose to spread the +street-door wider open, for the daylight was fading. + +"Well, I 'ope you'll egscuse that libbetty," said Narcisse, rising a +little more tardily, and slower. "I muz baw' fawty dollah--some place. +Give you good secu'ty--give you my note, Mistoo Itchlin, in fact; muz +baw fawty--aw thutty-five." + +"Why, I'm very sorry," responded Richling, really ashamed that he could +not hold his face straight. "I hope you understand"-- + +"Mistoo Itchlin, 'tis baw'd money. If you had a necessity faw it you +would use it. If a fwend 'ave a necessity--'tis anotheh thing--you don't +feel that libbetty--you ah 'ight--I honoh you"-- + +"I _don't_ feel the same liberty." + +"Mistoo Itchlin," said Narcisse, with noble generosity, throwing himself +a half step forward, "if it was yoze you'd baw' it to me in a minnit!" +He smiled with benign delight. "Well, madame,--I bid you good evening, +Misses Itchlin. The bes' of fwen's muz pawt, you know." He turned again +to Richling with a face all beauty and a form all grace. "I was juz +sitting--mistfully--all at once I says to myseff, 'Faw distwaction +I'll go an' see Mistoo Itchlin.' I don't _know_ 'ow I juz +'appen'!-- Well, _au 'evo'_, Mistoo Itchlin." + +Richling followed him out upon the door-step. There Narcisse intimated +that even twenty dollars for a few days would supply a stern want. And +when Richling was compelled again to refuse, Narcisse solicited his +company as far as the next corner. There the Creole covered him with +shame by forcing him to refuse the loan of ten dollars, and then of +five. + +It was a full hour before Richling rejoined his wife. Mrs. Riley had +stepped off to some neighbor's door with Mike on her arm. Mary was on +the sidewalk. + +"John," she said, in a low voice, and with a long anxious look. + +"What?" + +"He _didn't_ take the only dollar of your own in the world?" + +"Mary, what could I do? It seemed a crime to give, and a crime not to +give. He cried like a child; said it was all a sham about his dinner and +his _robe de chambre_. An aunt, two little cousins, an aged uncle at +home--and not a cent in the house! What could I do? He says he'll return +it in three days." + +"And"--Mary laughed distressfully--"you believed him?" She looked at him +with an air of tender, painful admiration, half way between a laugh and +a cry. + +"Come, sit down," he said, sinking upon the little wooden buttress at +one side of the door-step. + +Tears sprang into her eyes. She shook her head. + +"Let's go inside." And in there she told him sincerely, "No, no, no; she +didn't think he had done wrong"--when he knew he had. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +WEAR AND TEAR. + + +The arrangement for Dr. Sevier to place the loan of fifty dollars on his +own books at Richling's credit naturally brought Narcisse into relation +with it. + +It was a case of love at first sight. From the moment the record of +Richling's "little quantity" slid from the pen to the page, Narcisse had +felt himself betrothed to it by destiny, and hourly supplicated the +awful fates to frown not upon the amorous hopes of him unaugmented. +Richling descended upon him once or twice and tore away from his embrace +small fractions of the coveted treasure, choosing, through a diffidence +which he mistook for a sort of virtue, the time of day when he would not +see Dr. Sevier; and at the third visitation took the entire golden +fleece away with him rather than encounter again the always more or less +successful courtship of the scorner of loans. + +A faithful suitor, however, was not thus easily shaken off. Narcisse +became a frequent visitor at the Richlings', where he never mentioned +money; that part was left to moments of accidental meeting with Richling +in the street, which suddenly began to occur at singularly short +intervals. + +Mary labored honestly and arduously to dislike him--to hold a repellent +attitude toward him. But he was too much for her. It was easy enough +when he was absent; but one look at his handsome face, so rife with +animal innocence, and despite herself she was ready to reward his +displays of sentiment and erudition with laughter that, mean what it +might, always pleased and flattered him. + +"Can you help liking him?" she would ask John. "I can't, to save my +life!" + +Had the treasure been earnings, Richling said--and believed--he could +firmly have repelled Narcisse's importunities. But coldly to withhold an +occasional modest heave-offering of that which was the free bounty of +another to him was more than he could do. + +"But," said Mary, straightening his cravat, "you intend to pay up, and +he--you don't think I'm uncharitable, do you?" + +"I'd rather give my last cent than think you so," replied John. +"Still,"--laying the matter before her with both open hands,--"if you +say plainly not to give him another cent I'll do as you say. The money's +no more mine than yours." + +"Well, you can have all my share," said Mary, pleasantly. + +So the weeks passed and the hoard dwindled. + +"What has it got down to, now?" asked John, frowningly, on more than one +morning as he was preparing to go out. And Mary, who had been made +treasurer, could count it at a glance without taking it out of her +purse. + +One evening, when Narcisse called, he found no one at home but Mrs. +Riley. The infant Mike had been stuffed with rice and milk and laid away +to slumber. The Richlings would hardly be back in less than an hour. + +"I'm so'y," said Narcisse, with a baffled frown, as he sat down and Mrs. +Riley took her seat opposite. "I came to 'epay 'em some moneys which he +made me the loan--juz in a fwenly way. And I came to 'epay 'im. The +sum-total, in fact--I suppose he nevva mentioned you about that, eh?" + +"No, sir; but, still, if"-- + +"No, and so I can't pay it to you. I'm so'y. Because I know he woon like +it, I know, if he fine that you know he's been bawing money to me. Well, +Misses Wiley, in fact, thass a _ve'y_ fine gen'leman and lady--that +Mistoo and Misses Itchlin, in fact?" + +"Well, now, Mr. Narcisse, ye'r about right? She's just too good to +live--and he's not much better--ha! ha!" She checked her jesting mood. +"Yes, sur, they're very peaceable, quiet people. They're just simply +ferst tlass." + +"'Tis t'ue," rejoined the Creole, fanning himself with his straw hat and +looking at the Pope. "And they handsome and genial, as the lite'ati say +on the noozpapeh. Seem like they almoze wedded to each otheh." + +"Well, now, sir, that's the trooth!" She threw her open hand down with +emphasis. + +"And isn't that as man and wife should be?" + +"Yo' mighty co'ect, Misses Wiley!" Narcisse gave his pretty head a +little shake from side to side as he spoke. + +"Ah! Mr. Narcisse,"--she pointed at herself,--"haven't I been a wife? +The husband and wife--they'd aht to jist be each other's guairdjian +angels! Hairt to hairt sur; sperit to sperit. All the rist is nawthing, +Mister Narcisse." She waved her hands. "Min is different from women, +sur." She looked about on the ceiling. Her foot noiselessly patted the +floor. + +"Yes," said Narcisse, "and thass the cause that they dwess them dif'ent. +To show the dif'ence, you know." + +"Ah! no. It's not the mortial frame, sur; it's the sperit. The sperit of +man is not the sperit of woman. The sperit of woman is not the sperit of +man. Each one needs the other, sur. They needs each other, sur, to +purify and strinthen and enlairge each other's speritu'l life. Ah, sur! +Doo not I feel those things, sur?" She touched her heart with one +backward-pointed finger, "_I_ doo. It isn't good for min to be +alone--much liss for women. Do not misunderstand me, sur; I speak as a +widder, sur--and who always will be--ah! yes, I will--ha! ha! ha!" She +hushed her laugh as if this were going too far, tossed her head, and +continued smiling. + +So they talked on. Narcisse did not stay an hour, but there was +little of the hour left when he rose to go. They had passed a pleasant +time. The Creole, it is true, tried and failed to take the helm of +conversation. Mrs. Riley held it. But she steered well. She was still +expatiating on the "strinthenin'" spiritual value of the marriage +relation when she, too, stood up. + +"And that's what Mr. and Madam Richlin's a-doin' all the time. And they +do ut to perfiction, sur--jist to perfiction!" + +"I doubt it not, Misses Wiley. Well, Misses Wiley, I bid you _au +'evoi'_. I dunno if you'll pummit me, but I am compel to tell you, +Misses Wiley, I nevva yeh anybody in my life with such a educated and +talented conve'sation like yo'seff. Misses Wiley, at what univussity did +you gwaduate?" + +"Well, reely, Mister--eh"--she fanned herself with broad sweeps of her +purple bordered palm-leaf--"reely, sur, if I don't furgit the name +I--I--I'll be switched! Ha! ha! ha!" + +Narcisse joined in the laugh. + +"Thaz the way, sometime," he said, and then with sudden gravity: "And, +by-the-by, Misses Wiley, speakin' of Mistoo Itchlin,--if you could baw' +me two dollahs an' a 'alf juz till tomaw mawnin--till I kin sen' it you +fum the office-- Because that money I've got faw Mistoo Itchlin is +in the shape of a check, and anyhow I'm c'owding me a little to pay that +whole sum-total to Mistoo Itchlin. I kin sen' it you firs' thing my bank +open tomaw mawnin." + +Do you think he didn't get it? + + * * * + +"What has it got down to now?" John asked again, a few mornings after +Narcisse's last visit. Mary told him. He stepped a little way aside, +averting his face, dropped his forehead into his hand, and returned. + +"I don't see--I don't see, Mary--I"-- + +"Darling," she replied, reaching and capturing both his hands, "who does +see? The rich _think_ they see; but do they, John? Now, _do_ they?" + +The frown did not go quite off his face, but he took her head between +his hands and kissed her temple. + +"You're always trying to lift me," he said. + +"Don't you lift me?" she replied, looking up between his hands and +smiling. + +"Do I?" + +"You know you do. Don't you remember the day we took that walk, and you +said that after all it never is we who provide?" She looked at the +button of his coat, which she twirled in her fingers. "That word lifted +me." + +"But suppose I can't practice the trust I preach?" he said. + +"You do trust, though. You have trusted." + +"Past tense," said John. He lifted her hands slowly away from him, and +moved toward the door of their chamber. He could not help looking back +at the eyes that followed him, and then he could not bear their look. +"I--I suppose a man mustn't trust too much," he said. + +"Can he?" asked Mary, leaning against a table. + +"Oh, yes, he can," replied John; but his tone lacked conviction. + +"If it's the right kind?" + +Her eyes were full of tears. + +"I'm afraid mine's not the right kind, then," said John, and passed out +into and down the street. + +But what a mind he took with him--what torture of questions! Was he +being lifted or pulled down? His tastes,--were they rising or sinking? +Were little negligences of dress and bearing and in-door attitude +creeping into his habits? Was he losing his discriminative sense of +quantity, time, distance? Did he talk of small achievements, small +gains, and small truths, as though they were great? Had he learned to +carp at the rich, and to make honesty the excuse for all penury? Had he +these various poverty-marks? He looked at himself outside and inside, +and feared to answer. One thing he knew,--that he was having great +wrestlings. + +He turned his thoughts to Ristofalo. This was a common habit with him. +Not only in thought, but in person, he hovered with a positive +infatuation about this man of perpetual success. + +Lately the Italian had gone out of town, into the country of La +Fourche, to buy standing crops of oranges. Richling fed his hope on the +possibilities that might follow Ristofalo's return. His friend would +want him to superintend the gathering and shipment of those crops--when +they should be ripe--away yonder in November. Frantic thought! A man and +his wife could starve to death twenty times before then. + +Mrs. Riley's high esteem for John and Mary had risen from the date of +the Doctor's visit, and the good woman thought it but right somewhat to +increase the figures of their room-rent to others more in keeping with +such high gentility. How fast the little hoard melted away! + +And the summer continued on,--the long, beautiful, glaring, implacable +summer; its heat quaking on the low roofs; its fig-trees dropping their +shrivelled and blackened leaves and writhing their weird, bare branches +under the scorching sun; the long-drawn, frying note of its cicada +throbbing through the mid-day heat from the depths of the becalmed oak; +its universal pall of dust on the myriad red, sleep-heavy blossoms of +the oleander and the white tulips of the lofty magnolia; its twinkling +pomegranates hanging their apples of scarlet and gold over the garden +wall; its little chameleons darting along the hot fence-tops; its +far-stretching, empty streets; its wide hush of idleness; its solitary +vultures sailing in the upper blue; its grateful clouds; its hot north +winds, its cool south winds; its gasping twilight calms; its gorgeous +nights,--the long, long summer lingered on into September. + +One evening, as the sun was sinking below the broad, flat land, its +burning disk reddened by a low golden haze of suspended dust, Richling +passed slowly toward his home, coming from a lower part of the town by +way of the quadroon quarter. He was paying little notice, or none, to +his whereabouts, wending his way mechanically, in the dejected reverie +of weary disappointment, and with voiceless inward screamings and +groanings under the weight of those thoughts which had lately taken up +their stay in his dismayed mind. But all at once his attention was +challenged by a strange, offensive odor. He looked up and around, saw +nothing, turned a corner, and found himself at the intersection of Treme +and St. Anne streets, just behind the great central prison of New +Orleans. + +The "Parish Prison" was then only about twenty-five years old; but it +had made haste to become offensive to every sense and sentiment of +reasonable man. It had been built in the Spanish style,--a massive, +dark, grim, huge, four-sided block, the fissure-like windows of its +cells looking down into the four public streets which ran immediately +under its walls. Dilapidation had followed hard behind ill-building +contractors. Down its frowning masonry ran grimy streaks of leakage over +peeling stucco and mould-covered brick. Weeds bloomed high aloft in the +broken gutters under the scant and ragged eaves. Here and there the +pale, debauched face of a prisoner peered shamelessly down through +shattered glass or rusted grating; and everywhere in the still +atmosphere floated the stifling smell of the unseen loathsomeness +within. + +Richling paused. As he looked up he noticed a bat dart out from a long +crevice under the eaves. Two others followed. Then three--a dozen--a +hundred--a thousand--millions. All along the two sides of the prison in +view they poured forth in a horrid black torrent,--myriads upon myriads. +They filled the air. They came and came. Richling stood and gazed; and +still they streamed out in gibbering waves, until the wonder was that +anything but a witch's dream could contain them. + +The approach of another passer roused him, and he started on. The step +gained upon him--closed up with him; and at the moment when he expected +to see the person go by, a hand was laid gently on his shoulder. + +"Mistoo Itchlin, I 'ope you well, seh!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +BROUGHT TO BAY. + + +One may take his choice between the two, but there is no escaping both +in this life: the creditor--the borrower. Either, but never neither. +Narcisse caught step with Richling, and they walked side by side. + +"How I learned to mawch, I billong with a fiah comp'ny," said the +Creole. "We mawch eve'y yeah on the fou'th of Mawch." He laughed +heartily. "Thass a 'ime!--Mawch on the fou'th of Mawch! Thass poetwy, in +fact, as you may _say_ in a jesting _way_--ha! ha! ha!" + +"Yes, and it's truth, besides," responded the drearier man. + +"Yes!" exclaimed Narcisse, delighted at the unusual coincidence, "at the +same time 'tis the tooth! In fact, why should I tell a lie about such a +thing like _that_? 'Twould be useless. Pe'haps you may 'ave notiz, +Mistoo Itchlin, thad the noozpapehs opine us fiahmen to be the gau'dians +of the city." + +"Yes," responded Richling. "I think Dr. Sevier calls you the Mamelukes, +doesn't he? But that's much the same, I suppose." + +"Same thing," replied the Creole. "We combad the fiah fiend. You fine +that building ve'y pitto'esque, Mistoo Itchlin?" He jerked his thumb +toward the prison, that was still pouring forth its clouds of impish +wings. "Yes? 'Tis the same with me. But I tell you one thing, Mistoo +Itchlin, I assu' you, and you will believe me, I would 'atheh be lock' +_out_side of that building than to be lock' _in_side of the same. +'Cause--you know why? 'Tis ve'y 'umid in that building. An thass a thing +w'at I believe, Mistoo Itchlin; I believe w'en a building is v'ey 'umid +it is not ve'y 'ealthsome. What is yo' opinion consunning that, Mistoo +Itchlin?" + +"My opinion?" said Richling, with a smile. "My opinion is that the +Parish Prison would not be a good place to raise a family." + +Narcisse laughed. + +"I thing yo' _o_pinion is co'ect," he said, flatteringly; then growing +instantly serious, he added, "Yesseh, I think you' about a-'ight, Mistoo +Itchlin; faw even if 'twas not too 'umid, 'twould be too confining, in +fact,--speshly faw child'en. I dunno; but thass my opinion. If you ah +p'oceeding at yo' residence, Mistoo Itchlin, I'll juz _con_tinue my +p'omenade in yo' society--if not intooding"-- + +Richling smiled candidly. "Your company's worth all it costs, Narcisse. +Excuse me; I always forget your last name--and your first is so +appropriate." It _was_ worth all it cost, though Richling could ill +afford the purchase. The young Latin's sweet, abysmal ignorance, his +infantile amiability, his artless ambition, and heathenish innocence +started the natural gladness of Richling's blood to effervescing anew +every time they met, and, through the sheer impossibility of confiding +any of his troubles to the Creole, made him think them smaller and +lighter than they had just before appeared. The very light of Narcisse's +countenance and beauty of his form--his smooth, low forehead, his thick, +abundant locks, his faintly up-tipped nose and expanded nostrils, his +sweet, weak mouth with its impending smile, his beautiful chin and +bird's throat, his almond eyes, his full, round arm, and strong +thigh--had their emphatic value. + +So now, Richling, a moment earlier borne down by the dreadful shadow of +the Parish Prison, left it behind him as he walked and laughed and +chatted with his borrower. He felt very free with Narcisse, for the +reason that would have made a wiser person constrained,--lack of respect +for him. + +"Mistoo Itchlin, you know," said the Creole, "I like you to call me +Nahcisse. But at the same time my las' name is Savillot." He pronounced +it Sav-_veel_-yo. "Thass a somewot Spanish name. That double l got a +twist in it." + +"Oh, call it Papilio!" laughed Richling. + +"Papillon!" exclaimed Narcisse, with delight. "The buttehfly! All +a-'ight; you kin juz style me that! 'Cause thass my natu'e, Mistoo +Itchlin; I gatheh honey eve'y day fum eve'y opening floweh, as the bahd +of A-von wemawk." + +So they went on. + +_Ad infinitum?_ Ah, no! The end was just as plainly in view to both from +the beginning as it was when, at length, the two stepping across the +street gutter at the last corner between Richling and home, Narcisse +laid his open hand in his companion's elbow, and stopped, saying, as +Richling turned and halted with a sudden frown of unwillingness:-- + +"I tell you 'ow 'tis with me, Mistoo Itchlin, I've p'oject that manneh +myseff; in weading a book--w'en I see a beaucheouz idee, I juz take a +pencil"--he drew one from his pocket--"check! I check it. So w'en I wead +the same book again, then I take notiz I've check that idee and I look +to see what I check it faw. 'Ow you like that invention, eh?" + +"Very simple," said Richling, with an unpleasant look of expectancy. + +"Mistoo Itchlin," resumed the other, "do you not fine me impooving in my +p'onouncement of yo' lang-widge? I fine I don't use such bad land-widge +like biffo. I am shue you muz' 'ave notiz since some time I always soun' +that awer in yo' name. Mistoo Itchlin, will you 'ave that kin'ness to +baw me two-an-a-'alf till the lass of that month?" + +Richling looked at him a moment in silence, and then broke into a short, +grim laugh. + +"It's all gone. There's no more honey in this flower." He set his jaw as +he ceased speaking. There was a warm red place on either cheek. + +"Mistoo Itchlin," said Narcisse, with sudden, quavering fervor, "you kin +len' me two dollahs! I gi'e you my honah the moze sacwed of a gen'leman, +Mistoo Itchlin, I nevvah hass you ag'in so long I live!" He extended a +pacifying hand. "One moment, Mistoo Itchlin,--one moment,--I implo' you, +seh! I assu' you, Mistoo Itchlin, I pay you eve'y cent in the worl' on +the laz of that month? Mistoo Itchlin, I am in indignan' circumstan's. +Mistoo Itchlin, if you know the distwess--Mistoo Itchlin, if you +know--'ow bad I 'ate to baw!" The tears stood in his eyes. "It nea'ly +_kill_ me to b--" Utterance failed him. + +"My friend," began Richling. + +"Mistoo Itchlin," exclaimed Narcisse, dashing away the tears and +striking his hand on his heart, "I _am_ yo' fwend, seh!" + +Richling smiled scornfully. "Well, my good friend, if you had ever kept +a single promise made to me I need not have gone since yesterday without +a morsel of food." + +Narcisse tried to respond. + +"Hush!" said Richling, and Narcisse bowed while Richling spoke on. "I +haven't a cent to buy bread with to carry home. And whose fault is it? +Is it my fault--or is it yours?" + +"Mistoo Itchlin, seh"-- + +"Hush!" cried Richling, again; "if you try to speak before I finish I'll +thrash you right here in the street!" + +Narcisse folded his arms. Richling flushed and flashed with the +mortifying knowledge that his companion's behavior was better than his +own. + +"If you want to borrow more money of me find me a chance to earn it!" He +glanced so suddenly at two or three street lads, who were the only +on-lookers, that they shrank back a step. + +"Mistoo Itchlin," began Narcisse, once more, in a tone of polite dismay, +"you aztonizh me. I assu' you, Mistoo Itchlin"-- + +Richling lifted his finger and shook it. "Don't you tell me that, sir! I +will not be an object of astonishment to you! Not to you, sir! Not to +you!" He paused, trembling, his anger and his shame rising together. + +Narcisse stood for a moment, silent, undaunted, the picture of amazed +friendship and injured dignity, then raised his hat with the solemnity +of affronted patience and said:-- + +"Mistoo Itchlin, seein' as 'tis you, a puffic gen'leman, 'oo is not +goin' to 'efuse that satisfagtion w'at a gen'leman, always a-'eady to +give a gen'leman,--I bid you--faw the pwesen'--good-evenin', seh!" He +walked away. + +Richling stood in his tracks dumfounded, crushed. His eyes followed the +receding form of the borrower until it disappeared around a distant +corner, while the eye of his mind looked in upon himself and beheld, +with a shame that overwhelmed anger, the folly and the puerility of his +outburst. The nervous strain of twenty-four hours' fast, without which +he might not have slipped at all, only sharpened his self-condemnation. +He turned and walked to his house, and all the misery that had oppressed +him before he had seen the prison, and all that had come with that +sight, and all this new shame, sank down upon his heart at once. "I am +not a man! I am not a whole man!" he suddenly moaned to himself. +"Something is wanting--oh! what is it?"--he lifted his eyes to the +sky,--"what is it?"--when in truth, there was little wanting just then +besides food. + +He passed in at the narrow gate and up the slippery alley. Nearly at its +end was the one window of the room he called home. Just under it--it was +somewhat above his head--he stopped and listened. A step within was +moving busily here and there, now fainter and now plainer; and a voice, +the sweetest on earth to him, was singing to itself in its soft, +habitual way. + +He started round to the door with a firmer tread. It stood open. He +halted on the threshold. There was a small table in the middle of the +room, and there was food on it. A petty reward of his wife's labor had +brought it there. + +"Mary," he said, holding her off a little, "don't kiss me yet." + +She looked at him with consternation. He sat down, drew her upon his +lap, and told her, in plain, quiet voice, the whole matter. + +"Don't look so, Mary." + +"How?" she asked, in a husky voice and with flashing eye. + +"Don't breathe so short and set your lips. I never saw you look so, +Mary, darling!" + +She tried to smile, but her eyes filled. + +"If you had been with me," said John, musingly, "it wouldn't have +happened." + +"If--if"-- Mary sat up as straight as a dart, the corners of her +mouth twitching so that she could scarcely shape a word,--"if--if I'd +been there, I'd have made you _whip_ him!" She flouted her handkerchief +out of her pocket, buried her face in his neck, and sobbed like a child. + +"Oh!" exclaimed the tearful John, holding her away by both shoulders, +tossing back his hair and laughing as she laughed,--"Oh! you women! +You're all of a sort! You want us men to carry your hymn-books and your +iniquities, too!" + +She laughed again. + +"Well, of course!" + +And they rose and drew up to the board. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THE DOCTOR DINES OUT. + + +On the third day after these incidents, again at the sunset hour, but in +a very different part of the town, Dr. Sevier sat down, a guest, at +dinner. There were flowers; there was painted and monogrammed china; +there was Bohemian glass; there was silver of cunning work with linings +of gold, and damasked linen, and oak of fantastic carving. There were +ladies in summer silks and elaborate coiffures; the hostess, small, +slender, gentle, alert; another, dark, flashing, Roman, tall; another, +ripe but not drooping, who had been beautiful, now, for thirty years; +and one or two others. There were jewels; there were sweet odors. And +there were, also, some good masculine heads: Dr. Sevier's, for instance; +and the chief guest's,--an iron-gray, with hard lines in the face, and a +scar on the near cheek,--a colonel of the regular army passing through +from Florida; and one crown, bald, pink, and shining, encircled by a +silken fringe of very white hair: it was the banker who lived in St. +Mary street. His wife was opposite. And there was much high-bred grace. +There were tall windows thrown wide to make the blaze of gas bearable, +and two tall mulattoes in the middle distance bringing in and bearing +out viands too sumptuous for any but a French nomenclature. + +It was what you would call a quiet affair; quite out of season, and +difficult to furnish with even this little handful of guests; but it was +a proper and necessary attention to the colonel; conversation not too +dull, nor yet too bright for ease, but passing gracefully from one +agreeable topic to another without earnestness, a restless virtue, or +frivolity, which also goes against serenity. Now it touched upon the +prospects of young A. B. in the demise of his uncle; now upon the +probable seriousness of C. D. in his attentions to E. F.; now upon G.'s +amusing mishaps during a late tour in Switzerland, which had--"how +unfortunately!"--got into the papers. Now it was concerning the +admirable pulpit manners and easily pardoned vocal defects of a certain +new rector. Now it turned upon Stephen A. Douglas's last speech; passed +to the questionable merits of a new-fangled punch; and now, assuming a +slightly explanatory form from the gentlemen to the ladies, showed why +there was no need whatever to fear a financial crisis--which came soon +afterward. + +The colonel inquired after an old gentleman whom he had known in earlier +days in Kentucky. + +"It's many a year since I met him," he said. "The proudest man I ever +saw. I understand he was down here last season." + +"He was," replied the host, in a voice of native kindness, and with a +smile on his high-fed face. "He was; but only for a short time. He went +back to his estate. That is his world. He's there now." + +"It used to be considered one of the finest places in the State," said +the colonel. + +"It is still," rejoined the host. "Doctor, you know him?" + +"I think not," said Dr. Sevier; but somehow he recalled the old +gentleman in button gaiters, who had called on him one evening to +consult him about his sick wife. + +"A good man," said the colonel, looking amused; "and a superb +gentleman. Is he as great a partisan of the church as he used to be?" + +"Greater! Favors an established church of America." + +The ladies were much amused. The host's son, a young fellow with +sprouting side-whiskers, said he thought he could be quite happy with +one of the finest plantations in Kentucky, and let the church go its own +gait. + +"Humph!" said the father; "I doubt if there's ever a happy breath drawn +on the place." + +"Why, how is that?" asked the colonel, in a cautious tone. + +"Hadn't he heard?" The host was surprised, but spoke low. "Hadn't he +heard about the trouble with their only son? Why, he went abroad and +never came back!" + +Every one listened. + +"It's a terrible thing," said the hostess to the ladies nearest her; "no +one ever dares ask the family what the trouble is,--they have such odd, +exclusive ideas about their matters being nobody's business. All that +can be known is that they look upon him as worse than dead and gone +forever." + +"And who will get the estate?" asked the banker. + +"The two girls. They're both married." + +"They're very much like their father," said the hostess, smiling with +gentle significance. + +"Very much," echoed the host, with less delicacy. "Their mother is one +of those women who stand in terror of their husband's will. Now, if he +were to die and leave her with a will of her own she would hardly know +what to do with it--I mean with her will--or the property either." + +The hostess protested softly against so harsh a speech, and the son, +after one or two failures, got in his remark:-- + +"Maybe the prodigal would come back and be taken in." + +But nobody gave this conjecture much attention. The host was still +talking of the lady without a will. + +"Isn't she an invalid?" Dr. Sevier had asked. + +"Yes; the trip down here last season was on her account,--for change of +scene. Her health is wretched." + +"I'm distressed that I didn't call on her," said the hostess; "but they +went away suddenly. My dear, I wonder if they really did encounter the +young man here?" + +"Pshaw!" said the husband, softly, smiling and shaking his head, and +turned the conversation. + +In time it settled down with something like earnestness for a few +minutes upon a subject which the rich find it easy to discuss without +the least risk of undue warmth. It was about the time when one of the +graciously murmuring mulattoes was replenishing the glasses, that remark +in some way found utterance to this effect,--that the company present +could congratulate themselves on living in a community where there was +no poor class. + +"Poverty, of course, we see; but there is no misery, or nearly none," +said the ambitious son of the host. + +Dr. Sevier differed with him. That was one of the Doctor's blemishes as +a table guest: he would differ with people. + +"There is misery," he said; "maybe not the gaunt squalor and starvation +of London or Paris or New York; the climate does not tolerate +that,--stamps it out before it can assume dimensions; but there is at +least misery of that sort that needs recognition and aid from the +well-fed." + +The lady who had been beautiful so many years had somewhat to say; the +physician gave attention, and she spoke:-- + +"If sister Jane were here, she would be perfectly triumphant to hear you +speak so, Doctor." She turned to the hostess, and continued: "Jane is +quite an enthusiast, you know; a sort of Dorcas, as husband says, +modified and readapted. Yes, she is for helping everybody." + +"Whether help is good for them or not," said the lady's husband, a very +straight and wiry man with a garrote collar. + +"It's all one," laughed the lady. "Our new rector told her plainly, the +other day, that she was making a great mistake; that she ought to +consider whether assistance assists. It was really amusing. Out of the +pulpit and off his guard, you know, he lisps a little; and he said she +ought to consider whether 'aththithtanth aththithtth.'" + +There was a gay laugh at this, and the lady was called a perfect and +cruel mimic. + +"'Aththithtanth aththithtth!'" said two or three to their neighbors, and +laughed again. + +"What did your sister say to that?" asked the banker, bending forward +his white, tonsured head, and smiling down the board. + +"She said she didn't care; that it kept her own heart tender, anyhow. +'My dear madam,' said he, 'your heart wants strengthening more than +softening.' He told her a pound of inner resource was more true help to +any poor person than a ton of assistance." + +The banker commended the rector. The hostess, very sweetly, offered her +guarantee that Jane took the rebuke in good part. + +"She did," replied the time-honored beauty; "she tried to profit by it. +But husband, here, has offered her a wager of a bonnet against a hat +that the rector will upset her new schemes. Her idea now is to make work +for those whom nobody will employ." + +"Jane," said the kind-faced host, "really wants to do good for its own +sake." + +"I think she's even a little Romish in her notions," said Jane's wiry +brother-in-law. "I talked to her as plainly as the rector. I told her, +'Jane, my dear, all this making of work for the helpless poor is not +worth one-fiftieth part of the same amount of effort spent in teaching +and training those same poor to make their labor intrinsically +marketable.'" + +"Yes," said the hostess; "but while we are philosophizing and offering +advice so wisely, Jane is at work--doing the best she knows how. We +can't claim the honor even of making her mistakes." + +"'Tisn't a question of honors to us, madam," said Dr. Sevier; "it's a +question of results to the poor." + +The brother-in-law had not finished. He turned to the Doctor. + +"Poverty, Doctor, is an inner condition"-- + +"Sometimes," interposed the Doctor. + +"Yes, generally," continued the brother-in-law, with some emphasis. "And +to give help you must, first of all, 'inquire within'--within your +beneficiary." + +"Not always, sir," replied the Doctor; "not if they're sick, for +instance." The ladies bowed briskly and applauded with their eyes. "And +not always if they're well," he added. His last words softened off +almost into soliloquy. + +The banker spoke forcibly:-- + +"Yes, there are two quite distinct kinds of poverty. One is an accident +of the moment; the other is an inner condition of the individual"-- + +"Of course it is," said sister Jane's brother-in-law, who felt it a +little to have been contradicted on the side of kindness by the +hard-spoken Doctor. "Certainly! it's a deficiency of inner resources +or character, and what to do with it is no simple question." + +"That's what I was about to say," resumed the banker; "at least, when +the poverty is of that sort. And what discourages kind people is that +that's the sort we commonly see. It's a relief to meet the other, +Doctor, just as it's a relief to a physician to encounter a case of +simple surgery." + +"And--and," said the brother-in-law, "what is your rule about plain +almsgiving to the difficult sort?" + +"My rule," replied the banker, "is, don't do it. Debt is slavery, and +there is an ugly kink in human nature that disposes it to be content +with slavery. No, sir; gift-making and gift-taking are twins of a bad +blood." The speaker turned to Dr. Sevier for approval; but, though the +Doctor could not gainsay the fraction of a point, he was silent. A lady +near the hostess stirred softly both under and above the board. In her +private chamber she would have yawned. Yet the banker spoke again:-- + +"Help the old, I say. You are pretty safe there. Help the sick. But as +for the young and strong,--now, no man could be any poorer than I was at +twenty-one,--I say be cautious how you smooth that hard road which is +the finest discipline the young can possibly get." + +"If it isn't _too_ hard," chirped the son of the host. + +"Too hard? Well, yes, if it isn't too hard. Still I say, hands off; you +needn't turn your back, however." Here the speaker again singled out Dr. +Sevier. "Watch the young man out of one corner of your eye; but make him +swim!" + +"Ah-h!" said the ladies. + +"No, no," continued the banker; "I don't say let him drown; but I take +it, Doctor, that your alms, for instance, are no alms if they put the +poor fellow into your debt and at your back." + +"To whom do you refer?" asked Dr. Sevier. Whereat there was a burst of +laughter, which was renewed when the banker charged the physician with +helping so many persons, "on the sly," that he couldn't tell which one +was alluded to unless the name were given. + +"Doctor," said the hostess, seeing it was high time the conversation +should take a new direction, "they tell me you have closed your house +and taken rooms at the St. Charles." + +"For the summer," said the physician. + +As, later, he walked toward that hotel, he went resolving to look up the +Richlings again without delay. The banker's words rang in his ears like +an overdose of quinine: "Watch the young man out of one corner of your +eye. Make him swim. I don't say let him drown." + +"Well, I do watch him," thought the Doctor. "I've only lost sight of him +once in a while." But the thought seemed to find an echo against his +conscience, and when it floated back it was: "I've only _caught_ sight +of him once in a while." The banker's words came up again: "Don't put +the poor fellow into your debt and at your back." "Just what you've +done," said conscience. "How do you know he isn't drowned?" He would see +to it. + +While he was still on his way to the hotel he fell in with an +acquaintance, a Judge Somebody or other, lately from Washington City. +He, also, lodged at the St. Charles. They went together. As they +approached the majestic porch of the edifice they noticed some confusion +at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the rotunda; cabmen and boys +were running to a common point, where, in the midst of a small, compact +crowd, two or three pairs of arms were being alternately thrown aloft +and brought down. Presently the mass took a rapid movement up St. +Charles street. + +The judge gave his conjecture: "Some poor devil resisting arrest." + +Before he and the Doctor parted for the night they went to the clerk's +counter. + +"No letters for you, Judge; mail failed. Here is a card for you, +Doctor." + +The Doctor received it. It had been furnished, blank, by the clerk to +its writer. + + [Illustration: JOHN RICHLING.] + +At the door of his own room, with one hand on the unturned knob and one +holding the card, the Doctor stopped and reflected. The card gave no +indication of urgency. Did it? It was hard to tell. He didn't want to +look foolish; morning would be time enough; he would go early next +morning. + +But at daybreak he was summoned post-haste to the bedside of a lady who +had stayed all summer in New Orleans so as not to be out of this good +doctor's reach at this juncture. She counted him a dear friend, and in +similar trials had always required close and continual attention. It was +the same now. + +Dr. Sevier scrawled and sent to the Richlings a line, saying that, if +either of them was sick, he would come at their call. When the messenger +returned with word from Mrs. Riley that both of them were out, the +Doctor's mind was much relieved. So a day and a night passed in which he +did not close his eyes. + +The next morning, as he stood in his office, hat in hand, and a finger +pointing to a prescription on his desk, which he was directing Narcisse +to give to some one who would call for it, there came a sudden hurried +pounding of feminine feet on the stairs, a whiff of robes in the +corridor, and Mary Richling rushed into his presence all tears and +cries. + +"O Doctor!--O Doctor! O God, my husband! my husband! O Doctor, my +husband is in the Parish Prison!" She sank to the floor. + +The Doctor raised her up. Narcisse hurried forward with his hands full +of restoratives. + +"Take away those things," said the Doctor, resentfully. "Here!--Mrs. +Richling, take Narcisse's arm and go down and get into my carriage. I +must write a short note, excusing myself from an appointment, and then I +will join you." + +Mary stood alone, turned, and passed out of the office beside the young +Creole, but without taking his proffered arm. Did she suspect him of +having something to do with this dreadful affair? + +"Missez Witchlin," said he, as soon as they were out in the corridor, +"I dunno if you goin' to billiv me, but I boun' to tell you that +nodwithstanning that yo' 'uzban' is displease' with me, an' +nodwithstanning 'e's in that calaboose, I h'always fine 'im a puffic +gen'leman--that Mistoo Itchlin,--an' I'll sweah 'e _is_ a gen'leman!" + +She lifted her anguished eyes and looked into his beautiful face. Could +she trust him? His little forehead was as hard as a goat's, but his eyes +were brimming with tears, and his chin quivered. As they reached the +head of the stairs he again offered his arm, and she took it, moaning +softly, as they descended:-- + +"O John! O John! O my husband, my husband!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +THE TROUGH OF THE SEA. + + +Narcisse, on receiving his scolding from Richling, had gone to his home +in Casa Calvo street, a much greater sufferer than he had appeared to +be. While he was confronting his abaser there had been a momentary +comfort in the contrast between Richling's ill-behavior and his own +self-control. It had stayed his spirit and turned the edge of Richling's +sharp denunciations. But, as he moved off the field, he found himself, +at every step, more deeply wounded than even he had supposed. He began +to suffocate with chagrin, and hurried his steps in sheer distress. He +did not experience that dull, vacant acceptance of universal scorn which +an unresentful coward feels. His pangs were all the more poignant +because he knew his own courage. + +In his home he went so straight up to the withered little old lady, in +the dingiest of flimsy black, who was his aunt, and kissed her so +passionately, that she asked at once what was the matter. He recounted +the facts, shedding tears of mortification. Her feeling, by the time +he had finished the account, was a more unmixed wrath than his, and, +harmless as she was, and wrapped up in her dear, pretty nephew as she +was, she yet demanded to know why such a man shouldn't be called out +upon the field of honor. + +"Ah!" cried Narcisse, shrinkingly. She had touched the core of the +tumor. One gets a public tongue-lashing from a man concerning money +borrowed; well, how is one going to challenge him without first handing +back the borrowed money? It was a scalding thought! The rotten joists +beneath the bare scrubbed-to-death floor quaked under Narcisse's +to-and-fro stride. + +"--And then, anyhow!"--he stopped and extended both hands, speaking, of +course, in French,--"anyhow, he is the favored friend of Dr. Sevier. If +I hurt him--I lose my situation! If he hurts me--I lose my situation!" + +He dried his eyes. His aunt saw the insurmountability of the difficulty, +and they drowned feeling in an affectionate glass of green-orangeade. + +"But never mind!" Narcisse set his glass down and drew out his tobacco. +He laughed spasmodically as he rolled his cigarette. "You shall see. The +game is not finished yet." + +Yet Richling passed the next day and night without assassination, and +on the second morning afterward, as on the first, went out in quest of +employment. He and Mary had eaten bread, and it had gone into their life +without a remainder either in larder or purse. Richling was all aimless. + +"I do wish I had the _art_ of finding work," said he. He smiled. "I'll +get it," he added, breaking their last crust in two. "I have the science +already. Why, look you, Mary, the quiet, amiable, imperturbable, +dignified, diurnal, inexorable haunting of men of influence will get you +whatever you want." + +"Well, why don't you do it, dear? Is there any harm in it? I don't see +any harm in it. Why don't you do that very thing?" + +"I'm telling you the truth," answered he, ignoring her question. +"Nothing else short of overtowering merit will get you what you want +half so surely." + +"Well, why not do it? Why not?" A fresh, glad courage sparkled in the +wife's eyes. + +"Why, Mary," said John, "I never in my life tried so hard to do anything +else as I've tried to do that! It sounds easy; but try it! You can't +conceive how hard it is till you try it. I can't _do_ it! I _can't_ do +it!" + +"_I'd_ do it!" cried Mary. Her face shone. "_I'd_ do it! You'd see if I +didn't! Why, John"-- + +"All right!" exclaimed he; "you sha'n't talk that way to me for nothing. +I'll try it again! I'll begin to-day!" + +"Good-by," he said. He reached an arm over one of her shoulders and +around under the other and drew her up on tiptoe. She threw both hers +about his neck. A long kiss--then a short one. + +"John, something tells me we're near the end of our troubles." + +John laughed grimly. "Ristofalo was to get back to the city to-day: +maybe he's going to put us out of our misery. There are two ways for +troubles to end." He walked away as he spoke. As he passed under the +window in the alley, its sash was thrown up and Mary leaned out on her +elbows. + +"John!" + +"Well?" + +They looked into each other's eyes with the quiet pleasure of tried +lovers, and were silent a moment. She leaned a little farther down, and +said, softly:-- + +"You mustn't mind what I said just now." + +"Why, what did you say?" + +"That if it were I, I'd do it. I know you can do anything I can do, and +a hundred better things besides." + +He lifted his hand to her cheek. "We'll see," he whispered. She drew in, +and he moved on. + +Morning passed. Noon came. From horizon to horizon the sky was one +unbroken blue. The sun spread its bright, hot rays down upon the town +and far beyond, ripening the distant, countless fields of the great +delta, which by and by were to empty their abundance into the city's lap +for the employment, the nourishing, the clothing of thousands. But in +the dusty streets, along the ill-kept fences and shadowless walls of the +quiet districts, and on the glaring facades and heated pavements of the +commercial quarters, it seemed only as though the slowly retreating +summer struck with the fury of a wounded Amazon. Richling was soon +dust-covered and weary. He had gone his round. There were not many men +whom he could even propose to haunt. He had been to all of them. Dr. +Sevier was not one. "Not to-day," said Richling. + +"It all depends on the way it's done," he said to himself; "it needn't +degrade a man if it's done the right way." It was only by such +philosophy he had done it at all. Ristofalo he could have haunted +without effort; but Ristofalo was not to be found. Richling tramped in +vain. It may be that all plans were of equal merit just then. The +summers of New Orleans in those times were, as to commerce, an utter +torpor, and the autumn reawakening was very tardy. It was still too +early for the stirrings of general mercantile life. The movement of the +cotton crop was just beginning to be perceptible; but otherwise almost +the only sounds were from the hammers of craftsmen making the town +larger and preparing it for the activities of days to come. + +The afternoon wore along. Not a cent yet to carry home! Men began to +shut their idle shops and go to meet their wives and children about +their comfortable dinner-tables. The sun dipped low. Hammers and saws +were dropped into tool-boxes, and painters pulled themselves out of +their overalls. The mechanic's rank, hot supper began to smoke on its +bare board; but there was one board that was still altogether bare and +to which no one hastened. Another day and another chance of life were +gone. + +Some men at a warehouse door, the only opening in the building left +unclosed, were hurrying in a few bags of shelled corn. Night was +falling. At an earlier hour Richling had offered the labor of his hands +at this very door and had been rejected. Now, as they rolled in the last +truck-load, they began to ask for rest with all the gladness he would +have felt to be offered toil, singing,-- + + "To blow, to blow, some time for to blow." + +They swung the great leaves of the door together as they finished their +chorus, stood grouped outside a moment while the warehouseman turned the +resounding lock, and then went away. Richling, who had moved on, watched +them over his shoulder, and as they left turned back. He was about to do +what he had never done before. He went back to the door where the bags +of grain had stood. A drunken sailor came swinging along. He stood still +and let him pass; there must be no witnesses. The sailor turned the next +corner. Neither up nor down nor across the street, nor at dust-begrimed, +cobwebbed window, was there any sound or motion. Richling dropped +quickly on one knee and gathered hastily into his pocket a little pile +of shelled corn that had leaked from one of the bags. + +That was all. No harm to a living soul; no theft; no wrong; but ah! as +he rose he felt a sudden inward lesion. Something broke. It was like a +ship, in a dream, noiselessly striking a rock where no rock is. It +seemed as though the very next thing was to begin going to pieces. He +walked off in the dark shadow of the warehouse, half lifted from his +feet by a vague, wide dismay. And yet he felt no greatness of emotion, +but rather a painful want of it, as if he were here and emotion were +yonder, down-street, or up-street, or around the corner. The ground +seemed slipping from under him. He appeared to have all at once melted +away to nothing. He stopped. He even turned to go back. He felt that if +he should go and put that corn down where he had found it he should feel +himself once more a living thing of substance and emotions. Then it +occurred to him--no, he would keep it, he would take it to Mary; but +himself--he would not touch it; and so he went home. + +Mary parched the corn, ground it fine in the coffee-mill and salted and +served it close beside the candle. "It's good white corn," she said, +laughing. "Many a time when I was a child I used to eat this in my +playhouse and thought it delicious. Didn't you? What! not going to eat?" + +Richling had told her how he got the corn. Now he told his sensations. +"You eat it, Mary," he said at the end; "you needn't feel so about it; +but if I should eat it I should feel myself a vagabond. It may be +foolish, but I wouldn't touch it for a hundred dollars." A hundred +dollars had come to be his synonyme for infinity. + +Mary gazed at him a moment tearfully, and rose, with the dish in her +hand, saying, with a smile, "I'd look pretty, wouldn't I!" + +She set it aside, and came and kissed his forehead. By and by she +asked:-- + +"And so you saw no work, anywhere?" + +"Oh, yes!" he replied, in a tone almost free from dejection. "I saw any +amount of work--preparations for a big season. I think I certainly +shall pick up something to-morrow--enough, anyhow, to buy something to +eat with. If we can only hold out a little longer--just a little--I am +sure there'll be plenty to do--for everybody." Then he began to show +distress again. "I could have got work to-day if I had been a carpenter, +or if I'd been a joiner, or a slater, or a bricklayer, or a plasterer, +or a painter, or a hod-carrier. Didn't I try that, and was refused?" + +"I'm glad of it," said Mary. + +"'Show me your hands,' said the man to me. I showed them. 'You won't +do,' said he." + +"I'm glad of it!" said Mary, again. + +"No," continued Richling; "or if I'd been a glazier, or a whitewasher, +or a wood-sawyer, or"--he began to smile in a hard, unpleasant way,--"or +if I'd been anything but an American gentleman. But I wasn't, and I +didn't get the work!" + +Mary sank into his lap, with her very best smile. + +"John, if you hadn't been an American gentleman"-- + +"We should never have met," said John. "That's true; that's true." They +looked at each other, rejoicing in mutual ownership. + +"But," said John, "I needn't have been the typical American +gentleman,--completely unfitted for prosperity and totally unequipped +for adversity." + +"That's not your fault," said Mary. + +"No, not entirely; but it's your calamity, Mary. O Mary! I little +thought"-- + +She put her hand quickly upon his mouth. His eye flashed and he frowned. + +"Don't do so!" he exclaimed, putting the hand away; then blushed for +shame, and kissed her. + +They went to bed. Bread would have put them to sleep. But after a long +time-- + +"John," said one voice in the darkness, "do you remember what Dr. Sevier +told us?" + +"Yes, he said we had no right to commit suicide by starvation." + +"If you don't get work to-morrow, are you going to see him?" + +"I am." + +In the morning they rose early. + +During these hard days Mary was now and then conscious of one feeling +which she never expressed, and was always a little more ashamed of than +probably she need have been, but which, stifle it as she would, kept +recurring in moments of stress. Mrs. Riley--such was the thought--need +not be quite so blind. It came to her as John once more took his +good-by, the long kiss and the short one, and went breakfastless away. +But was Mrs. Riley as blind as she seemed? She had vision enough to +observe that the Richlings had bought no bread the day before, though +she did overlook the fact that emptiness would set them astir before +their usual hour of rising. She knocked at Mary's inner door. As it +opened a quick glance showed the little table that occupied the centre +of the room standing clean and idle. + +"Why, Mrs. Riley!" cried Mary; for on one of Mrs. Riley's large hands +there rested a blue-edged soup-plate, heaping full of the food that goes +nearest to the Creole heart--_jambolaya_. There it was, steaming and +smelling,--a delicious confusion of rice and red pepper, chicken legs, +ham, and tomatoes. Mike, on her opposite arm, was struggling to lave his +socks in it. + +"Ah!" said Mrs. Riley, with a disappointed lift of the head, "ye're +after eating breakfast already! And the plates all tleared off. Well, ye +air smairt! I knowed Mr. Richlin's taste for jumbalie"-- + +Mary smote her hands together. "And he's just this instant gone! John! +John! Why, he's hardly"-- She vanished through the door, glided down +the alley, leaned out the gate, looking this way and that, tripped +down to this corner and looked--"Oh! oh!"--no John there--back and up to +the other corner--"Oh! which way did John go?" There was none to answer. + +Hours passed; the shadows shortened and shrunk under their objects, +crawled around stealthily behind them as the sun swung through the +south, and presently began to steal away eastward, long and slender. +This was the day that Dr. Sevier dined out, as hereinbefore set forth. + +The sun set. Carondelet street was deserted. You could hear your own +footstep on its flags. In St. Charles street the drinking-saloons and +gamblers' drawing-rooms, and the barber-shops, and the show-cases full +of shirt-bosoms and walking-canes, were lighted up. The smell of lemons +and mint grew finer than ever. Wide Canal street, out under the darkling +crimson sky, was resplendent with countless many-colored lamps. From the +river the air came softly, cool and sweet. The telescope man set up his +skyward-pointing cylinder hard by the dark statue of Henry Clay; the +confectioneries were ablaze and full of beautiful life, and every little +while a great, empty cotton-dray or two went thundering homeward over +the stony pavements until the earth shook, and speech for the moment was +drowned. The St. Charles, such a glittering mass in winter nights, stood +out high and dark under the summer stars, with no glow except just in +its midst, in the rotunda; and even the rotunda was well-nigh deserted +The clerk at his counter saw a young man enter the great door opposite, +and quietly marked him as he drew near. + +Let us not draw the stranger's portrait. If that were a pleasant task +the clerk would not have watched him. What caught and kept that +functionary's eye was that, whatever else might be revealed by the +stranger's aspect,--weariness, sickness, hardship, pain,--the confession +was written all over him, on his face, on his garb, from his hat's crown +to his shoe's sole, Penniless! Penniless! Only when he had come quite up +to the counter the clerk did not see him at all. + +"Is Dr. Sevier in?" + +"Gone out to dine," said the clerk, looking over the inquirer's head as +if occupied with all the world's affairs except the subject in hand. + +"Do you know when he will be back?" + +"Ten o'clock." + +The visitor repeated the hour murmurously and looked something dismayed. +He tarried. + +"Hem!--I will leave my card, if you please." + +The clerk shoved a little box of cards toward him, from which a pencil +dangled by a string. The penniless wrote his name and handed it in. Then +he moved away, went down the tortuous granite stair, and waited in the +obscurity of the dimly lighted porch below. The card was to meet the +contingency of the Doctor's coming in by some other entrance. He would +watch for him here. + +By and by--he was very weary--he sat down on the stairs. But a porter, +with a huge trunk on his back, told him very distinctly that he was in +the way there, and he rose and stood aside. Soon he looked for another +resting-place. He must get off of his feet somewhere, if only for a few +moments. He moved back into the deep gloom of the stair-way shadow, and +sank down upon the pavement. In a moment he was fast asleep. + +He dreamed that he, too, was dining out. Laughter and merry-making were +on every side. The dishes of steaming viands were grotesque in bulk. +There were mountains of fruit and torrents of wine. Strange people of no +identity spoke in senseless vaporings that passed for side-splitting +wit, and friends whom he had not seen since childhood appeared in +ludicrously altered forms and announced impossible events. Every one ate +like a Cossack. One of the party, champing like a boar, pushed him +angrily, and when he, eating like the rest, would have turned fiercely +on the aggressor, he awoke. + +A man standing over him struck him smartly with his foot. + +"Get up out o' this! Get up! get up!" + +The sleeper bounded to his feet. The man who had waked him grasped him +by the lapel of his coat. + +"What do you mean?" exclaimed the awakened man, throwing the other off +violently. + +"I'll show you!" replied the other, returning with a rush; but he was +thrown off again, this time with a blow of the fist. + +"You scoundrel!" cried the penniless man, in a rage; "if you touch me +again I'll kill you!" + +They leaped together. The one who had proposed to show what he meant was +knocked flat upon the stones. The crowd that had run into the porch made +room for him to fall. A leather helmet rolled from his head, and the +silver crescent of the police flashed on his breast. The police were not +uniformed in those days. + +But he is up in an instant and his adversary is down--backward, on his +elbows. Then the penniless man is up again; they close and struggle, +the night-watchman's club falls across his enemy's head blow upon blow, +while the sufferer grasps him desperately, with both hands, by the +throat. They tug, they snuffle, they reel to and fro in the yielding +crowd; the blows grow fainter, fainter; the grip is terrible; when +suddenly there is a violent rupture of the crowd, it closes again, and +then there are two against one, and up sparkling St. Charles street, the +street of all streets for flagrant, unmolested, well-dressed crime, +moves a sight so exhilarating that a score of street lads follow behind +and a dozen trip along in front with frequent backward glances: two +officers of justice walking in grim silence abreast, and between them +a limp, torn, hatless, bloody figure, partly walking, partly lifted, +partly dragged, past the theatres, past the lawyers' rookeries of +Commercial place, the tenpin alleys, the chop-houses, the bunko shows, +and shooting-galleries, on, across Poydras street into the dim openness +beyond, where glimmer the lamps of Lafayette square and the white marble +of the municipal hall, and just on the farther side of this, with a +sudden wheel to the right into Hevia street, a few strides there, a turn +to the left, stumbling across a stone step and wooden sill into a +narrow, lighted hall, and turning and entering an apartment here again +at the right. The door is shut; the name is written down; the charge is +made: Vagrancy, assaulting an officer, resisting arrest. An inner door +is opened. + +"What have you got in number nine?" asks the captain in charge. + +"Chuck full," replies the turnkey. + +"Well, number seven?" These were the numbers of cells. + +"The rats'll eat him up in number seven." + +"How about number ten?" + +"Two drunk-and-disorderlies, one petty larceny, and one embezzlement and +breach of trust." + +"Put him in there." + + * * * + +And this explains what the watchman in Marais street could not +understand,--why Mary Richling's window shone all night long. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN. + + +Round goes the wheel forever. Another sun rose up, not a moment hurried +or belated by the myriads of life-and-death issues that cover the earth +and wait in ecstasies of hope or dread the passage of time. Punctually +at ten Justice-in-the-rough takes its seat in the Recorder's Court, +and a moment of silent preparation at the desks follows the loud +announcement that its session has begun. The perky clerks and smirking +pettifoggers move apart on tiptoe, those to their respective stations, +these to their privileged seats facing the high dais. The lounging +police slip down from their reclining attitudes on the heel-scraped and +whittled window-sills. The hum of voices among the forlorn humanity that +half fills the gradually rising, greasy benches behind, allotted to +witnesses and prisoners' friends, is hushed. In a little square, railed +space, here at the left, the reporters tip their chairs against the +hair-greased wall, and sharpen their pencils. A few tardy visitors, +familiar with the place, tiptoe in through the grimy doors, ducking +and winking, and softly lifting and placing their chairs, with a +mock-timorous upward glance toward the long, ungainly personage who, +under a faded and tattered crimson canopy, fills the august bench of +magistracy with its high oaken back. On the right, behind a rude wooden +paling that rises from the floor to the smoke-stained ceiling, are the +peering, bloated faces of the night's prisoners. + +The recorder utters a name. The clerk down in front of him calls it +aloud. A door in the palings opens, and one of the captives comes +forth and stands before the rail. The arresting officer mounts to the +witness-stand and confronts him. The oath is rattled and turned out like +dice from a box, and the accusing testimony is heard. It may be that +counsel rises and cross-examines, if there are witnesses for the +defence. Strange and far-fetched questions, from beginners at the law +or from old blunderers, provoke now laughter, and now the peremptory +protestations of the court against the waste of time. Yet, in general, +a few minutes suffices for the whole trial of a case. + +"You are sure she picked the handsaw up by the handle, are you?" says +the questioner, frowning with the importance of the point. + +"Yes." + +"And that she coughed as she did so?" + +"Well, you see, she kind o'"-- + +"Yes, or no!" + +"No." + +"That's all." He waves the prisoner down with an air of mighty +triumph, turns to the recorder, "trusts it is not necessary to," +etc., and the accused passes this way or that, according to the fate +decreed,--discharged, sentenced to fine and imprisonment, or committed +for trial before the courts of the State. + +"Order in court!" There is too much talking. Another comes and stands +before the rail, and goes his way. Another, and another; now a ragged +boy, now a half-sobered crone, now a battered ruffian, and now a painted +girl of the street, and at length one who starts when his name is +called, as though something had exploded. + +"John Richling!" + +He came. + +"Stand there!" + +Some one is in the witness-stand, speaking. The prisoner partly hears, +but does not see. He stands and holds the rail, with his eyes fixed +vacantly on the clerk, who bends over his desk under the seat of +justice, writing. The lawyers notice him. His dress has been laboriously +genteel, but is torn and soiled. A detective, with small eyes set close +together, and a nose like a yacht's rudder, whisperingly calls the +notice of one of these spectators who can see the prisoner's face to the +fact that, for all its thinness and bruises, it is not a bad one. All +can see that the man's hair is fine and waving where it is not matted +with blood. + +The testifying officer had moved as if to leave the witness-stand, when +the recorder restrained him by a gesture, and, leaning forward and +looking down upon the prisoner, asked:-- + +"Have you anything to say to this?" + +The prisoner lifted his eyes, bowed affirmatively, and spoke in a low, +timid tone. "May I say a few words to you privately?" + +"No." + +He dropped his eyes, fumbled with the rail, and, looking up suddenly, +said in a stronger voice, "I want somebody to go to my wife--in Prieur +street. She is starving. This is the third day"-- + +"We're not talking about that," said the recorder. "Have you anything to +say against this witness's statement?" + +The prisoner looked upon the floor and slowly shook his head. "I never +meant to break the law. I never expected to stand here. It's like an +awful dream. Yesterday, at this time, I had no more idea of this--I +didn't think I was so near it. It's like getting caught in machinery." +He looked up at the recorder again. "I'm so confused"--he frowned and +drew his hand slowly across his brow--"I can hardly--put my words +together. I was hunting for work. There is no man in this city who +wants to earn an honest living more than I do." + +"What's your trade?" + +"I have none." + +"I supposed not. But you profess to have some occupation, I dare say. +What's your occupation?" + +"Accountant." + +"Hum! you're all accountants. How long have you been out of employment?" + +"Six months." + +"Why did you go to sleep under those steps?" + +"I didn't intend to go to sleep. I was waiting for a friend to come in +who boards at the St. Charles." + +A sudden laugh ran through the room. "Silence in court!" cried a deputy. + +"Who is your friend?" asked the recorder. + +The prisoner was silent. + +"What is your friend's name?" + +Still the prisoner did not reply. One of the group of pettifoggers +sitting behind him leaned forward, touched him on the shoulder, and +murmured: "You'd better tell his name. It won't hurt him, and it may +help you." The prisoner looked back at the man and shook his head. + +"Did you strike this officer?" asked the recorder, touching the witness, +who was resting on both elbows in the light arm-chair on the right. + +The prisoner made a low response. + +"I don't hear you," said the recorder. + +"I struck him," replied the prisoner; "I knocked him down." The court +officers below the dais smiled. "I woke and found him spurning me with +his foot, and I resented it. I never expected to be a law-breaker. +I"-- He pressed his temples between his hands and was silent. The +men of the law at his back exchanged glances of approval. The case was, +to some extent, interesting. + +"May it please the court," said the man who had before addressed the +prisoner over his shoulder, stepping out on the right and speaking very +softly and graciously, "I ask that this man be discharged. His fault +seems so much more to be accident than intention, and his suffering so +much more than his fault"-- + +The recorder interrupted by a wave of the hand and a preconceived smile: +"Why, according to the evidence, the prisoner was noisy and troublesome +in his cell all night." + +"O sir," exclaimed the prisoner, "I was thrown in with thieves and +drunkards! It was unbearable in that hole. We were right on the damp +and slimy bricks. The smell was dreadful. A woman in the cell opposite +screamed the whole night. One of the men in the cell tried to take my +coat from me, and I beat him!" + +"It seems to me, your honor," said the volunteer advocate, "the prisoner +is still more sinned against than sinning. This is evidently his first +offence, and"-- + +"Do you know even that?" asked the recorder. + +"I do not believe his name can be found on any criminal record. I"-- + +The recorder interrupted once more. He leaned toward the prisoner. + +"Did you ever go by any other name?" + +The prisoner was dumb. + +"Isn't John Richling the only name you have ever gone by?" said his new +friend: but the prisoner silently blushed to the roots of his hair and +remained motionless. + +"I think I shall have to send you to prison," said the recorder, +preparing to write. A low groan was the prisoner's only response. + +"May it please your honor," began the lawyer, taking a step forward; but +the recorder waved his pen impatiently. + +"Why, the more is said the worse his case gets; he's guilty of the +offence charged, by his own confession." + +"I am guilty and not guilty," said the prisoner slowly. "I never +intended to be a criminal. I intended to be a good and useful member of +society; but I've somehow got under its wheels. I've missed the whole +secret of living." He dropped his face into his hands. "O Mary, Mary! +why are you my wife?" He beckoned to his counsel. "Come here; come +here." His manner was wild and nervous. "I want you--I want you to go +to Prieur street, to my wife. You know--you know the place, don't you? +Prieur street. Ask for Mrs. Riley"-- + +"Richling," said the lawyer. + +"No, no! you ask for Mrs. Riley? Ask her--ask her--oh! where are my +senses gone? Ask"-- + +"May it please the court," said the lawyer, turning once more to the +magistrate and drawing a limp handkerchief from the skirt of his dingy +alpaca, with a reviving confidence, "I ask that the accused be +discharged; he's evidently insane." + +The prisoner looked rapidly from counsel to magistrate, and back again, +saying, in a low voice, "Oh, no! not that! Oh, no! not that! not that!" + +The recorder dropped his eyes upon a paper on the desk before him, and, +beginning to write, said without looking up:-- + +"Parish Prison--to be examined for insanity." + +A cry of remonstrance broke so sharply from the prisoner that even the +reporters in their corner checked their energetic streams of lead-pencil +rhetoric and looked up. + +"You cannot do that!" he exclaimed. "I am not insane! I'm not even +confused now! It was only for a minute! I'm not even confused!" + +An officer of the court laid his hand quickly and sternly upon his arm; +but the recorder leaned forward and motioned him off. The prisoner +darted a single flash of anger at the officer, and then met the eye of +the justice. + +"If I am a vagrant commit me for vagrancy! I expect no mercy here! I +expect no justice! You punish me first, and try me afterward, and now +you can punish me again; but you can't do that!" + +"Order in court! Sit down in those benches!" cried the deputies. The +lawyers nodded darkly or blandly, each to each. The one who had +volunteered his counsel wiped his bald Gothic brow. On the recorder's +lips an austere satire played as he said to the panting prisoner:-- + +"You are showing not only your sanity, but your contempt of court also." + +The prisoner's eyes shot back a fierce light as he retorted:-- + +"I have no object in concealing either." + +The recorder answered with a quick, angry look; but, instantly +restraining himself, dropped his glance upon his desk as before, began +again to write, and said, with his eyes following his pen:-- + +"Parish Prison, for thirty days." + +The officer grasped the prisoner again and pointed him to the door in +the palings whence he had come, and whither he now returned, without a +word or note of distress. + +Half an hour later the dark omnibus without windows, that went by the +facetious name of the "Black Maria" received the convicted ones from the +same street door by which they had been brought in out of the world the +night before. The waifs and vagabonds of the town gleefully formed a +line across the sidewalk from the station-house to the van, and counted +with zest the abundant number of passengers that were ushered into it +one by one. Heigh ho! In they went: all ages and sorts; both sexes; +tried and untried, drunk and sober, new faces and old acquaintances; a +man who had been counterfeiting, his wife who had been helping him, and +their little girl of twelve, who had done nothing. Ho, ho! Bridget Fury! +Ha, ha! Howling Lou! In they go: the passive, the violent, all kinds; +filling the two benches against the sides, and then the standing room; +crowding and packing, until the officer can shut the door only by +throwing his weight against it. + +"Officer," said one, whose volunteer counsel had persuaded the reporters +not to mention him by name in their thrilling account,--"officer," said +this one, trying to pause an instant before the door of the vehicle, "is +there no other possible way to"-- + +"Get in! get in!" + +Two hands spread against his back did the rest; the door clapped to like +the lid of a bursting trunk, the padlock rattled: away they went! + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +"OH, WHERE IS MY LOVE?" + + +At the prison the scene is repeated in reverse, and the Black Maria +presently rumbles away empty. In that building, whose exterior Narcisse +found so picturesque, the vagrant at length finds food. In that question +of food, by the way, another question arose, not as to any degree of +criminality past or present, nor as to age, or sex, or race, or station; +but as to the having or lacking fifty cents. "Four bits" a day was the +open sesame to a department where one could have bedstead and ragged +bedding and dirty mosquito-bar, a cell whose window looked down into the +front street, food in variety, and a seat at table with the officers of +the prison. But those who could not pay were conducted past all these +delights, along one of several dark galleries, the turnkeys of which +were themselves convicts, who, by a process of reasoning best understood +among the harvesters of perquisites, were assumed to be undergoing +sentence. + +The vagrant stood at length before a grated iron gate while its bolts +were thrown back and it growled on its hinges. What he saw within needs +no minute description; it may be seen there still, any day: a large, +flagged court, surrounded on three sides by two stories of cells with +heavy, black, square doors all a-row and mostly open; about a hundred +men sitting, lying, or lounging about in scanty rags,--some gaunt and +feeble, some burly and alert, some scarred and maimed, some sallow, some +red, some grizzled, some mere lads, some old and bowed,--the sentenced, +the untried, men there for the first time, men who were oftener in than +out,--burglars, smugglers, house-burners, highwaymen, wife-beaters, +wharf-rats, common "drunks," pickpockets, shop-lifters, stealers of +bread, garroters, murderers,--in common equality and fraternity. In this +resting and refreshing place for vice, this caucus for the projection of +future crime, this ghastly burlesque of justice and the protection of +society, there was a man who had been convicted of a dreadful murder a +year or two before, and sentenced to twenty-one years' labor in the +State penitentiary. He had got his sentence commuted to confinement in +this prison for twenty-one years of idleness. The captain of the prison +had made him "captain of the yard." Strength, ferocity, and a terrific +record were the qualifications for this honorary office. + +The gate opened. A howl of welcome came from those within, and the new +batch, the vagrant among them, entered the yard. He passed, in his turn, +to a tank of muddy water in this yard, washed away the soil and blood of +the night, and so to the cell assigned him. He was lying face downward +on its pavement, when a man with a cudgel ordered him to rise. The +vagrant sprang to his feet and confronted the captain of the yard, a +giant in breadth and stature, with no clothing but a ragged undershirt +and pantaloons. + +"Get a bucket and rag and scrub out this cell!" + +He flourished his cudgel. The vagrant cast a quick glance at him, and +answered quietly, but with burning face:-- + +"I'll die first." + +A blow with the cudgel, a cry of rage, a clash together, a push, a +sledge-hammer fist in the side, another on the head, a fall out into +the yard, and the vagrant lay senseless on the flags. + +When he opened his eyes again, and struggled to his feet, a gentle grasp +was on his arm. Somebody was steadying him. He turned his eyes. Ah! who +is this? A short, heavy, close-shaven man, with a woollen jacket thrown +over one shoulder and its sleeves tied together in a knot under the +other. He speaks in a low, kind tone:-- + +"Steady, Mr. Richling!" + +Richling supported himself by a hand on the man's arm, gazed in +bewilderment at the gentle eyes that met his, and with a slow gesture of +astonishment murmured, "Ristofalo!" and dropped his head. + +The Italian had just entered the prison from another station-house. With +his hand still on Richling's shoulder, and Richling's on his, he caught +the eye of the captain of the yard, who was striding quietly up and down +near by, and gave him a nod to indicate that he would soon adjust +everything to that autocrat's satisfaction. Richling, dazed and +trembling, kept his eyes still on the ground, while Ristofalo moved with +him slowly away from the squalid group that gazed after them. They went +toward the Italian's cell. + +"Why are you in prison?" asked the vagrant, feebly. + +"Oh, nothin' much--witness in shootin' scrape--talk 'bout aft' while." + +"O Ristofalo," groaned Richling, as they entered, "my wife! my wife! +Send some bread to my wife!" + +"Lie down," said the Italian, pressing softly on his shoulders; but +Richling as quietly resisted. + +"She is near here, Ristofalo. You can send with the greatest ease! You +can do anything, Ristofalo,--if you only choose!" + +"Lay down," said the Italian again, and pressed more heavily. The +vagrant sank limply to the pavement, his companion quickly untying the +jacket sleeves from under his own arms and wadding the garment under +Richling's head. + +"Do you know what I'm in here for, Ristofalo?" moaned Richling. + +"Don't know, don't care. Yo' wife know you here?" Richling shook his +head on the jacket. The Italian asked her address, and Richling gave it. + +"Goin' tell her come and see you," said the Italian. "Now, you lay still +little while; I be back t'rectly." He went out into the yard again, +pushing the heavy door after him till it stood only slightly ajar, +sauntered easily around till he caught sight of the captain of the yard, +and was presently standing before him in the same immovable way in which +he had stood before Richling in Tchoupitoulas street, on the day he had +borrowed the dollar. Those who idly drew around could not hear his +words, but the "captain's" answers were intentionally audible. He +shook his head in rejection of a proposal. "No, nobody but the prisoner +himself should scrub out the cell. No, the Italian should not do it for +him. The prisoner's refusal and resistance had settled that question. +No, the knocking down had not balanced accounts at all. There was more +scrubbing to be done. It was scrubbing day. Others might scrub the yard +and the galleries, but he should scrub out the tank. And there were +other things, and worse,--menial services of the lowest kind. He should +do them when the time came, and the Italian would have to help him too. +Never mind about the law or the terms of his sentence. Those counted for +nothing there." Such was the sense of the decrees; the words were such +as may be guessed or left unguessed. The scrubbing of the cell must +commence at once. The vagrant must make up his mind to suffer. "He had +served on jury!" said the man in the undershirt, with a final flourish +of his stick. "He's got to pay dear for it." + +When Ristofalo returned to his cell, its inmate, after many upstartings +from terrible dreams, that seemed to guard the threshold of slumber, had +fallen asleep. The Italian touched him gently, but he roused with a wild +start and stare. + +"Ristofalo," he said, and fell a-staring again. + +"You had some sleep," said the Italian. + +"It's worse than being awake," said Richling. He passed his hands across +his face. "Has my wife been here?" + +"No. Haven't sent yet. Must watch good chance. Git captain yard in +good-humor first, or else do on sly." The cunning Italian saw that +anything looking like early extrication would bring new fury upon +Richling. He knew _all_ the values of time. "Come," he added, "must +scrub out cell now." He ignored the heat that kindled in Richling's +eyes, and added, smiling, "You don't do it, I got to do it." + +With a little more of the like kindly guile, and some wise and simple +reasoning, the Italian prevailed. Together, without objection from the +captain of the yard, with many unavailing protests from Richling, who +would now do it alone, and with Ristofalo smiling like a Chinaman at the +obscene ribaldry of the spectators in the yard, they scrubbed the cell. +Then came the tank. They had to stand in it with the water up to their +knees, and rub its sides with brickbats. Richling fell down twice in the +water, to the uproarious delight of the yard; but his companion helped +him up, and they both agreed it was the sliminess of the tank's bottom +that was to blame. + +"Soon we get through we goin' to buy drink o' whisky from jailer," said +Ristofalo; "he keep it for sale. Then, after that, kin hire somebody to +go to your house; captain yard think we gittin' mo' whisky." + +"Hire?" said Richling. "I haven't a cent in the world." + +"I got a little--few dimes," rejoined the other. + +"Then why are you here? Why are you in this part of the prison?" + +"Oh, 'fraid to spend it. On'y got few dimes. Broke ag'in." + +Richling stopped still with astonishment, brickbat in hand. The Italian +met his gaze with an illuminated smile. "Yes," he said, "took all I had +with me to bayou La Fourche. Coming back, slept with some men in boat. +One git up in night-time and steal everything. Then was a big fight. +Think that what fight was about--about dividing the money. Don't know +sure. One man git killed. Rest run into the swamp and prairie. Officer +arrest me for witness. Couldn't trust me to stay in the city." + +"Do you think the one who was killed was the thief?" + +"Don't know sure," said the Italian, with the same sweet face, and +falling to again with his brickbat,--"hope so!" + +"Strange place to confine a witness!" said Richling, holding his hand to +his bruised side and slowly straightening his back. + +"Oh, yes, good place," replied the other, scrubbing away; "git him, in +short time, so he swear to anything." + +It was far on in the afternoon before the wary Ristofalo ventured to +offer all he had in his pocket to a hanger-on of the prison office, to +go first to Richling's house, and then to an acquaintance of his own, +with messages looking to the procuring of their release. The messenger +chose to go first to Ristofalo's friend, and afterward to Mrs. Riley's. +It was growing dark when he reached the latter place. Mary was out in +the city somewhere, wandering about, aimless and distracted, in search +of Richling. The messenger left word with Mrs. Riley. Richling had all +along hoped that that good friend, doubtless acquainted with the most +approved methods of finding a missing man, would direct Mary to the +police station at the earliest practicable hour. But time had shown +that she had not done so. No, indeed! Mrs. Riley counted herself too +benevolently shrewd for that. While she had made Mary's suspense of +the night less frightful than it might have been, by surmises that +Mr. Richling had found some form of night-work,--watching some pile +of freight or some unfinished building,--she had come, secretly, to a +different conviction, predicated on her own married experiences; and if +Mr. Richling had, in a moment of gloom, tipped the bowl a little too +high, as her dear lost husband, the best man that ever walked, had often +done, and had been locked up at night to be let out in the morning, why, +give him a chance! Let him invent his own little fault-hiding romance +and come home with it. Mary was frantic. She could not be kept in; but +Mrs. Riley, by prolonged effort, convinced her it was best not to call +upon Dr. Sevier until she could be sure some disaster had actually +occurred, and sent her among the fruiterers and oystermen in vain search +for Raphael Ristofalo. Thus it was that the Doctor's morning messenger +to the Richlings, bearing word that if any one were sick he would call +without delay, was met by Mrs. Riley only, and by the reassuring +statement that both of them were out. The later messenger, from the two +men in prison, brought back word of Mary's absence from the house, of +her physical welfare, and Mrs. Riley's promise that Mary should visit +the prison at the earliest hour possible. This would not be till the +next morning. + +While Mrs. Riley was sending this message, Mary, a great distance away, +was emerging from the darkening and silent streets of the river front +and moving with timid haste across the broad levee toward the edge of +the water at the steam-boat landing. In this season of depleted streams +and idle waiting, only an occasional boat lifted its lofty, black, +double funnels against the sky here and there, leaving wide stretches of +unoccupied wharf-front between. Mary hurried on, clear out to the great +wharf's edge, and looked forth upon the broad, softly moving harbor. The +low waters spread out and away, to and around the opposite point, in +wide surfaces of glassy purples and wrinkled bronze. Beauty, that joy +forever, is sometimes a terror. Was the end of her search somewhere +underneath that fearful glory? She clasped her hands, bent down with +dry, staring eyes, then turned again and fled homeward. She swerved once +toward Dr. Sevier's quarters, but soon decided to see first if there +were any tidings with Mrs. Riley, and so resumed her course. Night +overtook her in streets where every footstep before or behind her made +her tremble; but at length she crossed the threshold of Mrs. Riley's +little parlor. Mrs. Riley was standing in the door, and retreated a step +or two backward as Mary entered with a look of wild inquiry. + +"Not come?" cried the wife. + +"Mrs. Richlin'," said the widow, hurriedly, "yer husband's alive and +found." + +Mary seized her frantically by the shoulders, crying with high-pitched +voice:-- + +"Where is he?--where is he?" + +"Ya can't see um till marning, Mrs. Richlin'." + +"Where is he?" cried Mary, louder than before. + +"Me dear," said Mrs. Riley, "ye kin easy git him out in the marning." + +"Mrs. Riley," said Mary, holding her with her eye, "is my husband in +prison?--O Lord God! O God! my God!" + +Mrs. Riley wept. She clasped the moaning, sobbing wife to her bosom, and +with streaming eyes said:-- + +"Mrs. Richlin', me dear, Mrs. Richlin', me dear, what wad I give to have +my husband this night where your husband is!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +RELEASE.--NARCISSE. + + +As some children were playing in the street before the Parish Prison +next morning, they suddenly started and scampered toward the prison's +black entrance. A physician's carriage had driven briskly up to it, +ground its wheels against the curb-stone, and halted. If any fresh +crumbs of horror were about to be dropped, the children must be there to +feast on them. Dr. Sevier stepped out, gave Mary his hand and then his +arm, and went in with her. A question or two in the prison office, a +reference to the rolls, and a turnkey led the way through a dark gallery +lighted with dimly burning gas. The stench was suffocating. They stopped +at the inner gate. + +"Why didn't you bring him to us?" asked the Doctor, scowling resentfully +at the facetious drawings and legends on the walls, where the dampness +glistened in the sickly light. + +The keeper made a low reply as he shot the bolts. + +"What?" quickly asked Mary. + +"He's not well," said Dr. Sevier. + +The gate swung open. They stepped into the yard and across it. The +prisoners paused in a game of ball. Others, who were playing cards, +merely glanced up and went on. The jailer pointed with his bunch of keys +to a cell before him. Mary glided away from the Doctor and darted in. +There was a cry and a wail. + +The Doctor followed quickly. Ristofalo passed out as he entered. +Richling lay on a rough gray blanket spread on the pavement with the +Italian's jacket under his head. Mary had thrown herself down beside him +upon her knees, and their arms were around each other's neck. + +"Let me see, Mrs. Richling," said the physician, touching her on the +shoulder. She drew back. Richling lifted a hand in welcome. The Doctor +pressed it. + +"Mrs. Richling," he said, as they faced each other, he on one knee, she +on both. He gave her a few laconic directions for the sick man's better +comfort. "You must stay here, madam," he said at length; "this man +Ristofalo will be ample protection for you; and I will go at once and +get your husband's discharge." He went out. + +In the office he asked for a seat at a desk. As he finished using it he +turned to the keeper and asked, with severe face:-- + +"What do you do with sick prisoners here, anyway?" + +The keeper smiled. + +"Why, if they gits right sick, the hospital wagon comes and takes 'em to +the Charity Hospital." + +"Umhum!" replied the Doctor, unpleasantly,--"in the same wagon they use +for a case of scarlet fever or small-pox, eh?" + +The keeper, with a little resentment in his laugh, stated that he would +be eternally lost if he knew. + +"_I_ know," remarked the Doctor. "But when a man is only a little +sick,--according to your judgment,--like that one in there now, he is +treated here, eh?" + +The keeper swelled with a little official pride. His tone was boastful. + +"We has a complete dispenisary in the prison," he said. + +"Yes? Who's your druggist?" Dr. Sevier was in his worst inquisitorial +mood. + +"One of the prisoners," said the keeper. + +The Doctor looked at him steadily. The man, in the blackness of his +ignorance, was visibly proud of this bit of economy and convenience. + +"How long has he held this position?" asked the physician. + +"Oh, a right smart while. He was sentenced for murder, but he's waiting +for a new trial." + +"And he has full charge of all the drugs?" asked the Doctor, with a +cheerful smile. + +"Yes, sir." The keeper was flattered. + +"Poisons and all, I suppose, eh?" pursued the Doctor. + +"Everything." + +The Doctor looked steadily and silently upon the officer, and tore and +folded and tore again into small bits the prescription he had written. A +moment later the door of his carriage shut with a smart clap and its +wheels rattled away. There was a general laugh in the office, heavily +spiced with maledictions. + +"I say, Cap', what d'you reckon he'd 'a' said if he'd 'a' seen the +women's department?" + + * * * + +In those days recorders had the power to release prisoners sentenced by +them when in their judgment new information justified such action. Yet +Dr. Sevier had a hard day's work to procure Richling's liberty. The sun +was declining once more when a hack drove up to Mrs. Riley's door with +John and Mary in it, and Mrs. Riley was restrained from laughing and +crying only by the presence of the great Dr. Sevier and a romantic +Italian stranger by the captivating name of Ristofalo. Richling, with +repeated avowals of his ability to walk alone, was helped into the house +between these two illustrious visitors, Mary hurrying in ahead, and Mrs. +Riley shutting the street door with some resentment of manner toward +the staring children who gathered without. Was there anything surprising +in the fact that eminent persons should call at her house? + +When there was time for greetings she gave her hand to Dr. Sevier and +asked him how he found himself. To Ristofalo she bowed majestically. She +noticed that he was handsome and muscular. + +At different hours the next day the same two visitors called. Also the +second day after. And the third. And frequently afterward. + + * * * + +Ristofalo regained his financial feet almost, as one might say, at a +single hand-spring. He amused Mary and John and Mrs. Riley almost beyond +limit with his simple story of how he did it. + +"Ye'd better hurry and be getting up out o' that sick bed, Mr. +Richlin'," said the widow, in Ristofalo's absence, "or that I-talian +rascal'll be making himself entirely too agree'ble to yer lady here. Ha! +ha! It's _she_ that he's a-comin' here to see." + +Mrs. Riley laughed again, and pointed at Mary and tossed her head, not +knowing that Mary went through it all over again as soon as Mrs. Riley +was out of the room, to the immense delight of John. + +"And now, madam," said Dr. Sevier to Mary, by and by, "let it be +understood once more that even independence may be carried to a vicious +extreme, and that"--he turned to Richling, by whose bed he stood--"you +and your wife will not do it again. You've had a narrow escape. Is it +understood?" + +"We'll try to be moderate," replied the invalid, playfully. + +"I don't believe you," said the Doctor. + +And his scepticism was wise. He continued to watch them, and at length +enjoyed the sight of John up and out again with color in his cheeks and +the old courage--nay, a new and a better courage--in his eyes. + +Said the Doctor on his last visit, "Take good care of your husband, my +child." He held the little wife's hand a moment, and gazed out of Mrs. +Riley's front door upon the western sky. Then he transferred his gaze to +John, who stood, with his knee in a chair, just behind her. He looked at +the convalescent with solemn steadfastness. The husband smiled broadly. + +"I know what you mean. I'll try to deserve her." + +The Doctor looked again into the west. + +"Good-by." + +Mary tried playfully to retort, but John restrained her, and when she +contrived to utter something absurdly complimentary of her husband he +was her only hearer. + +They went back into the house, talking of other matters. Something +turned the conversation upon Mrs. Riley, and from that subject it seemed +to pass naturally to Ristofalo. Mary, laughing and talking softly as +they entered their room, called to John's recollection the Italian's +account of how he had once bought a tarpaulin hat and a cottonade shirt +of the pattern called a "jumper," and had worked as a deck-hand in +loading and unloading steam-boats. It was so amusingly sensible to put +on the proper badge for the kind of work sought. Richling mused. Many a +dollar he might have earned the past summer, had he been as ingeniously +wise, he thought. + +"Ristofalo is coming here this evening," said he, taking a seat in the +alley window. + +Mary looked at him with sidelong merriment. The Italian was coming to +see Mrs. Riley. + +"Why, John," whispered Mary, standing beside him, "she's nearly ten +years older than he is!" + +But John quoted the old saying about a man's age being what he feels, +and a woman's what she looks. + +"Why,--but--dear, it is scarcely a fortnight since she declared nothing +could ever induce"-- + +"Let her alone," said John, indulgently. "Hasn't she said half-a-dozen +times that it isn't good for woman to be alone? A widow's a woman--and +you never disputed it." + +"O John," laughed Mary, "for shame! You know I didn't mean that. You +know I never could mean that." + +And when John would have maintained his ground she besought him not to +jest in that direction, with eyes so ready for tears that he desisted. + +"I only meant to be generous to Mrs. Riley," he said. + +"I know it," said Mary, caressingly; "you're always on the generous side +of everything." + +She rested her hand fondly on his arm, and he took it into his own. + +One evening the pair were out for that sunset walk which their young +blood so relished, and which often led them, as it did this time, across +the wide, open commons behind the town, where the unsettled streets were +turf-grown, and toppling wooden lamp-posts threatened to fall into the +wide, cattle-trodden ditches. + +"Fall is coming," said Mary. + +"Let it come!" exclaimed John; "it's hung back long enough." + +He looked about with pleasure. On every hand the advancing season was +giving promise of heightened activity. The dark, plumy foliage of the +china trees was getting a golden edge. The burnished green of the great +magnolias was spotted brilliantly with hundreds of bursting cones, red +with their pendent seeds. Here and there, as the sauntering pair came +again into the region of brick sidewalks, a falling cone would now and +then scatter its polished coral over the pavement, to be gathered by +little girls for necklaces, or bruised under foot, staining the walk +with its fragrant oil. The ligustrums bent low under the dragging weight +of their small clustered berries. The oranges were turning. In the wet, +choked ditches along the interruptions of pavement, where John followed +Mary on narrow plank footways, bloomed thousands of little unrenowned +asteroid flowers, blue and yellow, and the small, pink spikes of the +water pepper. It wasn't the fashionable habit in those days, but Mary +had John gather big bunches of this pretty floral mob, and filled her +room with them--not Mrs. Riley's parlor--whoop, no! Weeds? Not if Mrs. +Riley knew herself. + +So ran time apace. The morning skies were gray monotones, and the +evening gorgeous reds. The birds had finished their summer singing. +Sometimes the alert chirp of the cardinal suddenly smote the ear from +some neighboring tree; but he would pass, a flash of crimson, from one +garden to the next, and with another chirp or two be gone for days. The +nervy, unmusical waking cry of the mocking-bird was often the first +daybreak sound. At times a myriad downy seed floated everywhere, now +softly upward, now gently downward, and the mellow rays of sunset turned +it into a warm, golden snow-fall. By night a soft glow from distant +burning prairies showed the hunters were afield; the call of unseen wild +fowl was heard overhead, and--finer to the waiting poor man's ear than +all other sounds--came at regular intervals, now from this quarter and +now from that, the heavy, rushing blast of the cotton compress, telling +that the flood tide of commerce was setting in. + +Narcisse surprised the Richlings one evening with a call. They tried +very hard to be reserved, but they were too young for that task to be +easy. The Creole had evidently come with his mind made up to take +unresentfully and override all the unfriendliness they might choose to +show. His conversation never ceased, but flitted from subject to subject +with the swift waywardness of a humming-bird. It was remarked by Mary, +leaning back in one end of Mrs. Riley's little sofa, that "summer +dresses were disappearing, but that the girls looked just as sweet in +their darker colors as they had appeared in midsummer white. Had +Narcisse noticed? Probably he didn't care for"-- + +"Ho! I notiz them an' they notiz me! An' thass one thing I 'ave notiz +about young ladies: they ah juz like those bird'; in summeh lookin' +cool, in winteh waum. I 'ave notiz that. An' I've notiz anotheh thing +which make them juz like those bird'. They halways know if a man is +lookin', an' they halways make like they don't see 'im! I would like to +'ite an i'ony about that--a lill i'ony--in the he'oic measuh. You like +that he'oic measuh, Mizzez Witchlin'?" + +As he rose to go he rolled a cigarette, and folded the end in with the +long nail of his little finger. + +"Mizzez Witchlin', if you will allow me to light my ciga'ette fum yo' +lamp--I can't use my sun-glass at night, because the sun is nod theh. +But, the sun shining, I use it. I 'ave adop' that method since lately." + +"You borrow the sun's rays," said Mary, with wicked sweetness. + +"Yes; 'tis cheapeh than matches in the longue 'un." + +"You have discovered that, I suppose," remarked John. + +"Me? The sun-glass? No. I believe Ahchimides invend that, in fact. An' +yet, out of ten thousan' who use the sun-glass only a few can account +'ow tis done. 'Ow did you think that that's my invention, Mistoo +Itchlin? Did you know that I am something of a chimist? I can tu'n +litmus papeh 'ed by juz dipping it in SO_3HO. Yesseh." + +"Yes," said Richling, "that's one thing that I have noticed, that you're +very fertile in devices." + +"Yes," echoed Mary, "I noticed that, the first time you ever came to see +us. I only wish Mr. Richling was half as much so." + +She beamed upon her husband. Narcisse laughed with pure pleasure. + +"Well, I am compel' to say you ah co'ect. I am continually makin' some +discove'ies. 'Necessity's the motheh of inventions.' Now thass anotheh +thing I 'ave notiz--about that month of Octobeh: it always come befo' +you think it's comin'. I 'ave notiz that about eve'y month. Now, to-day +we ah the twennieth Octobeh! Is it not so?" He lighted his cigarette. +"You ah compel' to co'obo'ate me." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +LIGHTING SHIP. + + +Yes, the tide was coming in. The Richlings' bark was still on the sands, +but every now and then a wave of promise glided under her. She might +float, now, any day. Meantime, as has no doubt been guessed, she was +held on an even keel by loans from the Doctor. + +"Why you don't advertise in papers?" asked Ristofalo. + +"Advertise? Oh, I didn't think it would be of any use. I advertised a +whole week, last summer." + +"You put advertisement in wrong time and keep it out wrong time," said +the Italian. + +"I have a place in prospect, now, without advertising," said Richling, +with an elated look. + +It was just here that a new mistake of Richling's emerged. He had come +into contact with two or three men of that wretched sort that indulge +the strange vanity of keeping others waiting upon them by promises of +employment. He believed them, liked them heartily because they said +nothing about references, and gratefully distended himself with their +husks, until Ristofalo opened his eyes by saying, when one of these men +had disappointed Richling the third time:-- + +"Business man don't promise but once." + +"You lookin' for book-keeper's place?" asked the Italian at another +time. "Why don't dress like a book-keeper?" + +"On borrowed money?" asked Richling, evidently looking upon that +question as a poser. + +"Yes." + +"Oh, no," said Richling, with a smile of superiority; but the other one +smiled too, and shook his head. + +"Borrow mo', if you don't." + +Richling's heart flinched at the word. He had thought he was giving his +true reason; but he was not. A foolish notion had floated, like a grain +of dust, into the over-delicate wheels of his thought,--that men would +employ him the more readily if he looked needy. His hat was unbrushed, +his shoes unpolished; he had let his beard come out, thin and untrimmed; +his necktie was faded. He looked battered. When the Italian's gentle +warning showed him this additional mistake on top of all his others he +was dismayed at himself; and when he sat down in his room and counted +the cost of an accountant's uniform, so to speak, the remains of Dr. +Sevier's last loan to him was too small for it. Thereupon he committed +one error more,--but it was the last. He sunk his standard, and began +again to look for service among industries that could offer employment +only to manual labor. He crossed the river and stirred about among the +dry-docks and ship-carpenters' yards of the suburb Algiers. But he could +neither hew spars, nor paint, nor splice ropes. He watched a man half a +day calking a boat; then he offered himself for the same work, did it +fairly, and earned half a day's wages. But then the boat was done, and +there was no other calking at the moment along the whole harbor front, +except some that was being done on a ship by her own sailors. + +"John," said Mary, dropping into her lap the sewing that hardly paid for +her candle, "isn't it hard to realize that it isn't twelve months since +your hardships commenced? They _can't_ last much longer, darling." + +"I know that," said John. "And I know I'll find a place presently, and +then we'll wake up to the fact that this was actually less than a year +of trouble in a lifetime of love." + +"Yes," rejoined Mary, "I know your patience will be rewarded." + +"But what I want is work now, Mary. The bread of idleness is getting +_too_ bitter. But never mind; I'm going to work to-morrow;--never mind +where. It's all right. You'll see." + +She smiled, and looked into his eyes again with a confession of +unreserved trust. The next day he reached the--what shall we say?--big +end of his last mistake. What it was came out a few mornings after, when +he called at Number 5 Carondelet street. + +"The Doctah is not in pwesently," said Narcisse. "He ve'y hawdly comes +in so soon as that. He's living home again, once mo', now. He's ve'y +un'estless. I tole 'im yistiddy, 'Doctah, I know juz 'ow you feel, seh; +'tis the same way with myseff. You ought to git ma'ied!'" + +"Did he say he would?" asked Richling. + +"Well, you know, Mistoo Itchlin, so the povvub says, 'Silent give +consense.' He juz look at me--nevvah said a word--ha! he couldn'! You +not lookin' ve'y well, Mistoo Itchlin. I suppose 'tis that waum +weatheh." + +"I suppose it is; at least, partly," said Richling, and added nothing +more, but looked along and across the ceiling, and down at a skeleton in +a corner, that was offering to shake hands with him. He was at a loss +how to talk to Narcisse. Both Mary and he had grown a little ashamed of +their covert sarcasms, and yet to leave them out was bread without +yeast, meat without salt, as far as their own powers of speech were +concerned. + +"I thought, the other day," he began again, with an effort, "when it +blew up cool, that the warm weather was over." + +"It seem to be finishin' ad the end, I think," responded the Creole. "I +think, like you, that we 'ave 'ad too waum weatheh. Me, I like that +weatheh to be cole, me. I halways weigh the mose in cole weatheh. I gain +flesh, in fact. But so soon 'tis summeh somethin' become of it. I dunno +if 'tis the fault of my close, but I reduct in summeh. Speakin' of +close, Mistoo Itchlin,--egscuse me if 'tis a fair question,--w'at was +yo' objec' in buyin' that tawpaulin hat an' jacket lass week ad that +sto' on the levee? You din know I saw you, but I juz 'appen to see you, +in fact." (The color rose in Richling's face, and Narcisse pressed on +without allowing an answer.) "Well, thass none o' my biziness, of +co'se, but I think you lookin' ve'y bad, Mistoo Itchlin"-- He stopped +very short and stepped with dignified alacrity to his desk, for Dr. +Sevier's step was on the stair. + +The Doctor shook hands with Richling and sank into the chair at his +desk. "Anything turned up yet, Richling?" + +"Doctor," began Richling, drawing his chair near and speaking low. + +"Good-mawnin', Doctah," said Narcisse, showing himself with a graceful +flourish. + +The Doctor nodded, then turned again to Richling. "You were saying"-- + +"I 'ope you well, seh," insisted the Creole, and as the Doctor glanced +toward him impatiently, repeated the sentiment, "'Ope you well, seh." + +The Doctor said he was, and turned once more to Richling. Narcisse +bowed away backward and went to his desk, filled to the eyes with fierce +satisfaction. He had made himself felt. Richling drew his chair nearer +and spoke low:-- + +"If I don't get work within a day or two I shall have to come to you for +money." + +"That's all right, Richling." The Doctor spoke aloud; Richling answered +low. + +"Oh, no, Doctor, it's all wrong! Indeed, I can't do it any more unless +you will let me earn the money." + +"My dear sir, I would most gladly do it; but I have nothing that you +can do." + +"Yes, you have, Doctor." + +"What is it?" + +"Why, it's this: you have a slave boy driving your carriage." + +"Well?" + +"Give him some other work, and let me do that." + +Dr. Sevier started in his seat. "Richling, I can't do that. I should +ruin you. If you drive my carriage"-- + +"Just for a time, Doctor, till I find something else." + +"No! no! If you drive my carriage in New Orleans you'll never do +anything else." + +"Why, Doctor, there are men standing in the front ranks to-day, who"-- + +"Yes, yes," replied the Doctor, impatiently, "I know,--who began with +menial labor; but--I can't explain it to you, Richling, but you're not +of the same sort; that's all. I say it without praise or blame; you must +have work adapted to your abilities." + +"My abilities!" softly echoed Richling. Tears sprang to his eyes. He +held out his open palms,--"Doctor, look there." They were lacerated. He +started to rise, but the Doctor prevented him. + +"Let me go," said Richling, pleadingly, and with averted face. "Let me +go. I'm sorry I showed them. It was mean and foolish and weak. Let me +go." + +But Dr. Sevier kept a hand on him, and he did not resist. The Doctor +took one of the hands and examined it. "Why, Richling, you've been +handling freight!" + +"There was nothing else." + +"Oh, bah!" + +"Let me go," whispered Richling. But the Doctor held him. + +"You didn't do this on the steam-boat landing, did you, Richling?" + +The young man nodded. The Doctor dropped the hand and looked upon its +owner with set lips and steady severity. When he spoke he said:-- + +"Among the negro and green Irish deck-hands, and under the oaths and +blows of steam-boat mates! Why, Richling!" He turned half away in his +rotary chair with an air of patience worn out. + +"You thought I had more sense," said Richling. + +The Doctor put his elbows upon his desk and slowly drew his face upward +through his hands. "Mr. Richling, what is the matter with you?" They +gazed at each other a long moment, and then Dr. Sevier continued: "Your +trouble isn't want of sense. I know that very well, Richling." His voice +was low and became kind. "But you don't get the use of the sense you +have. It isn't available." He bent forward: "Some men, Richling, carry +their folly on the surface and their good sense at the bottom,"--he +jerked his thumb backward toward the distant Narcisse, and added, with a +stealthy frown,--"like that little fool in yonder. He's got plenty of +sense, but he doesn't load any of it on deck. Some men carry their sense +on top and their folly down below"-- + +Richling smiled broadly through his dejection, and touched his own +chest. "Like this big fool here," he said. + +"Exactly," said Dr. Sevier. "Now you've developed a defect of the +memory. Your few merchantable qualities have been so long out of the +market, and you've suffered such humiliation under the pressure of +adversity, that you've--you've done a very bad thing." + +"Say a dozen," responded Richling, with bitter humor. But the Doctor +swung his head in resentment of the levity. + +"One's enough. You've allowed yourself to forget your true value." + +"I'm worth whatever I'll bring." + +The Doctor tossed his head in impatient disdain. + +"Pshaw! You'll never bring what you're worth any more than some men are +worth what they bring. You don't know how. You never will know." + +"Well, Doctor, I do know that I'm worth more than I ever was before. +I've learned a thousand things in the last twelvemonth. If I can only +get a chance to prove it!" Richling turned red and struck his knee with +his fist. + +"Oh, yes," said Dr. Sevier; "that's your sense, on top. And then you +go--in a fit of the merest impatience, as I do suspect--and offer +yourself as a deck-hand and as a carriage-driver. That's your folly, at +the bottom. What ought to be done to such a man?" He gave a low, harsh +laugh. Richling dropped his eyes. A silence followed. + +"You say all you want is a chance," resumed the Doctor. + +"Yes," quickly answered Richling, looking up. + +"I'm going to give it to you." They looked into each other's eyes. The +Doctor nodded. "Yes, sir." He nodded again. + +"Where did you come from, Richling,--when you came to New Orleans,--you +and your wife? Milwaukee?" + +"Yes." + +"Do your relatives know of your present condition?" + +"No." + +"Is your wife's mother comfortably situated?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I'll tell you what you must do." + +"The only thing I can't do," said Richling. + +"Yes, you can. You must. You must send Mrs. Richling back to her +mother." + +Richling shook his head. + +"Well," said the Doctor, warmly, "I say you must. I will lend you the +passage-money." + +Richling's eye kindled an instant at the Doctor's compulsory tone, but +he said, gently:-- + +"Why, Doctor, Mary will never consent to leave me." + +"Of course she will not. But you must make her do it! That's what +you must do. And when that's done then you must start out and go +systematically from door to door,--of business houses, I mean,--offering +yourself for work befitting your station--ahem!--station, I say--and +qualifications. I will lend you money to live on until you find +permanent employment. Now, now, don't get alarmed! I'm not going to help +you any more than I absolutely must!" + +"But, Doctor, how can you expect"-- But the Doctor interrupted. + +"Come, now, none of that! You and your wife are brave; I must say that +for you. She has the courage of a gladiator. You can do this if you +will." + +"Doctor," said Richling, "you are the best of friends; but, you know, +the fact is, Mary and I--well, we're still lovers." + +"Oh!" The Doctor turned away his head with fresh impatience. Richling +bit his lip, but went on:-- + +"We can bear anything on earth together; but we have sworn to stay +together through better and worse"-- + +"Oh, pf-f-f-f!" said the doctor, closing his eyes and swinging his head +away again. + +"--And we're going to do it," concluded Richling. + +"But you can't do it!" cried the Doctor, so loudly that Narcisse stood +up on the rungs of his stool and peered. + +"We can't separate." + +Dr. Sevier smote the desk and sprang to his feet:-- + +"Sir, you've got to do it! If you continue in this way, you'll die. +You'll die, Mr. Richling--both of you! You'll die! Are you going to let +Mary die just because she's brave enough to do it?" He sat down again +and busied himself, nervously placing pens on the pen-rack, the stopper +in the inkstand, and the like. + +Many thoughts ran through Richling's mind in the ensuing silence. +His eyes were on the floor. Visions of parting; of the great +emptiness that would be left behind; the pangs and yearnings that +must follow,--crowded one upon another. One torturing realization +kept ever in the front,--that the Doctor had a well-earned right to +advise, and that, if his advice was to be rejected, one must show good +and sufficient cause for rejecting it, both in present resources and +in expectations. The truth leaped upon him and bore him down as it never +had done before,--the truth which he had heard this very Dr. Sevier +proclaim,--that debt is bondage. For a moment he rebelled against it; +but shame soon displaced mutiny, and he accepted this part, also, of +his lot. At length he rose. + +"Well?" said Dr. Sevier. + +"May I ask Mary?" + +"You will do what you please, Mr. Richling." And then, in a kinder +voice, the Doctor added, "Yes; ask her." + +They moved together to the office door. The Doctor opened it, and they +said good-by, Richling trying to drop a word of gratitude, and the +Doctor hurriedly ignoring it. + +The next half hour or more was spent by the physician in receiving, +hearing, and dismissing patients and their messengers. By and by no +others came. The only audible sound was that of the Doctor's paper-knife +as it parted the leaves of a pamphlet. He was thinking over the late +interview with Richling, and knew that, if this silence were not soon +interrupted from without, he would have to encounter his book-keeper, +who had not spoken since Richling had left. Presently the issue came. + +"Dr. Seveeah,"--Narcisse came forward, hat in hand,--"I dunno 'ow 'tis, +but Mistoo Itchlin always wemine me of that povvub, 'Ully to bed, ully +to 'ise, make a pusson to be 'ealthy an' wealthy an' wise.'" + +"I don't know how it is, either," grumbled the Doctor. + +"I believe thass not the povvub I was thinking. I am acquainting myseff +with those povvubs; but I'm somewhat gween in that light, in fact. Well, +Doctah, I'm goin' ad the--shoemakeh. I burs' my shoe yistiddy. I was +juz"-- + +"Very well, go." + +"Yesseh; and from the shoemakeh I'll go"-- + +The Doctor glanced darkly over the top of the pamphlet. + +"--Ad the bank; yesseh," said Narcisse, and went. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +AT LAST. + + +Mary, cooking supper, uttered a soft exclamation of pleasure and relief +as she heard John's step under the alley window and then at the door. +She turned, with an iron spoon in one hand and a candlestick in the +other, from the little old stove with two pot-holes, where she had been +stirring some mess in a tin pan. + +"Why, you're"--she reached for a kiss--"real late!" + +"I could not come any sooner." He dropped into a chair at the table. + +"Busy?" + +"No; no work to-day." + +Mary lifted the pan from the stove, whisked it to the table, and blew +her fingers. + +"Same subject continued," she said laughingly, pointing with her spoon +to the warmed-over food. + +Richling smiled and nodded, and then flattened his elbows out on the +table and hid his face in them. + +This was the first time he had ever lingered away from his wife when he +need not have done so. It was the Doctor's proposition that had kept him +back. All day long it had filled his thoughts. He felt its wisdom. Its +sheer practical value had pierced remorselessly into the deepest +convictions of his mind. But his heart could not receive it. + +"Well," said Mary, brightly, as she sat down at the table, "maybe +you'll have better luck to-morrow. Don't you think you may?" + +"I don't know," said John, straightening up and tossing back his hair. +He pushed a plate up to the pan, supplied and passed it. Then he helped +himself and fell to eating. + +"Have you seen Dr. Sevier to-day?" asked Mary, cautiously, seeing her +husband pause and fall into distraction. + +He pushed his plate away and rose. She met him in the middle of the +room. He extended both hands, took hers, and gazed upon her. How could +he tell? Would she cry and lament, and spurn the proposition, and fall +upon him with a hundred kisses? Ah, if she would! But he saw that Doctor +Sevier, at least, was confident she would not; that she would have, +instead, what the wife so often has in such cases, the strongest love, +it may be, but also the strongest wisdom for that particular sort of +issue. Which would she do? Would she go, or would she not? + +He tried to withdraw his hands, but she looked beseechingly into his +eyes and knit her fingers into his. The question stuck upon his lips and +would not be uttered. And why should it be? Was it not cowardice to +leave the decision to her? Should not he decide? Oh! if she would only +rebel! But would she? Would not her utmost be to give good reasons in +her gentle, inquiring way why he should not require her to leave him? +And were there any such? No! no! He had racked his brain to find so much +as one, all day long. + +"John," said Mary, "Dr. Sevier's been talking to you?" + +"Yes." + +"And he wants you to send me back home for a while?" + +"How do you know?" asked John, with a start. + +"I can read it in your face." She loosed one hand and laid it upon his +brow. + +"What--what do you think about it, Mary?" + +Mary, looking into his eyes with the face of one who pleads for mercy, +whispered, "He's right," then buried her face in his bosom and wept like +a babe. + +"I felt it six months ago," she said later, sitting on her husband's +knee and holding his folded hands tightly in hers. + +"Why didn't you say so?" asked John. + +"I was too selfish," was her reply. + +When, on the second day afterward, they entered the Doctor's office +Richling was bright with that new hope which always rises up beside a +new experiment, and Mary looked well and happy. The Doctor wrote them a +letter of introduction to the steam-boat agent. + +"You're taking a very sensible course," he said, smoothing the +blotting-paper heavily over the letter. "Of course, you think it's hard. +It is hard. But distance needn't separate you." + +"It can't," said Richling. + +"Time," continued the Doctor,--"maybe a few months,--will bring you +together again, prepared for a long life of secure union; and then, when +you look back upon this, you'll be proud of your courage and good sense. +And you'll be"-- He enclosed the note, directed the envelope, and, +pausing with it still in his hand, turned toward the pair. They rose up. +His rare, sick-room smile hovered about his mouth, and he said:-- + +"You'll be all the happier--all three of you." + +The husband smiled. Mary colored down to the throat and looked up on the +wall, where Harvey was explaining to his king the circulation of the +blood. There was quite a pause, neither side caring to utter the first +adieu. + +"If a physician could call any hour his own," presently said the Doctor, +"I should say I would come down to the boat and see you off. But I might +fail in that. Good-by!" + +"Good-by, Doctor!"--a little tremor in the voice,--"take care of John." + +The tall man looked down into the upturned blue eyes. + +"Good-by!" He stooped toward her forehead, but she lifted her lips and +he kissed them. So they parted. + +The farewell with Mrs. Riley was mainly characterized by a generous and +sincere exchange of compliments and promises of remembrance. Some tears +rose up; a few ran over. + +At the steam-boat wharf there were only the pair themselves to cling one +moment to each other and then wave that mute farewell that looks through +watery eyes and sticks in the choking throat. Who ever knows what +good-by means? + + * * * + +"Doctor," said Richling, when he came to accept those terms in the +Doctor's proposition which applied more exclusively to himself,--"no, +Doctor, not that way, please." He put aside the money proffered him. +"This is what I want to do: I will come to your house every morning and +get enough to eat to sustain me through the day, and will continue to do +so till I find work." + +"Very well," said the Doctor. + +The arrangement went into effect. They never met at dinner; but almost +every morning the Doctor, going into the breakfast-room, met Richling +just risen from his earlier and hastier meal. + +"Well? Anything yet?" + +"Nothing yet." + +And, unless there was some word from Mary, nothing more would be said. +So went the month of November. + +But at length, one day toward the close of the Doctor's office hours, he +noticed the sound of an agile foot springing up his stairs three steps +at a stride, and Richling entered, panting and radiant. + +"Doctor, at last! At last!" + +"At last, what?" + +"I've found employment! I have, indeed! One line from you, and the place +is mine! A good place, Doctor, and one that I can fill. The very thing +for me! Adapted to my abilities!" He laughed so that he coughed, was +still, and laughed again. "Just a line, if you please, Doctor." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +A RISING STAR. + + +It had been many a day since Dr. Sevier had felt such pleasure as +thrilled him when Richling, half beside himself with delight, ran in +upon him with the news that he had found employment. Narcisse, too, was +glad. He slipped down from his stool and came near enough to contribute +his congratulatory smiles, though he did not venture to speak. Richling +nodded him a happy how-d'ye-do, and the Creole replied by a wave of the +hand. + +In the Doctor's manner, on the other hand, there was a decided lack of +response that made Richling check his spirits and resume more slowly,-- + +"Do you know a man named Reisen?" + +"No," said the Doctor. + +"Why, he says he knows you." + +"That may be." + +"He says you treated his wife one night when she was very ill"-- + +"What name?" + +"Reisen." + +The Doctor reflected a moment. + +"I believe I recollect him. Is he away up on Benjamin street, close to +the river, among the cotton-presses?" + +"Yes. Thalia street they call it now. He says"-- + +"Does he keep a large bakery?" interrupted the Doctor. + +"The 'Star Bakery,'" said Richling, brightening again. "He says +he knows you, and that, if you will give me just one line of +recommendation, he will put me in charge of his accounts and give me a +trial. And a trial's all I want, Doctor. I'm not the least fearful of +the result." + +"Richling," said Dr. Sevier, slowly picking up his paper-folder and +shaking it argumentatively, "where are the letters I advised you to send +for?" + +Richling sat perfectly still, taking a long, slow breath through his +nostrils, his eyes fixed emptily on his questioner. He was thinking, +away down at the bottom of his heart,--and the Doctor knew it,--that +this was the unkindest question, and the most cold-blooded, that he had +ever heard. The Doctor shook his paper-folder again. + +"You see, now, as to the bare fact, I don't know you." + +Richling's jaw dropped with astonishment. His eye lighted up +resentfully. But the speaker went on:-- + +"I esteem you highly. I believe in you. I would trust you, +Richling,"--his listener remembered how the speaker _had_ trusted him, +and was melted,--"but as to recommending you, why, that is like going +upon the witness-stand, as it were, and I cannot say that I know +anything." + +Richling's face suddenly flashed full of light. He touched the Doctor's +hand. + +"That's it! That's the very thing, sir! Write that!" + +The Doctor hesitated. Richling sat gazing at him, afraid to move an eye +lest he should lose an advantage. The Doctor turned to his desk and +wrote. + + * * * + +On the next morning Richling did not come for his breakfast; and, not +many days after, Dr. Sevier received through the mail the following +letter:-- + + NEW ORLEANS, December 2, 1857. + + DEAR DOCTOR,--I've got the place. I'm Reisen's book-keeper. I'm + earning my living. And I like the work. Bread, the word bread, + that has so long been terrible to me, is now the sweetest word + in the language. For eighteen months it was a prayer; now it's + a proclamation. + + I've not only got the place, but I'm going to keep it. I find I + have new powers; and the first and best of them is the power to + throw myself into my work and make it _me_. It's not a task; + it's a mission. Its being bread, I suppose, makes it easier to + seem so; but it should be so if it was pork and garlic, or rags + and raw-hides. + + My maxim a year ago, though I didn't know it then, was to do + what I liked. Now it's to like what I do. I understand it now. + And I understand now, too, that a man who expects to retain + employment must yield a profit. He must be worth more than he + costs. I thank God for the discipline of the last year and a + half. I thank him that I did not fall where, in my cowardice, I + so often prayed to fall, into the hands of foolish benefactors. + You wouldn't believe this of me, I know; but it's true. I have + been taught what life is; I never would have learned it any + other way. + + And still another thing: I have been taught to know what the + poor suffer. I know their feelings, their temptations, their + hardships, their sad mistakes, and the frightful mistakes and + oversights the rich make concerning them, and the ways to give + them true and helpful help. And now, if God ever gives me + competency, whether he gives me abundance or not, I know what + he intends me to do. I was once, in fact and in sentiment, a + brother to the rich; but I know that now he has trained me to + be a brother to the poor. Don't think I am going to be foolish. + I remember that I'm brother to the rich too; but I'll be the + other as well. How wisely has God--what am I saying? Poor fools + that we humans are! We can hardly venture to praise God's + wisdom to-day when we think we see it, lest it turn out to be + only our own folly to-morrow. + + But I find I'm only writing to myself, Doctor, not to you; so I + stop. Mary is well, and sends you much love. + + Yours faithfully, + JOHN RICHLING. + +"Very little about Mary," murmured Dr. Sevier. Yet he was rather pleased +than otherwise with the letter. He thrust it into his breast-pocket. In +the evening, at his fireside, he drew it out again and re-read it. + +"Talks as if he had got into an impregnable castle," thought the Doctor, +as he gazed into the fire. "Book-keeper to a baker," he muttered, slowly +folding the sheet again. It somehow vexed him to see Richling so happy +in so low a station. But--"It's the joy of what he has escaped _from_, +not _to_," he presently remembered. + +A fortnight or more elapsed. A distant relative of Dr. Sevier, a man of +his own years and profession, was his guest for two nights and a day as +he passed through the city, eastward, from an all-summer's study of +fevers in Mexico. They were sitting at evening on opposite sides of the +library fire, conversing in the leisurely ease of those to whom life is +not a novelty. + +"And so you think of having Laura and Bess come out from Charleston, and +keep house for you this winter? Their mother wrote me to that effect." + +"Yes," said Dr. Sevier. "Society here will be a great delight to them. +They will shine. And time will be less monotonous for me. It may suit +me, or it may not." + +"I dare say it may," responded the kinsman, whereas in truth he was very +doubtful about it. + +He added something, a moment later, about retiring for the night, +and his host had just said, "Eh?" when a slave, in a five-year-old +dress-coat, brought in the card of a person whose name was as well known +in New Orleans in those days as St. Patrick's steeple or the statue of +Jackson in the old Place d'Armes. Dr. Sevier turned it over and looked +for a moment ponderingly upon the domestic. + +The relative rose. + +"You needn't go," said Dr. Sevier; but he said "he had intended," etc., +and went to his chamber. + +The visitor entered. He was a dark, slender, iron gray man, of finely +cut, regular features, and seeming to be much more deeply wrinkled than +on scrutiny he proved to be. One quickly saw that he was full of +reposing energy. He gave the feeling of your being very near some +weapon, of dreadful efficiency, ready for instant use whenever needed. +His clothing fitted him neatly; his long, gray mustache was the only +thing that hung loosely about him; his boots were fine. If he had told a +child that all his muscles and sinews were wrapped with fine steel wire +the child would have believed him, and continued to sit on his knee all +the same. It is said, by those who still survive him, that in dreadful +places and moments the flash of his fist was as quick, as irresistible, +and as all-sufficient, as lightning, yet that years would sometimes pass +without its ever being lifted. + +Dr. Sevier lifted his slender length out of his easy-chair, and bowed +with severe gravity. + +"Good-evening, sir," he said, and silently thought, "Now, what can Smith +Izard possibly want with me?" + +It may have been perfectly natural that this man's presence shed off all +idea of medical consultation; but why should it instantly bring to the +Doctor's mind, as an answer to his question, another man as different +from this one as water from fire? + +The detective returned the Doctor's salutation, and they became seated. +Then the visitor craved permission to ask a confidential question or two +for information which he was seeking in his official capacity. His +manners were a little old-fashioned, but perfect of their kind. The +Doctor consented. The man put his hand into his breast-pocket, and drew +out a daguerreotype case, touched its spring, and as it opened in +his palm extended it to the Doctor. The Doctor took it with evident +reluctance. It contained the picture of a youth who was just reaching +manhood. The detective spoke:-- + +"They say he ought to look older than that now." + +"He does," said Dr. Sevier. + +"Do you know his name?" inquired the detective. + +"No." + +"What name do you know him by?" + +"John Richling." + +"Wasn't he sent down by Recorder Munroe, last summer, for assault, +etc.?" + +"Yes. I got him out the next day. He never should have been put in." + +To the Doctor's surprise the detective rose to go. + +"I'm much obliged to you, Doctor." + +"Is that all you wanted to ask me?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Mr. Izard, who is this young man? What has he done?" + +"I don't know, sir. I have a letter from a lawyer in Kentucky who says +he represents this young man's two sisters living there,--half-sisters, +rather,--stating that his father and mother are both dead,--died within +three days of each other." + +"What name?" + +"He didn't give the name. He sent this daguerreotype, with instructions +to trace up the young man, if possible. He said there was reason to +believe he was in New Orleans. He said, if I found him, just to see him +privately, tell him the news, and invite him to come back home. But he +said if the young fellow had got into any kind of trouble that might +somehow reflect on the family, you know, like getting arrested for +something or other, you know, or some such thing, then I was just to +drop the thing quietly, and say nothing about it to him or anybody +else." + +"And doesn't that seem a strange way to manage a matter like that,--to +put it into the hands of a detective?" + +"Well, I don't know," said Mr. Izard. "We're used to strange things, and +this isn't so very strange. No, it's very common. I suppose he knew that +if he gave it to me it would be attended to in a quiet and innocent sort +o' way. Some people hate mighty bad to get talked about. Nobody's seen +that picture but you and one 'aid,' and just as soon as he saw it he +said, 'Why, that's the chap that Dr. Sevier took out of the Parish +Prison last September.' And there won't anybody else see it." + +"Don't you intend to see Richling?" asked the Doctor, following the +detective toward the door. + +"I don't see as it would be any use," said the detective, "seeing he's +been sent down, and so on. I'll write to the lawyer and state the facts, +and wait for orders." + +"But do you know how slight the blame was that got him into trouble +here?" + +"Yes. The 'aid' who saw the picture told me all about that. It was a +shame. I'll say so. I'll give all the particulars. But I tell you, I +just guess--they'll drop him." + +"I dare say," said Dr. Sevier. + +"Well, Doctor," said Mr. Izard, "hope I haven't annoyed you." + +"No," replied the Doctor. + +But he had; and the annoyance had not ceased to be felt when, a few +mornings afterward, Narcisse suddenly doubled--trebled it by saying:-- + +"Doctah Seveeah,"--it was a cold day and the young Creole stood a +moment with his back to the office fire, to which he had just given an +energetic and prolonged poking,--"a man was yeh, to see you, name' +Bison. 'F want' to see you about Mistoo Itchlin." + +The Doctor looked up with a start, and Narcisse continued:-- + +"Mistoo Itchlin is wuckin' in 'is employment. I think 'e's please' with +'im." + +"Then why does he come to see me about him?" asked the Doctor, so +sharply that Narcisse shrugged as he replied:-- + +"Reely, I cann' tell you; but thass one thing, Doctah, I dunno if you +'ave notiz: the worl' halways take a gweat deal of welfa'e in a man w'en +'e's 'ising. I do that myseff. Some'ow I cann' 'e'p it." This bold +speech was too much for him. He looked down at his symmetrical legs and +went back to his desk. + +The Doctor was far from reassured. After a silence he called out:-- + +"Did he say he would come back?" A knock at the door arrested the +answer, and a huge, wide, broad-faced German entered diffidently. The +Doctor recognized Reisen. The visitor took off his flour-dusted hat and +bowed with great deference. + +"Toc-tor," he softly drawled, "I yoost taught I trop in on you to say a +verte to you apowt teh chung yentleman vot you hef rickomendet to me." + +"I didn't recommend him to you, sir. I wrote you distinctly that I did +not feel at liberty to recommend him." + +"Tat iss teh troot, Toctor Tseweer; tat iss teh ectsectly troot. +Shtill I taught I'll yoost trop in on you to say a verte to +you,--Toctor,--apowt Mister"-- He hung his large head at one side +to remember. + +"Richling," said the Doctor, impatiently. + +"Yes, sir. Apowt Mister Richlun. I heff a tifficuldy to rigolict naymps. +I yoost taught I voot trop in und trop a verte to you apowt Mr. Richlun, +vot maypy you titn't herr udt before, yet." + +"Yes," said the Doctor, with ill-concealed contempt. "Well, speak it +out, Mr. Reisen; time is precious." + +The German smiled and made a silly gesture of assent. + +"Yes, udt is brecious. Shtill I taught I voot take enough time to +yoost trop in undt say to you tat I heffent het Mr. Richlun in my +etsteplitchmendt a veek undtil I finte owdt someting apowt him, tot, uf +you het a-knowdt ud, voot hef mate your letter maypy a little tifferendt +written, yet." + +Now, at length, Dr. Sevier's annoyance was turned to dismay. He waited +in silence for Reisen to unfold his enigma, but already his resentment +against Richling was gathering itself for a spring. To the baker, +however, he betrayed only a cold hostility. + +"I kept a copy of my letter to you, Mr. Reisen, and there isn't a word +in it which need have misled you, sir." + +The baker waved his hand amicably. + +"Sure, Tocter Tseweer, I toandt hef nutting to gomblain akinst teh +vertes of tat letter. You voss mighty puttickly. Ovver, shtill, I hef +sumpting to tell you vot ef you het a-knowdt udt pefore you writed tose +vertes, alreatty, t'ey voot a little tifferendt pin." + +"Well, sir, why don't you tell it?" + +Reisen smiled. "Tat iss teh ectsectly vot I am coing to too. I yoost +taught I'll trop in undt tell you, Toctor, tat I heffent het Mr. Richlun +in my etsteplitchmendt a veek undtil I findte owdt tat he's +a--berfect--tressure." + +Doctor Sevier started half up from his chair, dropped into it again, +wheeled half away, and back again with the blood surging into his face +and exclaimed:-- + +"Why, what do you mean by such drivelling nonsense, sir? You've given me +a positive fright!" He frowned the blacker as the baker smiled from ear +to ear. + +"Vy, Toctor, I hope you ugscooce me! I yoost taught you voot like to +herr udt. Undt Missis Reisen sayce, 'Reisen, you yoost co undt tell um.' +I taught udt voot pe blessant to you to know tatt you hett sendt me teh +fynust pissness mayn I effer het apowdt me. Undt uff he iss onnust he +iss a berfect tressure, undt uff he aint a berfect tressure,"--he smiled +anew and tendered his capacious hat to his listener,--"you yoost kin +take tiss, Toctor, undt kip udt undt vare udt! Toctor, I vish you a +merrah Chris'mus!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +BEES, WASPS, AND BUTTERFLIES. + + +The merry day went by. The new year, 1858, set in. Everything gathered +momentum. There was a panic and a crash. The brother-in-law of sister +Jane--he whom Dr. Sevier met at that quiet dinner-party--struck an +impediment, stumbled, staggered, fell under the feet of the racers, and +crawled away minus not money and credit only, but all his philosophy +about helping the poor, maimed in spirit, his pride swollen with +bruises, his heart and his speech soured beyond all sweetening. + +Many were the wrecks. But over their debris, Mercury and Venus--the busy +season and the gay season--ran lightly, hand in hand. Men getting money +and women squandering it. Whole nights in the ball-room. Gold pouring in +at the hopper and out at the spout,--Carondelet street emptying like a +yellow river into Canal street. Thousands for vanity; thousands for +pride; thousands for influence and for station; thousands for hidden +sins; a slender fraction for the wants of the body; a slenderer for the +cravings of the soul. Lazarus paid to stay away from the gate. John the +Baptist, in raiment of broadcloth, a circlet of white linen about his +neck, and his meat strawberries and ice-cream. The lower classes +mentioned mincingly; awkward silences or visible wincings at allusions +to death, and converse on eternal things banished as if it were the +smell of cabbage. So looked the gay world, at least, to Dr. Sevier. + +He saw more of it than had been his wont for many seasons. The two +young-lady cousins whom he had brought and installed in his home +thirsted for that gorgeous, nocturnal moth life in which no thirst is +truly slaked, and dragged him with them into the iridescent, gas-lighted +spider-web of society. + +"Now, you know you like it!" they said. + +"A little of it, yes. But I don't see how you can like it, who virtually +live in it and upon it. Why, I would as soon try to live upon cake and +candy!" + +"Well, we can live very nicely upon cake and candy," retorted they. + +"Why, girls, it's no more life than spice is food. What lofty +motive--what earnest, worthy object"-- + +But they drowned his homily in a carol, and ran away arm in arm to dress +for another ball. One of them stopped in the door with an air of mock +bravado:-- + +"What do we care for lofty motives or worthy objects?" + +A smile escaped from him as she vanished. His condemnation was flavored +with charity. "It's their mating season," he silently thought, and, not +knowing he did it, sighed. + +"There come Dr. Sevier and his two pretty cousins," was the ball-room +whisper. "Beautiful girls--rich widower without children--great catch! +_Passe_, how? Well, maybe so; not as much as he makes himself out, +though." "_Passe_, yes," said a merciless belle to a blade of her own +years; "a man of strong sense is _passe_ at any age." Sister Jane's name +was mentioned in the same connection, but that illusion quickly passed. +The cousins denied indignantly that he had any matrimonial intention. +Somebody dissipated the rumor by a syllogism: "A man hunting a second +wife always looks like a fool; the Doctor doesn't look a bit like a +fool, ergo"-- + +He grew very weary of the giddy rout, standing in it like a rock in a +whirlpool. He did rejoice in the Carnival, but only because it was the +end. + +"Pretty? yes, as pretty as a bonfire," he said. "I can't enjoy much +fiddling while Rome is burning." + +"But Rome isn't always burning," said the cousins. + +"Yes, it is! Yes, it is!" + +The wickeder of the two cousins breathed a penitential sigh, dropped her +bare, jewelled arms out of her cloak, and said:-- + +"Now tell us once more about Mary Richling." He had bored them to death +with Mary. + +Lent was a relief to all three. One day, as the Doctor was walking along +the street, a large hand grasped his elbow and gently arrested his +steps. He turned. + +"Well, Reisen, is that you?" + +The baker answered with his wide smile. "Yes, Toctor, tat iss me, sure. +You titn't tink udt iss Mr. Richlun, tit you?" + +"No. How is Richling?" + +"Vell, Mr. Richlun kitten along so-o-o-so-o-o. He iss not ferra shtrong; +ovver he vurks like a shteam-inchyine." + +"I haven't seen him for many a day," said Dr. Sevier. + +The baker distended his eyes, bent his enormous digestive apparatus +forward, raised his eyebrows, and hung his arms free from his sides. "He +toandt kit a minudt to shpare in teh tswendy-four hourss. Sumptimes he +sayss, 'Mr. Reisen, I can't shtop to talk mit you.' Sindts Mr. Richlun +pin py my etsteplitchmendt, I tell you teh troot, Toctor Tseweer, I am +yoost meckin' monneh haynd ofer fist!" He swung his chest forward again, +drew in his lower regions, revolved his fists around each other for a +moment, and then let them fall open at his sides, with the added +assurance, "Now you kott teh ectsectly troot." + +The Doctor started away, but the baker detained him by a touch:-- + +"You toandt kott enna verte to sendt to Mr. Richlun, Toctor!" + +"Yes. Tell him to come and pass an hour with me some evening in my +library." + +The German lifted his hand in delight. + +"Vy, tot's yoost teh dting! Mr. Richlun alvayss pin sayin', 'I vish he +aysk me come undt see um;' undt I sayss, 'You holdt shtill, yet, Mr. +Richlun; teh next time I see um I make um aysk you.' Vell, now, titn't I +tunned udt?" He was happy. + +"Well, ask him," said the Doctor, and got away. + +"No fool is an utter fool," pondered the Doctor, as he went. Two friends +had been kept long apart by the fear of each, lest he should seem to be +setting up claims based on the past. It required a simpleton to bring +them together. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +TOWARD THE ZENITH. + + +"Richling, I am glad to see you!" + +Dr. Sevier had risen from his luxurious chair beside a table, the soft +downward beams of whose lamp partly showed, and partly hid, the rich +appointments of his library. He grasped Richling's hand, and with an +extensive stride drew forward another chair on its smooth-running +casters. + +Then inquiries were exchanged as to the health of one and the other. The +Doctor, with his professional eye, noticed, as the light fell full upon +his visitor's buoyant face, how thin and pale he had grown. He rose +again, and stepping beyond Richling with a remark, in part complimentary +and in part critical, upon the balmy April evening, let down the sash of +a window where the smell of honeysuckles was floating in. + +"Have you heard from your wife lately?" he asked, as he resumed his +seat. + +"Yesterday," said Richling. "Yes, she's very well, been well ever since +she left us. She always sends love to you." + +"Hum," responded the physician. He fixed his eyes on the mantel and +asked abstractedly, "How do you bear the separation?" + +"Oh!" Richling laughed, "not very heroically. It's a great strain on a +man's philosophy." + +"Work is the only antidote," said the Doctor, not moving his eyes. + +"Yes, so I find it," answered the other. "It's bearable enough while one +is working like mad; but sooner or later one must sit down to meals, or +lie down to rest, you know"-- + +"Then it hurts," said the Doctor. + +"It's a lively discipline," mused Richling. + +"Do you think you learn anything by it?" asked the other, turning his +eyes slowly upon him. "That's what it means, you notice." + +"Yes, I do," replied Richling, smiling; "I learn the very thing I +suppose you're thinking of,--that separation isn't disruption, and that +no pair of true lovers are quite fitted out for marriage until they can +bear separation if they must." + +"Yes," responded the physician; "if they can muster the good sense to +see that they'll not be so apt to marry prematurely. I needn't tell you +I believe in marrying for love; but these needs-must marriages are so +ineffably silly. You 'must' and you 'will' marry, and 'nobody shall +hinder you!' And you do it! And in three or four or six months"--he drew +in his long legs energetically from the hearth-pan--"_death_ separates +you!--death, sometimes, resulting directly from the turn your haste has +given to events! Now, where is your 'must' and 'will'?" He stretched his +legs out again, and laid his head on his cushioned chair-back. + +"I have made a narrow escape," said Richling. + +"I wasn't so fortunate," responded the Doctor, turning solemnly toward +his young friend. "Richling, just seven months after I married Alice I +buried her. I'm not going into particulars--of course; but the sickness +that carried her off was distinctly connected with the haste of our +marriage. Your Bible, Richling, that you lay such store by, is right; we +should want things as if we didn't want them. That isn't the quotation, +exactly, but it's the idea. I swore I couldn't and wouldn't live without +her; but, you see, this is the fifteenth year that I have had to do it." + +"I should think it would have unmanned you for life," said Richling. + +"It made a man of me! I've never felt young a day since, and yet I've +never seemed to grow a day older. It brought me all at once to my full +manhood. I have never consciously disputed God's arrangements since. The +man who does is only a wayward child." + +"It's true," said Richling, with an air of confession, "it's true;" and +they fell into silence. + +Presently Richling looked around the room. His eyes brightened rapidly +as he beheld the ranks and tiers of good books. He breathed an audible +delight. The multitude of volumes rose in the old-fashioned way, in +ornate cases of dark wood from floor to ceiling, on this hand, on that, +before him, behind; some in gay covers,--green, blue, crimson,--with +gilding and embossing; some in the sumptuous leathers of France, Russia, +Morocco, Turkey; others in worn attire, battered and venerable, dingy +but precious,--the gray heads of the council. + +The two men rose and moved about among those silent wits and +philosophers, and, from the very embarrassment of the inner riches, fell +to talking of letter-press and bindings, with maybe some effort on the +part of each to seem the better acquainted with Caxton, the Elzevirs, +and other like immortals. They easily passed to a competitive +enumeration of the rare books they had seen or not seen here and there +in other towns and countries. Richling admitted he had travelled, and +the conversation turned upon noted buildings and famous old nooks in +distant cities where both had been. So they moved slowly back to their +chairs, and stood by them, still contemplating the books. But as they +sank again into their seats the one thought which had fastened itself in +the minds of both found fresh expression. + +Richling began, smilingly, as if the subject had not been dropped at +all,--"I oughtn't to speak as if I didn't realize my good fortune, for I +do." + +"I believe you do," said the Doctor, reaching toward the fire-irons. + +"Yes. Still, I lose patience with myself to find myself taking Mary's +absence so hard." + +"All hardships are comparative," said the Doctor. + +"Certainly they are," replied Richling. "I lie sometimes and think of +men who have been political prisoners, shut away from wife and children, +with war raging outside and no news coming in." + +"Think of the common poor," exclaimed Dr. Sevier,--"the thousands of +sailors' wives and soldiers' wives. Where does that thought carry you?" + +"It carries me," responded the other, with a low laugh, "to where I'm +always a little ashamed of myself." + +"I didn't mean it to do that," said the Doctor; "I can imagine how you +miss your wife. I miss her myself." + +"Oh! but she's here on this earth. She's alive and well. Any burden is +light when I think of that--pardon me, Doctor!" + +"Go on, go on. Anything you please about her, Richling." The Doctor half +sat, half lay in his chair, his eyes partly closed. "Go on," he +repeated. + +"I was only going to say that long before Mary went away, many a time +when she and I were fighting starvation at close quarters, I have +looked at her and said to myself, 'What if I were in Dr. Sevier's +place?' and it gave me strength to rise up and go on." + +"You were right." + +"I know I was. I often wake now at night and turn and find the place by +my side empty, and I can hardly keep from calling her aloud. It wrenches +me, but before long I think she's no such great distance away, since +we're both on the same earth together, and by and by she'll be here at +my side; and so it becomes easy to me once more." Richling, in the +self-occupation of a lover, forgot what pains he might be inflicting. +But the Doctor did not wince. + +"Yes," said the physician, "of course you wouldn't want the separation +to be painless; and it promises a reward, you know." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Richling, with an exultant smile and motion of the head, +and then dropped his eyes in meditation. The Doctor looked at him +steadily. + +"Richling, you've gathered some terribly hard experiences. But hard +experiences are often the foundation-stones of a successful life. You +can make them all profitable. You can make them draw you along, so to +speak. But you must hold them well in hand, as you would a dangerous +team, you know,--coolly and alertly, firmly and patiently,--and never +let the reins slack till you've driven through the last gate." + +Richling replied, with a pleasant nod, "I believe I shall do it. Did you +notice what I wrote you in my letter? I have got the notion strongly +that the troubles we have gone through--Mary and I--were only our +necessary preparation--not so necessary for her as for me"-- + +"No," said Dr. Sevier, and Richling continued, with a smile:-- + +"To fit us for a long and useful life, and especially a life that will +be full of kind and valuable services to the poor. If that isn't what +they were sent for"--he dropped into a tone of reflection--"then I don't +understand them." + +"And suppose you don't understand," said the Doctor, with his cold, grim +look. + +"Oh!" rejoined Richling, in amiable protest; "but a man would like to +understand." + +"Like to--yes," replied the Doctor; "but be careful. The spirit that +_must_ understand is the spirit that can't trust." He paused. Presently +he said, "Richling!" + +Richling answered by an inquiring glance. + +"Take better care of your health," said the physician. + +Richling smiled--a young man's answer--and rose to say good-night. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +TO SIGH, YET FEEL NO PAIN. + + +Mrs. Riley missed the Richlings, she said, more than tongue could tell. +She had easily rented the rooms they left vacant; that was not the +trouble. The new tenant was a sallow, gaunt, wind-dried seamstress of +sixty, who paid her rent punctually, but who was-- + +"Mighty poor comp'ny to thim as's been used to the upper tin, Mr. +Ristofalo." + +Still she was a protection. Mrs. Riley had not regarded this as a +necessity in former days, but now, somehow, matters seemed different. +This seamstress had, moreover, a son of eighteen years, principally +skin and bone, who was hoping to be appointed assistant hostler at the +fire-engine house of "Volunteer One," and who meantime hung about Mrs. +Riley's dwelling and loved to relieve her of the care of little Mike. +This also was something to be appreciated. Still there was a void. + +"Well, Mr. Richlin'!" cried Mrs. Riley, as she opened her parlor door in +response to a knock. "Well, I'll be switched! ha! ha! I didn't think it +was you at all. Take a seat and sit down!" + +It was good to see how she enjoyed the visit. Whenever she listened to +Richling's words she rocked in her rocking-chair vigorously, and when +she spoke stopped its motion and rested her elbows on its arms. + +"And how _is_ Mrs. Richlin'? And so she sent her love to me, did she, +now? The blessed angel! Now, ye're not just a-makin' that up? No, I +know ye wouldn't do sich a thing as that, Mr. Richlin'. Well, you must +give her mine back again. I've nobody else on e'rth to give ud to, and +never will have." She lifted her nose with amiable stateliness, as if to +imply that Richling might not believe this, but that it was true, +nevertheless. + +"You may change your mind, Mrs. Riley, some day," returned Richling, a +little archly. + +"Ha! ha!" She tossed her head and laughed with good-natured scorn. +"Nivver a fear o' that, Mr. Richlin'!" Her brogue was apt to broaden +when pleasure pulled down her dignity. "And, if I did, it wuddent be for +the likes of no I-talian Dago, if id's him ye're a-dthrivin' at,--not +intinding anny disrespect to your friend, Mr. Richlin', and indeed I +don't deny he's a perfect gintleman,--but, indeed, Mr. Richlin', I'm +just after thinkin' that you and yer lady wouldn't have no self-respect +for Kate Riley if she should be changing her name." + +"Still you were thinking about it," said Richling, with a twinkle. + +"Ah! ha! ha! Indeed I wasn', an' ye needn' be t'rowin' anny o' yer +slyness on me. Ye know ye'd have no self-respect fur me. No; now ye know +ye wuddent,--wud ye?" + +"Why, Mrs. Riley, of course we would. Why--why not?" He stood in the +door-way, about to take his leave. "You may be sure we'll always be glad +of anything that will make you the happier." Mrs. Riley looked so grave +that he checked his humor. + +"But in the nixt life, Mr. Richlin', how about that?" + +"There? I suppose we shall simply each love all in absolute perfection. +We'll"-- + +"We'll never know the differ," interposed Mrs. Riley. + +"That's it," said Richling, smiling again. "And so I say,--and I've +always said,--if a person _feels_ like marrying again, let him do it." + +"Have ye, now? Well, ye're just that good, Mr. Richlin'." + +"Yes," he responded, trying to be grave, "that's about my measure." + +"Would _you_ do ut?" + +"No, I wouldn't. I couldn't. But I should like--in good earnest, Mrs. +Riley, I should like, now, the comfort of knowing that you were not to +pass all the rest of your days in widowhood." + +"Ah! ged out, Mr. Richlin'!" She failed in her effort to laugh. "Ah! +ye're sly!" She changed her attitude and drew a breath. + +"No," said Richling, "no, honestly. I should feel that you deserved +better at this world's hands than that, and that the world deserved +better of you. I find two people don't make a world, Mrs. Riley, though +often they think they do. They certainly don't when one is gone." + +"Mr. Richlin'," exclaimed Mrs. Riley, drawing back and waving her hand +sweetly, "stop yer flattery! Stop ud! Ah! ye're a-feeling yer oats, Mr. +Richlin'. An' ye're a-showin' em too, ye air. Why, I hered ye was +lookin' terrible, and here ye're lookin' just splendud!" + +"Who told you that?" asked Richling. + +"Never mind! Never mind who he was--ha, ha, ha!" She checked herself +suddenly. "Ah, me! It's a shame for the likes o' me to be behavin' that +foolish!" She put on additional dignity. "I will always be the Widow +Riley." Then relaxing again into sweetness: "Marridge is a lottery, Mr. +Richlin'; indeed an' it is; and ye know mighty well that he ye're after +joking me about is no more nor a fri'nd." She looked sweet enough for +somebody to kiss. + +"I don't know so certainly about that," said her visitor, stepping down +upon the sidewalk and putting on his hat. "If I may judge by"-- He +paused and glanced at the window. + +"Ah, now, Mr. Richlin', na-na-now, Mr. Richlin', ye daurn't say ud! Ye +daurn't!" She smiled and blushed and arched her neck and rose and sank +upon herself with sweet delight. + +"I say if I may judge by what he has said to me," insisted Richling. + +Mrs. Riley glided down across the door-step, and, with all the +insinuation of her sex and nation, demanded:-- + +"What'd he tell ye? Ah! he didn't tell ye nawthing! Ha, ha! there wasn' +nawthing to tell!" But Richling slipped away. + +Mrs. Riley shook her finger: "Ah, ye're a wicket joker, Mr. Richlin'. I +didn't think that o' the likes of a gintleman like you, anyhow!" She +shook her finger again as she withdrew into the house, smiling broadly +all the way in to the cradle, where she kissed and kissed again her +ruddy, chubby, sleeping boy. + + * * * + +Ristofalo came often. He was a man of simple words, and of few thoughts +of the kind that were available in conversation; but his personal +adventures had begun almost with infancy, and followed one another in +close and strange succession over lands and seas ever since. He could +therefore talk best about himself, though he talked modestly. "These +things to hear would Desdemona seriously incline," and there came times +when even a tear was not wanting to gem the poetry of the situation. + +"And ye might have saved yerself from all that," was sometimes her note +of sympathy. But when he asked how she silently dried her eyes. + +Sometimes his experiences had been intensely ludicrous, and Mrs. Riley +would laugh until in pure self-oblivion she smote her thigh with her +palm, or laid her hand so smartly against his shoulder as to tip him +half off his seat. + +"Ye didn't!" + +"Yes." + +"Ah! Get out wid ye, Raphael Ristofalo,--to be telling me that for the +trooth!" + +At one such time she was about to give him a second push, but he took +the hand in his, and quietly kept it to the end of his story. + +He lingered late that evening, but at length took his hat from under his +chair, rose, and extended his hand. + +"Man alive!" she cried, "that's my _hand_, sur, I'd have ye to know. +Begahn wid ye! Lookut heere! What's the reason ye make it so long atween +yer visits, eh? Tell me that. Ah--ah--ye've no need fur to tell me, Mr. +Ristofalo! Ah--now don't tell a lie!" + +"Too busy. Come all time--wasn't too busy." + +"Ha, ha! Yes, yes; ye're too busy. Of coorse ye're too busy. Oh, yes! ye +_air_ too busy--a-courtin' thim I-talian froot gerls around the Frinch +Mairket. Ah! I'll bet two bits ye're a bouncer! Ah, don't tell me. I +know ye, ye villain! Some o' thim's a-waitin' fur ye now, ha, ha! Go! +And don't ye nivver come back heere anny more. D'ye mind?" + +"Aw righ'." The Italian took her hand for the third time and held it, +standing in his simple square way before her and wearing his gentle +smile as he looked her in the eye. "Good-by, Kate." + +Her eye quailed. Her hand pulled a little helplessly and in a meek voice +she said:-- + +"That's not right for you to do me that a-way, Mr. Ristofalo. I've got a +handle to my name, sur." + +She threw some gentle rebuke into her glance, and turned it upon him. He +met it with that same amiable absence of emotion that was always in his +look. + +"Kate too short by itself?" he asked. "Aw righ'; make it Kate +Ristofalo." + +"No," said Mrs. Riley, averting and drooping her face. + +"Take good care of you," said the Italian; "you and Mike. Always be +kind. Good care." + +Mrs. Riley turned with sudden fervor. + +"Good cayre!--Mr. Ristofalo," she exclaimed, lifting her free hand and +touching her bosom with the points of her fingers, "ye don't know the +hairt of a woman, surr! No-o-o, surr! It's _love_ we wants! 'The hairt +as has trooly loved nivver furgits, but as trooly loves ahn to the +tlose!'" + +"Yes," said the Italian; "yes," nodding and ever smiling, "dass aw +righ'." + +But she:-- + +"Ah! it's no use fur you to be a-talkin' an' a-pallaverin' to Kate Riley +when ye don't be lovin' her, Mr. Ristofalo, an' ye know ye don't." + +A tear glistened in her eye. + +"Yes, love you," said the Italian; "course, love you." + +He did not move a foot or change the expression of a feature. + +"H-yes!" said the widow. "H-yes!" she panted. "H-yes, a little! A +little, Mr. Ristofalo! But I want"--she pressed her hand hard upon her +bosom, and raised her eyes aloft--"I want to be--h--h--h-adaured above +all the e'rth!" + +"Aw righ'," said Ristofalo; "das aw righ'; yes--door above all you +worth." + +"Raphael Ristofalo," she said, "ye're a-deceivin' me! Ye came heere whin +nobody axed ye,--an' that ye know is a fact, surr,--an' made yerself +agree'ble to a poor, unsuspectin' widdah, an' [_tears_] rabbed me o' mie +hairt, ye did; whin I nivver intinded to git married ag'in." + +"Don't cry, Kate--Kate Ristofalo," quietly observed the Italian, getting +an arm around her waist, and laying a hand on the farther cheek. "Kate +Ristofalo." + +"Shut!" she exclaimed, turning with playful fierceness, and proudly +drawing back her head; "shut! Hah! It's Kate Ristofalo, is it? Ah, ye +think so? Hah-h! It'll be ad least two weeks yet before the priest will +be after giving you the right to call me that!" + +And, in fact, an entire fortnight did pass before they were married. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +WHAT NAME? + + +Richling in Dr. Sevier's library, one evening in early May, gave him +great amusement by an account of the Ristofalo-Riley wedding. He had +attended it only the night before. The Doctor had received an +invitation, but had pleaded previous engagements. + +"But I am glad you went," he said to Richling; "however, go on with your +account." + +"Oh! I was glad to go. And I'm certainly glad I went." + +Richling proceeded with the recital. The Doctor smiled. It was very +droll,--the description of persons and costumes. Richling was quite +another than his usual restrained self this evening. Oddly enough, too, +for this was but his second visit; the confinement of his work was +almost like an imprisonment, it was so constant. The Doctor had never +seen him in just such a glow. He even mimicked the brogue of two or +three Irish gentlemen, and the soft, outlandish swing in the English of +one or two Sicilians. He did it all so well that, when he gave an +instance of some of the broad Hibernian repartee he had heard, the +Doctor actually laughed audibly. One of his young-lady cousins on some +pretext opened a door, and stole a glance within to see what could have +produced a thing so extraordinary. + +"Come in, Laura; come in! Tell Bess to come in." + +The Doctor introduced Richling with due ceremony Richling could not, of +course, after this accession of numbers, go on being funny. The mistake +was trivial, but all saw it. Still the meeting was pleasant. The girls +were very intelligent and vivacious. Richling found a certain +refreshment in their graceful manners, like what we sometimes feel in +catching the scent of some long-forgotten perfume. They had not been +told all his history, but had heard enough to make them curious to see +and speak to him. They were evidently pleased with him, and Dr. Sevier, +observing this, betrayed an air that was much like triumph. But after a +while they went as they had come. + +"Doctor," said Richling, smiling until Dr. Sevier wondered silently what +possessed the fellow, "excuse me for bringing this here. But I find it +so impossible to get to your office"-- He moved nearer the Doctor's table +and put his hand into his bosom. + +"What's that?" asked the Doctor, frowning heavily. Richling smiled still +broader than before. + +"This is a statement," he said. + +"Of what?" + +"Of the various loans you have made me, with interest to date." + +"Yes?" said the Doctor, frigidly. + +"And here," persisted the happy man, straightening out a leg as he had +done the first time they ever met, and drawing a roll of notes from his +pocket, "is the total amount." + +"Yes?" The Doctor regarded them with cold contempt. "That's all very +pleasant for you, I suppose, Richling,--shows you're the right kind of +man, I suppose, and so on. I know that already, however. Now just put +all that back into your pocket; the sight of it isn't pleasant. You +certainly don't imagine I'm going to take it, do you?" + +"You promised to take it when you lent it." + +"Humph! Well, I didn't say when." + +"As soon as I could pay it," said Richling. + +"I don't remember," replied the Doctor, picking up a newspaper. "I +release myself from that promise." + +"I don't release you," persisted Richling; "neither does Mary." + +The Doctor was quiet awhile before he answered. He crossed his knees, a +moment after folded his arms, and presently said:-- + +"Foolish pride, Richling." + +"We know that," replied Richling; "we don't deny that that feeling +creeps in. But we'd never do anything that's right if we waited for an +unmixed motive, would we?" + +"Then you think my motive--in refusing it--is mixed, probably." + +"Ho-o-oh!" laughed Richling. The gladness within him would break +through. "Why, Doctor, nothing could be more different. It doesn't seem +to me as though you ever had a mixed motive." + +The Doctor did not answer. He seemed to think the same thing. + +"We know very well, Doctor, that if we should accept this kindness we +might do it in a spirit of proper and commendable--a--humble-mindedness. +But it isn't mere pride that makes us insist." + +"No?" asked the Doctor, cruelly. "What is it else?" + +"Why, I hardly know what to call it, except that it's a conviction +that--well, that to pay is best; that it's the nearest to justice we can +get, and that"--he spoke faster--"that it's simply duty to choose +justice when we can and mercy when we must. There, I've hit it out!" He +laughed again. "Don't you see, Doctor? Justice when we may--mercy when +we must! It's your own principles!" + +The Doctor looked straight at the mantel-piece as he asked:-- + +"Where did you get that idea?" + +"I don't know; partly from nowhere, and"-- + +"Partly from Mary," interrupted the Doctor. He put out his long white +palm. "It's all right. Give me the money." Richling counted it into his +hand. He rolled it up and stuffed it into his portemonnaie. + +"You like to part with your hard earnings, do you, Richling?" + +"Earnings can't be hard," was the reply; "it's borrowings that are +hard." + +The Doctor assented. + +"And, of course," said Richling, "I enjoy paying old debts." He stood +and leaned his head in his hand with his elbow on the mantel. "But, even +aside from that, I'm happy." + +"I see you are!" remarked the physician, emphatically, catching the arms +of his chair and drawing his feet closer in. "You've been smiling worse +than a boy with a love-letter." + +"I've been hoping you'd ask me what's the matter." + +"Well, then, Richling, what is the matter?" + +"Mary has a daughter." + +"What!" cried the Doctor, springing up with a radiant face, and grasping +Richling's hand in both his own. + +Richling laughed aloud, nodded, laughed again, and gave either eye a +quick, energetic wipe with all his fingers. + +"Doctor," he said, as the physician sank back into his chair, "we want +to name"--he hesitated, stood on one foot and leaned again against the +shelf--"we want to call her by the name of--if we may"-- + +The Doctor looked up as if with alarm, and John said, timidly,--"Alice!" + +Dr. Sevier's eyes--what was the matter? His mouth quivered. He nodded +and whispered huskily:-- + +"All right." + +After a long pause Richling expressed the opinion that he had better be +going, and the Doctor did not indicate any difference of conviction. At +the door the Doctor asked:-- + +"If the fever should break out this summer, Richling, will you go away?" + +"No." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +PESTILENCE. + + +On the twentieth of June, 1858, an incident occurred in New Orleans +which challenged special attention from the medical profession. Before +the month closed there was a second, similar to the first. The press +did not give such matters to the public in those days; it would only +make the public--the advertising public--angry. Times have changed +since--faced clear about: but at that period Dr. Sevier, who hated a +secret only less than a falsehood, was right in speaking as he did. + +"Now you'll see," he said, pointing downward aslant, "the whole +community stick its head in the sand!" He sent for Richling. + +"I give you fair warning," he said. "It's coming." + +"Don't cases occur sometimes in an isolated way without--anything +further?" asked Richling, with a promptness which showed he had already +been considering the matter. + +"Yes." + +"And might not this"-- + +"Richling, I give you fair warning." + +"Have you sent your cousins away, Doctor?" + +"They go to-morrow." After a silence the Doctor added: "I tell you now, +because this is the time to decide what you will do. If you are not +prepared to take all the risks and stay them through, you had better go +at once." + +"What proportion of those who are taken sick of it die?" asked Richling. + +"The proportion varies in different seasons; say about one in seven or +eight. But your chances would be hardly so good, for you're not strong, +Richling, nor well either." + +Richling stood and swung his hat against his knee. + +"I really don't see, Doctor, that I have any choice at all. I couldn't +go to Mary--when she has but just come through a mother's pains and +dangers--and say, 'I've thrown away seven good chances of life to run +away from one bad one.' Why, to say nothing else, Reisen can't spare +me." He smiled with boyish vanity. + +"O Richling, that's silly!" + +"I--I know it," exclaimed the other, quickly; "I see it is. If he could +spare me, of course he wouldn't be paying me a salary." But the Doctor +silenced him by a gesture. + +"The question is not whether he can spare you, at all. It's simply, can +you spare him?" + +"Without violating any pledge, you mean," added Richling. + +"Of course," assented the physician. + +"Well, I can't spare him, Doctor. He has given me a hold on life, and no +one chance in seven, or six, or five is going to shake me loose. Why, I +tell you I couldn't look Mary in the face!" + +"Have your own way," responded the Doctor. "There are some things in +your favor. You frail fellows often pull through easier than the big, +full-blooded ones." + +"Oh, it's Mary's way too, I feel certain!" retorted Richling, gayly, +"and I venture to say"--he coughed and smiled again--"it's yours." + +"I didn't say it wasn't," replied the unsmiling Doctor, reaching for a +pen and writing a prescription. "Here; get that and take it according to +direction. It's for that cold." + +"If I should take the fever," said Richling, coming out of a revery, +"Mary will want to come to me." + +"Well, she mustn't come a step!" exclaimed the Doctor. + +"You'll forbid it, will you not, Doctor? Pledge me!" + +"I do better, sir; I pledge myself." + +So the July suns rose up and moved across the beautiful blue sky; the +moon went through all her majestic changes; on thirty-one successive +midnights the Star Bakery sent abroad its grateful odors of bread, and +as the last night passed into the first twinkling hour of morning the +month chronicled one hundred and thirty-one deaths from yellow fever. +The city shuddered because it knew, and because it did not know, what +was in store. People began to fly by hundreds, and then by thousands. +Many were overtaken and stricken down as they fled. Still men plied +their vocations, children played in the streets, and the days came and +went, fair, blue tremulous with sunshine, or cool and gray and sweet +with summer rain. How strange it was for nature to be so beautiful and +so unmoved! By and by one could not look down a street, on this hand or +on that, but he saw a funeral. Doctors' gigs began to be hailed on the +streets and to refuse to stop, and houses were pointed out that had just +become the scenes of strange and harrowing episodes. + +"Do you see that bakery,--the 'Star Bakery'? Five funerals from that +place--and another goes this afternoon." + +Before this was said August had completed its record of eleven hundred +deaths, and September had begun the long list that was to add +twenty-two hundred more. Reisen had been the first one ill in the +establishment. He had been losing friends,--one every few days; and he +thought it only plain duty, let fear or prudence say what they might, +to visit them at their bedsides and follow them to their tombs. It +was not only the outer man of Reisen, but the heart as well, that was +elephantine. He had at length come home from one of these funerals with +pains in his back and limbs, and the various familiar accompaniments. + +"I feel right clumsy," he said, as he lifted his great feet and lowered +them into the mustard foot-bath. + +"Doctor Sevier," said Richling, as he and the physician paused half way +between the sick-chambers of Reisen and his wife, "I hope you'll not +think it foolhardy for me to expose myself by nursing these people"-- + +"No," replied the veteran, in a tone of indifference, and passed on; the +tincture of self-approval that had "mixed" with Richling's motives went +away to nothing. + +Both Reisen and his wife recovered. But an apple-cheeked brother of the +baker, still in a green cap and coat that he had come in from Germany, +was struck from the first with that mortal terror which is so often an +evil symptom of the disease, and died, on the fifth day after his +attack, in raging delirium. Ten of the workmen, bakers and others, +followed him. Richling alone, of all in the establishment, while the +sick lay scattered through the town on uncounted thousands of beds, and +the month of October passed by, bringing death to eleven hundred more, +escaped untouched of the scourge. + +"I can't understand it," he said. + +"Demand an immediate explanation," said Dr. Sevier, with sombre irony. + +How did others fare? Ristofalo had, time and again, sailed with the +fever, nursed it, slept with it. It passed him by again. Little Mike +took it, lay two or three days very still in his mother's strong arms, +and recovered. Madame Ristofalo had had it in "fifty-three." She became +a heroic nurse to many, and saved life after life among the poor. + +The trials of those days enriched John Richling in the acquaintanceship +and esteem of Sister Jane's little lisping rector. And, by the way, none +of those with whom Dr. Sevier dined on that darkest night of Richling's +life became victims. The rector had never encountered the disease +before, but when Sister Jane and the banker, and the banker's family and +friends, and thousands of others, fled, he ran toward it, David-like, +swordless and armorless. He and Richling were nearly of equal age. Three +times, four times, and again, they met at dying-beds. They became fond +of each other. + +Another brave nurse was Narcisse. Dr. Sevier, it is true, could not get +rid of the conviction for years afterward that one victim would have +lived had not Narcisse talked him to death. But in general, where +there was some one near to prevent his telling all his discoveries and +inventions, he did good service, and accompanied it with very chivalric +emotions. + +"Yesseh," he said, with a strutting attitude that somehow retained a +sort of modesty, "I 'ad the gweatess success. Hah! a nuss is a nuss +those time'. Only some time' 'e's not. 'Tis accawding to the +povvub,--what is that povvub, now, ag'in?" The proverb did not answer +his call, and he waved it away. "Yesseh, eve'ybody wanting me at +once--couldn' supply the deman'." + +Richling listened to him with new pleasure and rising esteem. + +"You make me envy you," he exclaimed, honestly. + +"Well, I s'pose you may say so, Mistoo Itchlin, faw I nevva nuss +a sing-le one w'at din paid me ten dollahs a night. Of co'se! +'Consistency, thou awt a jew'l.' It's juz as the povvub says, 'All +work an' no pay keep Jack a small boy.' An' yet," he hurriedly added, +remembering his indebtedness to his auditor, "'tis aztonizhin' 'ow 'tis +expensive to live. I haven' got a picayune of that money pwesently! I'm +aztonizh' myseff!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +"I MUST BE CRUEL ONLY TO BE KIND." + + +The plague grew sated and feeble. One morning frost sent a flight of icy +arrows into the town, and it vanished. The swarthy girls and lads that +sauntered homeward behind their mothers' cows across the wide suburban +stretches of marshy commons heard again the deep, unbroken, cataract +roar of the reawakened city. + +We call the sea cruel, seeing its waters dimple and smile where +yesterday they dashed in pieces the ship that was black with men, women, +and children. But what shall we say of those billows of human life, of +which we are ourselves a part, that surge over the graves of its own +dead with dances and laughter and many a coquetry, with panting chase +for gain and preference, and pious regrets and tender condolences for +the thousands that died yesterday--and need not have died? + +Such were the questions Dr. Sevier asked himself as he laid down the +newspaper full of congratulations upon the return of trade's and +fashion's boisterous flow, and praises of the deeds of benevolence and +mercy that had abounded throughout the days of anguish. + +Certain currents in these human rapids had driven Richling and the +Doctor wide apart. But at last, one day, Richling entered the office +with a cheerfulness of countenance something overdone, and indicative to +the Doctor's eye of inward trepidation. + +"Doctor," he said hurriedly, "preparing to leave the office? It was the +only moment I could command"-- + +"Good-morning, Richling." + +"I've been trying every day for a week to get down here," said Richling, +drawing out a paper. "Doctor"--with his eyes on the paper, which he had +begun to unfold. + +"Richling"-- It was the Doctor's hardest voice. Richling looked up +at him as a child looks at a thundercloud. The Doctor pointed to the +document:-- + +"Is that a subscription paper?" + +"Yes." + +"You needn't unfold it, Richling." The Doctor made a little pushing +motion at it with his open hand. "From whom does it come?" + +Richling gave a name. He had not changed color when the Doctor looked +black, but now he did; for Dr. Sevier smiled. It was terrible. + +"Not the little preacher that lisps?" asked the physician. + +"He lisps sometimes," said Richling, with resentful subsidence of tone +and with dropped eyes, preparing to return the paper to his pocket. + +"Wait," said the Doctor, more gravely, arresting the movement with his +index finger. "What is it for?" + +"It's for the aid of an asylum overcrowded with orphans in consequence +of the late epidemic." There was still a tightness in Richling's throat, +a faint bitterness in his tone, a spark of indignation in his eye. But +these the Doctor ignored. He reached out his hand, took the folded paper +gently from Richling, crossed his knees, and, resting his elbows on them +and shaking the paper in a prefatory way, spoke:-- + +"Richling, in old times we used to go into monasteries; now we subscribe +to orphan asylums. Nine months ago I warned this community that if it +didn't take the necessary precautions against the foul contagion that +has since swept over us it would pay for its wicked folly in the lives +of thousands and the increase of fatherless and helpless children. I +didn't know it would come this year, but I knew it might come any year. +Richling, we deserved it!" + +Richling had never seen his friend in so forbidding an aspect. He had +come to him boyishly elated with the fancied excellence and goodness and +beauty of the task he had assumed, and a perfect confidence that his +noble benefactor would look upon him with pride and upon the scheme with +generous favor. When he had offered to present the paper to Dr. Sevier +he had not understood the little rector's marked alacrity in accepting +his service. Now it was plain enough. He was well-nigh dumfounded. The +responses that came from him came mechanically, and in the manner of one +who wards off unmerited buffetings from one whose unkindness may not be +resented. + +"You can't think that only those died who were to blame?" he asked, +helplessly; and the Doctor's answer came back instantly:-- + +"Ho, no! look at the hundreds of little graves! No, sir. If only those +who were to blame had been stricken, I should think the Judgment wasn't +far off. Talk of God's mercy in times of health! There's no greater +evidence of it than to see him, in these awful visitations, refusing +still to discriminate between the innocent and the guilty! Richling, +only Infinite Mercy joined to Infinite Power, with infinite command of +the future, could so forbear!" + +Richling could not answer. The Doctor unfolded the paper and began to +read: "'God, in his mysterious providence'--O sir!" + +"What!" demanded Richling. + +"O sir, what a foul, false charge! There's nothing mysterious about it. +We've trampled the book of Nature's laws in the mire of our streets, and +dragged her penalties down upon our heads! Why, Richling,"--he shifted +his attitude, and laid the edge of one hand upon the paper that lay in +the other, with the air of commencing a demonstration,--"you're a Bible +man, eh? Well, yes, I think you are; but I want you never to forget that +the book of Nature has its commandments, too; and the man who sins +against _them_ is a sinner. There's no dispensation of mercy in that +Scripture to Jew or Gentile, though the God of Mercy wrote it with his +own finger. A community has got to know those laws and keep them, or +take the consequences--and take them here and now--on this +globe--_presently_!" + +"You mean, then," said Richling, extending his hand for the return of +the paper, "that those whose negligence filled the asylums should be the +ones to subscribe." + +"Yes," replied the Doctor, "yes!" drew back his hand with the paper +still in it, turned to his desk, opened the list, and wrote. Richling's +eyes followed the pen; his heart came slowly up into his throat. + +"Why, Doc--Doctor, that's more than any one else has"-- + +"They have probably made some mistake," said Dr. Sevier, rubbing the +blotting-paper with his finger. "Richling, do you think it's your +mission to be a philanthropist?" + +"Isn't it everybody's mission?" replied Richling. + +"That's not what I asked you." + +"But you ask a question," said Richling, smiling down upon the +subscription-paper as he folded it, "that nobody would like to answer." + +"Very well, then, you needn't answer. But, Richling,"--he pointed +his long finger to the pocket of Richling's coat, where the +subscription-list had disappeared,--"this sort of work--whether you +distinctly propose to be a philanthropist or not--is right, of course. +It's good. But it's the mere alphabet of beneficence. Richling, whenever +philanthropy takes the _guise_ of philanthropy, look out. Confine your +philanthropy--you can't do it entirely, but as much as you can--confine +your philanthropy to the _motive_. It's the temptation of +philanthropists to set aside the natural constitution of society +wherever it seems out of order, and substitute some philanthropic +machinery in its place. It's all wrong, Richling. Do as a good doctor +would. Help nature." + +Richling looked down askance, pushed his fingers through his hair +perplexedly, drew a deep breath, lifted his eyes to the Doctor's again, +smiled incredulously, and rubbed his brow. + +"You don't see it?" asked the physician, in a tone of surprise. + +"O Doctor,"--throwing up a despairing hand,--"we're miles apart. I don't +see how any work could be nobler. It looks to me"-- But Dr. Sevier +interrupted. + +"--From an emotional stand-point, Richling. Richling,"--he changed his +attitude again,--"if you _want_ to be a philanthropist, be +cold-blooded." + +Richling laughed outright, but not heartily. + +"Well!" said his friend, with a shrug, as if he dismissed the whole +matter. But when Richling moved, as if to rise, he restrained him. +"Stop! I know you're in a hurry, but you may tell Reisen to blame me." + +"It's not Reisen so much as it's the work," replied Richling, but +settled down again in his seat. + +"Richling, human benevolence--public benevolence--in its beginning was +a mere nun on the battle-field, binding up wounds and wiping the damp +from dying brows. But since then it has had time and opportunity to +become strong, bold, masculine, potential. Once it had only the +knowledge and power to alleviate evil consequences; now it has both the +knowledge and the power to deal with evil causes. Now, I say to you, +leave this emotional A B C of human charity to nuns and mite societies. +It's a good work; let them do it. Give them money, if you can." + +"I see what you mean--I think," said Richling, slowly, and with a +pondering eye. + +"I'm glad if you do," rejoined the Doctor, visibly relieved. + +"But that only throws a heavier responsibility upon strong men, if I +understand it," said Richling, half interrogatively. + +"Certainly! Upon strong spirits, male or female. Upon spirits that can +drive the axe low down into the causes of things, again and again and +again, steadily, patiently, until at last some great evil towering above +them totters and falls crashing to the earth, to be cut to pieces and +burned in the fire. Richling, gather fagots for pastime if you like, +though it's poor fun; but don't think that's your mission! _Don't_ be a +fagot-gatherer! What are you smiling at?" + +"Your good opinion of me," answered Richling. "Doctor, I don't believe +I'm fit for anything but a fagot-gatherer. But I'm willing to try." + +"Oh, bah!" The Doctor admired such humility as little as it deserved. +"Richling, reduce the number of helpless orphans! Dig out the old roots +of calamity! A spoon is not what you want; you want a _mattock_. Reduce +crime and vice! Reduce squalor! Reduce the poor man's death-rate! +Improve his tenements! Improve his hospitals! Carry sanitation into his +workshops! Teach the trades! Prepare the poor for possible riches, and +the rich for possible poverty! Ah--ah--Richling, I preach well enough, I +think, but in practice I have missed it myself! Don't repeat my error!" + +"Oh, but you haven't missed it!" cried Richling. + +"Yes, but I have," said the Doctor. "Here I am, telling you to let your +philanthropy be cold-blooded; why, I've always been hot-blooded." + +"I like the hot best," said Richling, quickly. + +"You ought to hate it," replied his friend. "It's been the root of all +your troubles. Richling, God Almighty is unimpassioned. If he wasn't +he'd be weak. You remember Young's line: 'A God all mercy is a God +unjust.' The time has come when beneficence, to be real, must operate +scientifically, not emotionally. Emotion is good; but it must follow, +not guide. Here! I'll give you a single instance. Emotion never sells +where it can give: that is an old-fashioned, effete benevolence. The +new, the cold-blooded, is incomparably better: it never--to individual +or to community--gives where it can sell. Your instincts have applied +the rule to yourself; apply it to your fellow-man." + +"Ah!" said Richling, promptly, "that's another thing. It's not my +business to apply it to them." + +"It _is_ your business to apply it to them. You have no right to do +less." + +"And what will men say of me? At least--not that, but"-- + +The Doctor pointed upward. "They will say, 'I know thee, that thou art +an hard man.'" His voice trembled. "But, Richling," he resumed with +fresh firmness, "if you want to lead a long and useful life,--you say +you do,--you must take my advice; you must deny yourself for a while; +you must shelve these fine notions for a time. I tell you once more, you +must endeavor to reestablish your health as it was before--before they +locked you up, you know. When that is done you can commence right there +if you choose; I wish you would. Give the public--sell would be better, +but it will hardly buy--a prison system less atrocious, less destructive +of justice, and less promotive of crime and vice, than the one it has. +By-the-by, I suppose you know that Raphael Ristofalo went to prison last +night again?" + +Richling sprang to his feet. "For what? He hasn't"-- + +"Yes, sir; he has discovered the man who robbed him, and has killed +him." + +Richling started away, but halted as the Doctor spoke again, rising from +his seat and shaking out his legs. + +"He's not suffering any hardship. He's shrewd, you know,--has made +arrangements with the keeper by which he secures very comfortable +quarters. The star-chamber, I think they call the room he is in. He'll +suffer very little restraint. Good-day!" + +He turned, as Richling left, to get his own hat and gloves. "Yes," he +thought, as he passed slowly downstairs to his carriage, "I have erred." +He was not only teaching, he was learning. To fight evil was not enough. +People who wanted help for orphans did not come to him--they sent. They +drew back from him as a child shrinks from a soldier. Even Alice, his +buried Alice, had wept with delight when he gave her a smile, and +trembled with fear at his frown. To fight evil is not enough. Everybody +seemed to feel as though that were a war against himself. Oh for some +one always to understand--never to fear--the frowning good intention of +the lonely man! + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +"PETTENT PRATE." + + +It was about the time, in January, when clerks and correspondents were +beginning to write '59 without first getting it '58, that Dr. Sevier, as +one morning he approached his office, noticed with some grim amusement, +standing among the brokers and speculators of Carondelet street, the +baker, Reisen. He was earnestly conversing with and bending over a +small, alert fellow, in a rakish beaver and very smart coat, with the +blue flowers of modesty bunched saucily in one button-hole. + +Almost at the same moment Reisen saw the Doctor. He called his name +aloud, and for all his ungainly bulk would have run directly to the +carriage in the middle of the street, only that the Doctor made believe +not to see, and in a moment was out of reach. But when, two or three +hours later, the same vehicle came, tipping somewhat sidewise against +the sidewalk at the Charity Hospital gate, and the Doctor stepped from +it, there stood Reisen in waiting. + +"Toctor," he said, approaching and touching his hat, "I like to see you +a minudt, uff you bleace, shtrict prifut." + +They moved slowly down the unfrequented sidewalk, along the garden wall. + +"Before you begin, Reisen, I want to ask you a question. I've noticed +for a month past that Mr. Richling rides in your bread-carts alongside +the drivers on their rounds. Don't you know you ought not to require +such a thing as that from a person like Mr. Richling? Mr. Richling's a +gentleman, Reisen, and you make him mount up in those bread-carts, and +jump out every few minutes to deliver bread!" + +The Doctor's blood was not cold. + +"Vell, now!" drawled the baker, as the corners of his mouth retreated +toward the back of his neck, "end't tat teh funn'est ting, ennahow! Vhy, +tat iss yoost teh ferra ting fot I comin' to shpeak mit you apowdt udt!" +He halted and looked at the Doctor to see how this coincidence struck +him; but the Doctor merely moved on. "_I_ toant make him too udt," he +continued, starting again; "he cumps to me sindts apowdt two-o-o mundts +aco--ven I shtill feelin' a liddle veak, yet, fun teh yalla-feewa--undt +yoost paygs me to let um too udt. 'Mr. Richlun,' sayss I to him, 'I +toandt kin untershtayndt for vot you vawndts to too sich a ritickliss, +Mr. Richlun!' Ovver he sayss, 'Mr. Reisen,'--he alvays callss me +'Mister,' undt tat iss one dting in puttickly vot I alvays tit li-i-iked +apowdt Mr. Richlun,--'Mr. Reisen,' he sayss, 'toandt you aysk me te +reason, ovver yoost let me co abate undt too udt!' Undt I voss a coin' +to kiff udt up, alretty; ovver ten cumps in _Missess_ Reisen,--who iss a +heap shmarter mayn as fot Reisen iss, I yoost tell you te ectsectly +troot,--and she sayss, 'Reisen, you yoost tell Mr. Richlun, Mr. Richlun, +you toadnt coin' to too sich a ritickliss!'" + +The speaker paused for effect. + +"Undt ten Mr. Richlun, he talks!--Schweedt?--Oh yendlemuns, toandt say +nutting!" The baker lifted up his palm and swung it down against his +thigh with a blow that sent the flour out in a little cloud. "I tell +you, Toctor Tseweer, ven tat mayn vawndts to too udt, he kin yoost talk +te mo-ust like a Christun fun enna mayn I neffa he-ut in mine li-i-fe! +'Missess Reisen,' he sayss, 'I vawndts to too udt pecause I vawndts to +too udt.' Vell, how you coin' to arg-y ennating eagval mit Mr. Richlun? +So teh upshodt iss he coes owdt in teh prate-cawts tistripputin' te +prate!" Reisen threw his arms far behind him, and bowed low to his +listener. + +Dr. Sevier had learned him well enough to beware of interrupting him, +lest when he resumed it would be at the beginning again. He made no +answer, and Reisen went on:-- + +"Bressently"-- He stopped his slow walk, brought forward both +palms, shrugged, dropped them, bowed, clasped them behind him, brought +the left one forward, dropped it, then the right one, dropped it also, +frowned, smiled, and said:-- + +"Bressently"--then a long silence--"effrapotty in my +etsteplitchmendt"--another long pause--"hef yoost teh same ettechmendt +to Mr. Richlun,"--another interval,--"tey hef yoost tso much effection +fur _him_"--another silence--"ass tey hef"--another, with a smile this +time--"fur--te teffle himpselluf!" An oven opened in the baker's face, +and emitted a softly rattling expiration like that of a bursted bellows. +The Doctor neither smiled nor spoke. Reisen resumed:-- + +"I seen udt. I seen udt. Ovver I toandt coult untershtayndt udt. Ovver +one tay cumps in mine little poy in to me fen te pakers voss all +ashleep, 'Pap-a, Mr. Richlun sayss you shouldt come into teh offuss.' I +kumpt in. Mr. Richlun voss tare, shtayndting yoost so--yoost so--py teh +shtofe; undt, Toctor Tseweer, I yoost tell you te ectsectly troot, he +toaldt in fife minudts--six minudts--seven minudts, udt may pe--undt +shoadt me how effrapotty, high undt low, little undt pick, Tom, Tick, +undt Harra, pin ropping me sindts more ass fife years!" + +The longest pause of all followed this disclosure. The baker had +gradually backed the Doctor up against the wall, spreading out the whole +matter with his great palms turned now upward and now downward, the +bulky contents of his high-waisted, barn-door trowsers now bulged +out and now withdrawn, to be protruded yet more a moment later. He +recommenced by holding out his down-turned hand some distance above +the ground. + +"I yoompt tot hoigh!" He blew his cheeks out, and rose a half-inch off +his heels in recollection of the mighty leap. "Ovver Mr. Richlun +sayss,--he sayss, 'Kip shtill, Mr. Reisen;' undt I kibt shtill." + +The baker's auditor was gradually drawing him back toward the hospital +gate; but he continued speaking:-- + +"Py undt py, vun tay, I kot someting to say to Mr. _Richlun_, yet. Undt +I sendts vert to Mr. _Richlun_ tat _he_ shouldt come into teh offuss. He +cumps in. 'Mr. Richlun,' I sayss, sayss I to him, 'Mr. Richlun, I kot +udt!'" The baker shook his finger in Dr. Sevier's face. "'I kot udt, udt +layst, Mr. Richlun! I yoost het a _suspish'n_ sindts teh first tay fot I +employedt you, ovver now I _know_ I kot udt!' Vell, sir, he yoost turnun +so rate ass a flennen shirt!--'Mr. Reisen,' sayss he to me, 'fot iss udt +fot you kot?' Undt sayss I to him, 'Mr. Richlun, udt iss you! Udt is +_you_ fot I kot!'" + +Dr. Sevier stood sphinx-like, and once more Reisen went on. + +"'Yes, Mr. Richlun,'" still addressing the Doctor as though he were his +book-keeper, "'I yoost layin, on my pett effra nighdt--effra nighdt, +vi-i-ite ava-a-ake! undt in apowdt a veek I make udt owdt ut layst tot +you, Mr. Richlun,'--I lookt um shtraight in te eye, undt he lookt me +shtraight te same,--'tot, Mr. Richlun, _you_,' sayss I, 'not dtose +fellehs fot pin py mo sindts more ass fife yearss, put _you_, Mr. +Richlun, iss teh mayn!--teh mayn fot I--kin _trust_!'" The baker's +middle parts bent out and his arms were drawn akimbo. Thus for ten +seconds. + +"'Undt now, Mr. Richlun, do you kot teh shtrengdt for to shtart a noo +pissness?'--Pecause, Toctor, udt pin seem to me Mr. Richlun kitten more +undt more shecklun, undt toandt take tot meticine fot you kif um (ovver +he sayss he toos). So ten he sayss to me, 'Mister Reisen, I am yoost so +sollut undt shtrong like a pilly-coat! Fot is teh noo pissness?'--'Mr. +Richlun,' sayss I, 've goin' to make pettent prate!'" + +"What?" asked the Doctor, frowning with impatience and venturing to +interrupt at last. + +"_Pet-tent prate!_" + +The listener frowned heavier and shook his head. + +"_Pettent prate!_" + +"Oh! patent bread; yes. Well?" + +"Yes," said Reisen, "prate mate mit a mutcheen; mit copponic-essut kass +into udt ploat pefore udt is paked. I pought teh pettent tiss mawning +fun a yendleman in Garontelet shtreedt, alretty, naympt Kknox." + +"And what have I to do with all this?" asked the Doctor, consulting his +watch, as he had already done twice before. + +"Vell," said Reisen, spreading his arms abroad, "I yoost taught you like +to herr udt." + +"But what do you want to see me for? What have you kept me all this time +to tell me--or ask me?" + +"Toctor,--you ugscooce me--ovver"--the baker held the Doctor by the +elbow as he began to turn away--"Toctor Tseweer,"--the great face +lighted up with a smile, the large body doubled partly together, and the +broad left hand was held ready to smite the thigh,--"you shouldt see Mr. +Richlun ven he fowndt owdt udt is goin' to lower teh price of prate! I +taught he iss goin' to kiss Mississ Reisen!" + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +SWEET BELLS JANGLED. + + +Those who knew New Orleans just before the civil war, even though they +saw it only along its riverfront from the deck of some steam-boat, may +easily recall a large sign painted high up on the side of the old +"Triangle Building," which came to view through the dark web of masts +and cordage as one drew near St. Mary's Market. "Steam Bakery" it read. +And such as were New Orleans householders, or by any other chance +enjoyed the experience of making their way in the early morning among +the hundreds of baskets that on hundreds of elbows moved up and down +along and across the quaint gas-lit arcades of any of the market-houses, +must remember how, about this time or a little earlier, there began +to appear on one of the tidiest of bread-stalls in each of these +market-houses a new kind of bread. It was a small, densely compacted +loaf of the size and shape of a badly distorted brick. When broken, +it divided into layers, each of which showed--"teh bprindt of teh +kkneading-mutcheen," said Reisen to Narcisse; "yoost like a tsoda +crecker!" + +These two persons had met by chance at a coffee-stand one beautiful +summer dawn in one of the markets,--the Treine, most likely,--where, +perched on high stools at a zinc-covered counter, with the smell of +fresh blood on the right and of stale fish on the left, they had +finished half their cup of _cafe au lait_ before they awoke to the +exhilarating knowledge of each other's presence. + +"Yesseh," said Narcisse, "now since you 'ave wemawk the mention of it, I +think I have saw that va'iety of bwead." + +"Oh, surely you poundt to a-seedt udt. A uckly little prown dting"-- + +"But cook well," said Narcisse. + +"Yayss," drawled the baker. It was a fact that he had to admit. + +"An' good flou'," persisted the Creole. + +"Yayss," said the smiling manufacturer. He could not deny that either. + +"An' honness weight!" said Narcisse, planting his empty cup in his +saucer, with the energy of his asservation; "an', Mr. Bison, thass a +ve'y seldom thing." + +"Yayss," assented Reisen, "ovver tat prate is mighdy dtry, undt +shtickin' in ten dtroat." + +"No, seh!" said the flatterer, with a generous smile. "Egscuse me--I +diffeh fum you. 'Tis a beaucheouz bwead. Yesseh. And eve'y loaf got the +name beaucheouzly pwint on the top, with 'Patent'--sich an' sich a time. +'Tis the tooth, Mr. Bison, I'm boun' to congwatu_late_ you on that +bwead." + +"O-o-oh! tat iss not _mine_ prate," exclaimed the baker. "Tat iss not +fun mine etsteplitchmendt. Oh, no! Tatt iss te prate--I'm yoost dtellin' +you--tat iss te prate fun tat fellah py teh Sunk-Mary's Morrikit-house! +Tat's teh 'shteam prate'. I to-undt know for vot effrapotty puys tat +prate annahow! Ovver you yoost vait dtill you see _mine_ prate!" + +"Mr. Bison," said Narcisse, "Mr. Bison,"--he had been trying to stop +him and get in a word of his own, but could not,--"I don't know if +you--Mr.--Mr. Bison, in fact, you din unde'stood me. Can that be +poss'ble that you din notiz that I was speaking in my i'ony about that +bwead? Why, of co'se! Thass juz my i'onious cuztom, Mr. Bison. Thass one +thing I dunno if you 'ave notiz about that 'steam bwead,' Mr. Bison, but +with me that bwead always stick in my th'oat; an' yet I kin swallow mose +anything, in fact. No, Mr. Bison, yo' bwead is deztyned to be the bwead; +and I tell you how 'tis with me, I juz gladly eat yo' bwead eve'y time I +kin git it! Mr. Bison, in fact you don't know me ve'y in_tim_itly, but +you will oblige me ve'y much indeed to baw me five dollahs till +tomaw--save me fum d'awing a check!" + +The German thrust his hand slowly and deeply into his pocket. "I alvayss +like to oplyche a yendleman,"--he smiled benignly, drew out a toothpick, +and added,--"ovver I nivveh bporrah or lend to ennabodda." + +"An' then," said Narcisse, promptly, "'tis imposs'ble faw anybody to be +offended. Thass the bess way, Mr. Bison." + +"Yayss," said the baker, "I tink udt iss." As they were parting, he +added: "Ovver you vait dtill you see _mine_ prate!" + +"I'll do it, seh!-- And, Mr. Bison, you muzn't think anything +about that, my not bawing that five dollars fum you, Mr. Bison, because +that don't make a bit o' dif'ence; an' thass one thing I like about you, +Mr. Bison, you don't baw yo' money to eve'y Dick, Tom, an' Hawwy, do +you?" + +"No, I dtoandt. Ovver, you yoost vait"-- + +And certainly, after many vexations, difficulties, and delays, that +took many a pound of flesh from Reisen's form, the pretty, pale-brown, +fragrant white loaves of "aerated bread" that issued from the Star +Bakery in Benjamin street were something pleasant to see, though they +did not lower the price. + +Richling's old liking for mechanical apparatus came into play. He only, +in the establishment, thoroughly understood the new process, and could +be certain of daily, or rather nightly, uniform results. He even made +one or two slight improvements in it, which he contemplated with +ecstatic pride, and long accounts of which he wrote to Mary. + +In a generous and innocent way Reisen grew a little jealous of his +accountant, and threw himself into his business as he had not done +before since he was young, and in the ardor of his emulation ignored +utterly a state of health that was no better because of his great length +and breadth. + +"Toctor Tseweer!" he said, as the physician appeared one day in his +office. "Vell, now, I yoost pet finfty tawllars tat iss Mississ Reisen +sendts for you tat I'm sick! Ven udt iss not such a dting!" He laughed +immoderately. "Ovver I'm gladt you come, Toctor, ennahow, for you pin +yoost in time to see ever'ting runnin'. I vish you yoost come undt see +udt!" He grinned in his old, broad way; but his face was anxious, and +his bared arms were lean. He laid his hand on the Doctor's arm, and then +jerked it away, and tried to blow off the floury print of his fingers. +"Come!" He beckoned. "Come; I show you somedting putiful. Toctor, I +_vizh_ you come!" + +The Doctor yielded. Richling had to be called upon at last to explain +the hidden parts and processes. + +"It's yoost like putt'n' te shpirudt into teh potty," said the laughing +German. "Now, tat prate kot life in udt yoost teh same like your own +selluf, Toctor. Tot prate kot yoost so much sense ass Reisen kot. +Ovver, Toctor--Toctor"--the Doctor was giving his attention to +Richling, who was explaining something--"Toctor, toandt you come here +uxpectin' to see nopoty sick, less-n udt iss Mr. Richlun." He caught +Richling's face roughly between his hands, and then gave his back a +caressing thwack. "Toctor, vot you dtink? Ve goin' teh run prate-cawts +mit copponic-essut kass. Tispense mit hawses!" He laughed long but +softly, and smote Richling again as the three walked across the bakery +yard abreast. + +"Well?" said Dr. Sevier to Richling, in a low tone, "always working +toward the one happy end." + +Richling had only time to answer with his eyes, when the baker, always +clinging close to them, said, "Yes; if I toandt look oudt yet, he pe +rich pefore Reisen." + +The Doctor looked steadily at Richling, stood still, and said, "Don't +hurry." + +But Richling swung playfully half around on his heel, dropped his +glance, and jerked his head sidewise, as one who neither resented the +advice nor took it. A minute later he drew from his breast-pocket a +small, thick letter stripped of its envelope, and handed it to the +Doctor, who put it into his pocket, neither of them speaking. The action +showed practice. Reisen winked one eye laboriously at the Doctor and +chuckled. + +"See here, Reisen," said the Doctor, "I want you to pack your trunk, +take the late boat, and go to Biloxi or Pascagoula, and spend a month +fishing and sailing." + +The baker pushed his fingers up under his hat, scratched his head, +smiled widely, and pointed at Richling. + +"Sendt him." + +The Doctor went and sat down with Reisen, and used every form of +inducement that could be brought to bear; but the German had but one +answer: Richling, Richling, not he. The Doctor left a prescription, +which the baker took until he found it was making him sleep while +Richling was at work, whereupon he amiably threw it out of his window. + +It was no surprise to Dr. Sevier that Richling came to him a few days +later with a face all trouble. + +"How are you, Richling? How's Reisen?" + +"Doctor," said Richling, "I'm afraid Mr. Reisen is"--Their eyes met. + +"Insane," said the Doctor. + +"Yes." + +"Does his wife know whether he has ever had such symptoms before--in his +life?" + +"She says he hasn't." + +"I suppose you know his pecuniary condition perfectly; has he money?" + +"Plenty." + +"He'll not consent to go away anywhere, I suppose, will he?" + +"Not an inch." + +"There's but one sensible and proper course, Richling; he must be taken +at once, by force if necessary, to a first-class insane hospital." + +"Why, Doctor, why? Can't we treat him better at home?" + +The Doctor gave his head its well-known swing of impatience. "If you +want to be _criminally_ in error try that!" + +"I don't want to be in error at all," retorted Richling. + +"Then don't lose twelve hours that you can save, but send him off as +soon as process of court will let you." + +"Will you come at once and see him?" asked Richling, rising up. + +"Yes, I'll be there nearly as soon as you will. Stop; you had better +ride with me; I have something special to say." As the carriage started +off, the Doctor leaned back in its cushions, folded his arms, and took a +long, meditative breath. Richling glanced at him and said:-- + +"We're both thinking of the same person." + +"Yes," replied the Doctor; "and the same day, too, I suppose: the first +day I ever saw her; the only other time that we ever got into this +carriage together. Hmm! hmm! With what a fearful speed time flies!" + +"Sometimes," said the yearning husband, and apologized by a laugh. The +Doctor grunted, looked out of the carriage window, and, suddenly +turning, asked:-- + +"Do you know that Reisen instructed his wife about six months ago, in +the event of his death or disability, to place all her interests in your +hands, and to be guided by your advice in everything?" + +"Oh!" exclaimed Richling, "he can't do that! He should have asked my +consent." + +"I suppose he knew he wouldn't get it. He's a cunning simpleton." + +"But, Doctor, if you knew this"--Richling ceased. + +"Six months ago. Why didn't I tell you?" said the physician. "I thought +I would, Richling, though Reisen bade me not, when he told me; I made no +promise. But time, that you think goes slow, was too fast for me." + +"I shall refuse to serve," said Richling, soliloquizing aloud. "Don't +you see, Doctor, the delicacy of the position?" + +"Yes, I do; but you don't. Don't you see it would be just as delicate a +matter for you to refuse?" + +Richling pondered, and presently said, quite slowly:-- + +"It will look like coming down out of the tree to catch the apples as +they fall," he said. "Why," he added with impatience, "it lays me wide +open to suspicion and slander." + +"Does it?" asked the Doctor, heartlessly. "There's nothing remarkable in +that. Did any one ever occupy a responsible position without those +conditions?" + +"But, you know, I have made some unscrupulous enemies by defending +Reisen's interests." + +"Um-hmm; what did you defend them for?" + +Richling was about to make a reply; but the Doctor wanted none. +"Richling," he said, "the most of men have burrows. They never let +anything decoy them so far from those burrows but they can pop into them +at a moment's notice. Do you take my meaning?" + +"Oh, yes!" said Richling, pleasantly; "no trouble to understand you this +time. I'll not run into any burrow just now. I'll face my duty and think +of Mary." + +He laughed. + +"Excellent pastime," responded Dr. Sevier. + +They rode on in silence. + +"As to"--began Richling again,--"as to such matters as these, once a man +confronts the question candidly, there is really no room, that I can +see, for a man to choose: a man, at least, who is always guided by +conscience." + +"If there were such a man," responded the Doctor. + +"True," said John. + +"But for common stuff, such as you and I are made of, it must sometimes +be terrible." + +"I dare say," said Richling. "It sometimes requires cold blood to choose +aright." + +"As cold as granite," replied the other. + +They arrived at the bakery. + +"O Doctor," said Mrs. Reisen, proffering her hand as he entered the +house, "my poor hussband iss crazy!" She dropped into a chair and burst +into tears. She was a large woman, with a round, red face and triple +chin, but with a more intelligent look and a better command of English +than Reisen. "Doctor, I want you to cure him ass quick ass possible." + +"Well, madam, of course; but will you do what I say?" + +"I will, certain shure. I do it yust like you tellin' me." + +The Doctor gave her such good advice as became a courageous physician. + +A look of dismay came upon her. Her mouth dropped open. "Oh, no, +Doctor!" She began to shake her head. "I'll never do tha-at; oh, no; +I'll never send my poor hussband to the crazy-house! Oh, no, sir; I'll +do not such a thing!" There was some resentment in her emotion. Her +nether lip went up like a crying babe's, and she breathed through her +nostrils audibly. + +"Oh, yes, I know!" said the poor creature, turning her face away from +the Doctor's kind attempts to explain, and lifting it incredulously as +she talked to the wall,--"I know all about it. I'm not a-goin' to put no +sich a disgrace on my poor hussband; no, indeed!" She faced around +suddenly and threw out her hand to Richling, who leaned against a door +twisting a bit of string between his thumbs. "Why, he wouldn't go, +nohow, even if I gave my consents. You caynt coax him out of his room +yet. Oh, no, Doctor! It's my duty to keep him wid me an' try to cure him +first a little while here at home. That aint no trouble to me; I don't +never mind no trouble if I can be any help to my hussband." She +addressed the wall again. + +"Well, madam," replied the physician, with unusual tenderness of tone, +and looking at Richling while he spoke, "of course you'll do as you +think best." + +"Oh! my poor Reisen!" exclaimed the wife, wringing her hands. + +"Yes," said the physician, rising and looking out of the window, "I am +afraid it will be ruin to Reisen." + +"No, it won't be such a thing," said Mrs. Reisen, turning this way and +that in her chair as the physician moved from place to place. "Mr. +Richlin',"--turning to him,--"Mr. Richlin' and me kin run the business +yust so good as Reisen." She shifted her distressed gaze back and forth +from Richling to the Doctor. The latter turned to Richling:-- + +"I'll have to leave this matter to you." + +Richling nodded. + +"Where is Reisen?" asked the Doctor. "In his own room, upstairs?" The +three passed through an inner door. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +MIRAGE. + + +"This spoils some of your arrangements, doesn't it?" asked Dr. Sevier of +Richling, stepping again into his carriage. He had already said the kind +things, concerning Reisen, that physicians commonly say when they have +little hope. "Were you not counting on an early visit to Milwaukee?" + +Richling laughed. + +"That illusion has been just a little beyond reach for months." He +helped the Doctor shut his carriage-door. + +"But now, of course--" said the physician. + +"Of course it's out of the question," replied Richling; and the Doctor +drove away, with the young man's face in his mind bearing an expression +of simple emphasis that pleased him much. + +Late at night Richling, in his dingy little office, unlocked a +drawer, drew out a plump package of letters, and began to read their +pages,--transcripts of his wife's heart, pages upon pages, hundreds of +precious lines, dates crowding closely one upon another. Often he smiled +as his eyes ran to and fro, or drew a soft sigh as he turned the page, +and looked behind to see if any one had stolen in and was reading over +his shoulder. Sometimes his smile broadened; he lifted his glance from +the sheet and fixed it in pleasant revery on the blank wall before +him. Often the lines were entirely taken up with mere utterances of +affection. Now and then they were all about little Alice, who had +fretted all the night before, her gums being swollen and tender on the +upper left side near the front; or who had fallen violently in love with +the house-dog, by whom, in turn, the sentiment was reciprocated; or +whose eyes were really getting bluer and bluer, and her cheeks fatter +and fatter, and who seemed to fear nothing that had existence. And the +reader of the lines would rest one elbow on the desk, shut his eyes in +one hand, and see the fair young head of the mother drooping tenderly +over that smaller head in her bosom. Sometimes the tone of the lines +was hopefully grave, discussing in the old tentative, interrogative +key the future and its possibilities. Some pages were given to +reminiscences,--recollections of all the droll things and all the good +and glad things of the rugged past. Every here and there, but especially +where the lines drew toward the signature, the words of longing +multiplied, but always full of sunshine; and just at the end of each +letter love spurned its restraints, and rose and overflowed with sweet +confessions. + +Sometimes these re-read letters did Richling good; not always. Maybe he +read them too often. It was only the very next time that the Doctor's +carriage stood before the bakery that the departing physician turned +before he reentered the vehicle, and--whatever Richling had been saying +to him--said abruptly:-- + +"Richling, are you falling out of love with your work?" + +"Why do you ask me that?" asked the young man, coloring. + +"Because I no longer see that joy of deliverance with which you entered +upon this humble calling. It seems to have passed like a lost perfume, +Richling. Have you let your toil become a task once more?" + +Richling dropped his eyes and pushed the ground with the toe of his +boot. + +"I didn't want you to find that out, Doctor." + +"I was afraid, from the first, it would be so," said the physician. + +"I don't see why you were." + +"Well, I saw that the zeal with which you first laid hold of your work +was not entirely natural. It was good, but it was partly +artificial,--the more credit to you on that account. But I saw that by +and by you would have to keep it up mainly by your sense of necessity +and duty. 'That'll be the pinch,' I said; and now I see it's come. For a +long time you idealized the work; but at last its real dulness has begun +to overcome you, and you're discontented--and with a discontentment that +you can't justify, can you?" + +"But I feel myself growing smaller again." + +"No wonder. Why, Richling, it's the discontent makes that." + +"Oh, no! The discontent makes me long to expand. I never had so much +ambition before. But what can I do here? Why, Doctor, I ought to be--I +might be"-- + +The physician laid a hand on the young man's shoulder. + +"Stop, Richling. Drop those phrases and give us a healthy 'I am,' and 'I +must,' and 'I will.' Don't--_don't_ be like so many! You're not of the +many. Richling, in the first illness in which I ever attended your wife, +she watched her chance and asked me privately--implored me--not to let +her die, for your sake. I don't suppose that tortures could have wrung +from her, even if she realized it,--which I doubt,--the true reason. But +don't you feel it? It was because your moral nature needs her so badly. +Stop--let me finish. You need Mary back here now to hold you square to +your course by the tremendous power of her timid little 'Don't you +think?' and 'Doesn't it seem?'" + +"Doctor," replied Richling, with a smile of expostulation, "you touch +one's pride." + +"Certainly I do. You're willing enough to say that you love her and long +for her, but not that your moral manhood needs her. And yet isn't it +true?" + +"It sha'n't be true," said Richling, swinging a playful fist. +"'Forewarned is forearmed;' I'll not allow it. I'm man enough for that." +He laughed, with a touch of pique. + +"Richling,"--the Doctor laid a finger against his companion's shoulder, +preparing at the same time to leave him,--"don't be misled. A man who +doesn't need a wife isn't fit to have one." + +"Why, Doctor," replied Richling, with sincere amiability, "you're the +man of all men I should have picked out to prove the contrary." + +"No, Richling, no. I wasn't fit, and God took her." + +In accordance with Dr. Sevier's request Richling essayed to lift the +mind of the baker's wife, in the matter of her husband's affliction, to +that plane of conviction where facts, and not feelings, should become +her motive; and when he had talked until his head reeled, as though +he had been blowing a fire, and she would not blaze for all his +blowing--would be governed only by a stupid sentimentality; and when +at length she suddenly flashed up in silly anger and accused him of +interested motives; and when he had demanded instant retraction or +release from her employment; and when she humbly and affectionately +apologized, and was still as deep as ever in hopeless, clinging +sentimentalisms, repeating the dictums of her simple and ignorant German +neighbors and intimates, and calling them in to argue with him, the +feeling that the Doctor's exhortation had for the moment driven away +came back with more force than ever, and he could only turn again to +his ovens and account-books with a feeling of annihilation. + +"Where am I? What am I?" Silence was the only answer. The separation +that had once been so sharp a pain had ceased to cut, and was bearing +down upon him now with that dull, grinding weight that does the damage +in us. + +Presently came another development: the lack of money, that did no harm +while it was merely kept in the mind, settled down upon the heart. + +"It may be a bad thing to love, but it's a good thing to have," he said, +one day, to the little rector, as this friend stood by him at a corner +of the high desk where Richling was posting his ledger. + +"But not to seek," said the rector. + +Richling posted an item and shook his head doubtingly. + +"That depends, I should say, on how much one seeks it, and how much of +it he seeks." + +"No," insisted the clergyman. Richling bent a look of inquiry upon him, +and he added:-- + +"The principle is bad, and you know it, Richling. 'Seek ye first'--you +know the text, and the assurance that follows with it--'all these things +shall be added'"-- + +"Oh, yes; but still"-- + +"'But still!'" exclaimed the little preacher; "why must everybody say +'but still'? Don't you see that that 'but still' is the refusal of +Christians to practise Christianity?" + +Richling looked, but said nothing; and his friend hoped the word had +taken effect. But Richling was too deeply bitten to be cured by one or +two good sayings. After a moment he said:-- + +"I used to wonder to see nearly everybody struggling to be rich, but I +don't now. I don't justify it, but I understand it. It's flight from +oblivion. It's the natural longing to be seen and felt." + +"Why isn't it enough to be felt?" asked the other. "Here, you make bread +and sell it. A thousand people eat it from your hand every day. Isn't +that something?" + +"Yes; but it's all the bread. The bread's everything; I'm nothing. I'm +not asked to do or to be. I may exist or not; there will be bread all +the same. I see my remark pains you, but I can't help it. You've never +tried the thing. You've never encountered the mild contempt that people +in ease pay to those who pursue the 'industries.' You've never suffered +the condescension of rank to the ranks. You don't know the smart of +being only an arithmetical quantity in a world of achievements and +possessions." + +"No," said the preacher, "maybe I haven't. But I should say you are just +the sort of man that ought to come through all that unsoured and unhurt. +Richling,"--he put on a lighter mood,--"you've got a moral indigestion. +You've accustomed yourself to the highest motives, and now these new +notions are not the highest, and you know and feel it. They don't +nourish you. They don't make you happy. Where are your old sentiments? +What's become of them?" + +"Ah!" said Richling, "I got them from my wife. And the supply's nearly +run out." + +"Get it renewed!" said the little man, quickly, putting on his hat and +extending a farewell hand. "Excuse me for saying so. I didn't intend it; +I dropped in to ask you again the name of that Italian whom you visit at +the prison,--the man I promised you I'd go and talk to. Yes--Ristofalo; +that's it. Good-by." + +That night Richling wrote to his wife. What he wrote goes not down here; +but he felt as he wrote that his mood was not the right one, and when +Mary got the letter she answered by first mail:-- + + "Will you not let me come to you? Is it not surely best? Say + but the word, and I'll come. It will be the steamer to Chicago, + railroad to Cairo, and a St. Louis boat to New Orleans. Alice + will be both company and protection, and no burden at all. O my + beloved husband! I am just ungracious enough to think, some + days, that these times of separation are the hardest of all. + When we were suffering sickness and hunger together--well, we + were _together_. Darling, if you'll just say come, I'll come in + an _instant_. Oh, how gladly! Surely, with what you tell me + you've saved, and with your place so secure to you, can't we + venture to begin again? Alice and I can live with you in the + bakery. O my husband! if you but say the word, a little time--a + few days will bring us into your arms. And yet, do not yield to + my impatience; I trust your wisdom, and know that what you + decide will be best. Mother has been very feeble lately, as I + have told you; but she seems to be improving, and now I see + what I've half suspected for a long time, and ought to have + seen sooner, that my husband--my dear, dear husband--needs me + most; and I'm coming--I'm _coming_, John, if you'll only say + come. + + Your loving + MARY." + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +RISTOFALO AND THE RECTOR. + + +Be Richling's feelings what they might, the Star Bakery shone in the +retail firmament of the commercial heavens with new and growing +brilliancy. There was scarcely time to talk even with the tough little +rector who hovers on the borders of this history, and he might have +become quite an alien had not Richling's earnest request made him one +day a visitor, as we have seen him express his intention of being, in +the foul corridors of the parish prison, and presently the occupant of a +broken chair in the apartment apportioned to Raphael Ristofalo and two +other prisoners. "Easy little tasks you cut out for your friends," said +the rector to Richling when next they met. "I got preached _to_--not to +say edified. I'll share my edification with you!" He told his +experience. + +It was a sinister place, the prison apartment. The hand of Kate +Ristofalo had removed some of its unsightly conditions and disguised +others; but the bounds of the room, walls, ceiling, windows, floor, +still displayed, with official unconcern, the grime and decay that is +commonly thought good enough for men charged, rightly or wrongly, with +crime. + +The clergyman's chair was in the centre of the floor. Ristofalo sat +facing him a little way off on the right. A youth of nineteen sat tipped +against the wall on the left, and a long-limbed, big-boned, red-shirted +young Irishman occupied a poplar table, hanging one of his legs across +a corner of it and letting the other down to the floor. Ristofalo +remarked, in the form of polite acknowledgment, that the rector had +preached to the assembled inmates of the prison on the Sunday previous. + +"Did I say anything that you thought was true?" asked the minister. + +The Italian smiled in the gentle manner that never failed him. + +"Didn't listen much," he said. He drew from a pocket of his black +velveteen pantaloons a small crumpled tract. It may have been a favorite +one with the clergyman, for the youth against the wall produced its +counterpart, and the man on the edge of the table lay back on his elbow, +and, with an indolent stretch of the opposite arm and both legs, drew a +third one from a tin cup that rested on a greasy shelf behind him. The +Irishman held his between his fingers and smirked a little toward the +floor. Ristofalo extended his toward the visitor, and touched the +caption with one finger: "Mercy offered." + +"Well," asked the rector, pleasantly, "what's the matter with that?" + +"Is no use yeh. Wrong place--this prison." + +"Um-hm," said the tract-distributor, glancing down at the leaf and +smoothing it on his knee while he took time to think. "Well, why +shouldn't mercy be offered here?" + +"No," replied Ristofalo, still smiling; "ought offer justice first." + +"Mr. Preacher," asked the young Irishman, bringing both legs to the +front, and swinging them under the table, "d'ye vote?" + +"Yes; I vote." + +"D'ye call yerself a cidizen--with a cidizen's rights an' djuties?" + +"I do." + +"That's right." There was a deep sea of insolence in the smooth-faced, +red-eyed smile that accompanied the commendation. "And how manny times +have ye bean in this prison?" + +"I don't know; eight or ten times. That rather beats you, doesn't it?" + +Ristofalo smiled, the youth uttered a high rasping cackle, and the +Irishman laughed the heartiest of all. + +"A little," he said; "a little. But nivver mind. Ye say ye've bin here +eight or tin times; yes. Well, now, will I tell ye what I'd do afore and +iver I'd kim back here ag'in,--if I was you now? Will I tell ye?" + +"Well, yes," replied the visitor, amiably; "I'd like to know." + +"Well, surr, I'd go to the mair of this city and to the judge of +the criminal coort, and to the gov'ner of the Sta-ate, and to the +ligislatur, if needs be, and I'd say, 'Gintlemin, I can't go back to +that prison! There is more crimes a-being committed by the people +outside ag'in the fellies in theyre than--than--than the--the fellies in +theyre has committed ag'in the people! I'm ashamed to preach theyre! I'm +afeered to do ud!'" The speaker slipped off the table, upon his feet. +"'There's murrder a-goun' on in theyre! There's more murrder a-bein' +done in theyre nor there is outside! Justice is a-bein' murdered theyre +ivery hour of day and night!'" + +He brandished his fist with the last words, but dropped it at a glance +from Ristofalo, and began to pace the floor along his side of the room, +looking with a heavy-browed smile back and forth from one fellow-captive +to the other. He waited till the visitor was about to speak, and then +interrupted, pointing at him suddenly:-- + +"Ye're a Prodez'n preacher! I'll bet ye fifty dollars ye have a rich +cherch! Full of leadin' cidizens!" + +"You're correct." + +"Well, I'd go an'--an'--an' I'd say, 'Dawn't ye nivver ax me to go into +that place ag'in a-pallaverin' about mercy, until ye gid ud chaynged +from the hell on earth it is to a house of justice, wheyre min gits the +sintences that the coorts decrees!' _I_ don't complain in here. _He_ +don't complain," pointing to Ristofalo; "ye'll nivver hear a complaint +from him. But go look in that yaird!" He threw up both hands with a +grimace of disgust--"Aw!"--and ceased again, but continued his walk, +looked at his fellows, and resumed:-- + +"_I_ listened to yer sermon. I heerd ye talkin' about the souls of uz. +Do ye think ye kin make anny of thim min believe ye cayre for the souls +of us whin ye do nahthing for the _bodies_ that's before yer eyes +tlothed in rrags and stairved, and made to sleep on beds of brick and +stone, and to receive a hundred abuses a day that was nivver intended to +be a pairt of _anny_body's sintince--and manny of'm not tried yit, an' +nivver a-goun' to have annythin' proved ag'in 'm? How _can_ ye come +offerin' uz merrcy? For ye don't come out o' the tloister, like a poor +Cat'lic priest or Sister. Ye come rright out o' the hairt o' the +community that's a-committin' more crimes ag'in uz in here than all of +us together has iver committed outside. Aw!--Bring us a better airticle +of yer own justice ferst--I doan't cayre how _crool_ it is, so ut's +_justice_--an' _thin_ preach about God's mercy. I'll listen to ye." + +Ristofalo had kept his eyes for the most of the time on the floor, +smiling sometimes more and sometimes less. Now, however, he raised them +and nodded to the clergyman. He approved all that had been said. The +Irishman went and sat again on the table and swung his legs. The +visitor was not allowed to answer before, and must answer now. He would +have been more comfortable at the rectory. + +"My friend," he began, "suppose, now, I should say that you are pretty +nearly correct in everything you've said?" + +The prisoner, who, with hands grasping the table's edge on either side +of him, was looking down at his swinging brogans, simply lifted his +lurid eyes without raising his head, and nodded. "It would be right," he +seemed to intimate, "but nothing great." + +"And suppose I should say that I'm glad I've heard it, and that I even +intend to make good use of it?" + +His hearer lifted his head, better pleased, but not without some +betrayal of the distrust which a lower nature feels toward the +condescensions of a higher. The preacher went on:-- + +"Would you try to believe what I have to add to that?" + +"Yes, I'd try," replied the Irishman, looking facetiously from the youth +to Ristofalo. But this time the Italian was grave, and turned his glance +expectantly upon the minister, who presently replied:-- + +"Well, neither my church nor the community has sent me here at all." + +The Irishman broke into a laugh. + +"Did God send ye?" He looked again to his comrades, with an expanded +grin. The youth giggled. The clergyman met the attack with serenity, +waited a moment and then responded:-- + +"Well, in one sense, I don't mind saying--yes." + +"Well," said the Irishman, still full of mirth, and swinging his legs +with fresh vigor, "he'd aht to 'a' sint ye to the ligislatur." + +"I'm in hopes he will," said the little rector; "but"--checking the +Irishman's renewed laughter--"tell me why should other men's injustice +in here stop me from preaching God's mercy?" + +"Because it's pairt _your_ injustice! Ye _do_ come from yer cherch, an' +ye _do_ come from the community, an' ye can't deny ud, an' ye'd ahtn't +to be comin' in here with yer sweet tahk and yer eyes tight shut to the +crimes that's bein' committed ag'in uz for want of an outcry against 'em +by you preachers an' prayers an' thract-disthributors." The speaker +ceased and nodded fiercely. Then a new thought occurred to him, and he +began again abruptly:-- + +"Look ut here! Ye said in yer serrmon that as to Him"--he pointed +through the broken ceiling--"we're all criminals alike, didn't ye?" + +"I did," responded the preacher, in a low tone. + +"Yes," said Ristofalo; and the boy echoed the same word. + +"Well, thin, what rights has some to be out an' some to be in?" + +"Only one right that I know of," responded the little man; "still that +is a good one." + +"And that is--?" prompted the Irishman. + +"Society's right to protect itself." + +"Yes," said the prisoner, "to protect itself. Thin what right has it to +keep a prison like this, where every man an' woman as goes out of ud +goes out a blacker devil, and cunninger devil, and a more dangerous +devil, nor when he came in? Is that anny protection? Why shouldn't such +a prison tumble down upon the heads of thim as built it? Say." + +"I expect you'll have to ask somebody else," said the rector. He rose. + +"Ye're not a-goun'!" exclaimed the Irishman, in broad affectation of +surprise. + +"Yes." + +"Ah! come, now! Ye're not goun' to be beat that a-way by a wild Mick o' +the woods?" He held himself ready for a laugh. + +"No, I'm coming back," said the smiling clergyman, and the laugh came. + +"That's right! But"--as if the thought was a sudden one--"I'll be dead +by thin, willn't I? Of coorse I will." + +"Yes?" rejoined the clergyman. "How's that?" + +The Irishman turned to the Italian. + +"Mr. Ristofalo, we're a-goin to the pinitintiary, aint we?" + +Ristofalo nodded. + +"Of coorse we air! Ah! Mr. Preechur, that's the place!" + +"Worse than this?" + +"Worse? Oh, no! It's better. This is slow death, but that's quick and +short--and sure. If it don't git ye in five year', ye're an allygatur. +This place? It's heaven to ud!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +SHALL SHE COME OR STAY? + + +Richling read Mary's letter through three times without a smile. The +feeling that he had prompted the missive--that it was partly his--stood +between him and a tumult of gladness. And yet when he closed his eyes he +could see Mary, all buoyancy and laughter, spurning his claim to each +and every stroke of the pen. It was all hers, all! + +As he was slowly folding the sheet Mrs. Reisen came in upon him. It was +one of those excessively warm spring evenings that sometimes make New +Orleans fear it will have no May. The baker's wife stood with her +immense red hands thrust into the pockets of an expansive pinafore, and +her three double chins glistening with perspiration. She bade her +manager a pleasant good-evening. + +Richling inquired how she had left her husband. + +"Kviet, Mr. Richlin', kviet. Mr. Richlin', I pelief Reisen kittin +petter. If he don't gittin' better, how come he'ss every day a little +more kvieter, and sit' still and don't say nutting to nobody?" + +"Mrs. Reisen, my wife is asking me to send for her"--Richling gave the +folded letter a little shake as he held it by one corner--"to come down +here and live again." + +"Now, Mr. Richlin'?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, I will shwear!" She dropped into a seat. "Right in de bekinning +o' summer time! Vell, vell, vell! And you told me Mrs. Richling is a +sentsible voman! Vell, I don't belief dat I efer see a young voman w'at +aint de pickest kind o' fool apowt her hussbandt. Vell, vell!--And she +comin' down heah 'n' choost kittin' all your money shpent, 'n' den her +mudter kittin' vorse 'n' she got 'o go pack akin!" + +"Why, Mrs. Reisen," exclaimed Richling, warmly. "you speak as if you +didn't want her to come." He contrived to smile as he finished. + +"Vell,--of--course! _You_ don't vant her to come, do you?" + +Richling forced a laugh. + +"Seems to me 'twould be natural if I did, Mrs. Reisen. Didn't the +preacher say, when we were married, 'Let no man put asunder'?" + +"Oh, now, Mr. Richlin', dere aindt nopotty a-koin' to put you +under!--'less-n it's your vife. Vot she want to come down for? Don't I +takin' koot care you?" There was a tear in her eye as she went out. + +An hour or so later the little rector dropped in. + +"Richling, I came to see if I did any damage the last time I was here. +My own words worried me." + +"You were afraid," responded Richling, "that I would understand you to +recommend me to send for my wife." + +"Yes." + +"I didn't understand you so." + +"Well, my mind's relieved." + +"Mine isn't," said Richling. He laid down his pen and gathered his +fingers around one knee. "Why shouldn't I send for her?" + +"You will, some day." + +"But I mean now." + +The clergyman shook his head pleasantly. + +"I don't think that's what you mean." + +"Well, let that pass. I know what I do mean. I mean to get out of this +business. I've lived long enough with these savages." A wave of his hand +indicated the whole _personnel_ of the bread business. + +"I would try not to mind their savageness, Richling," said the little +preacher, slowly. "The best of us are only savages hid under a harness. +If we're not, we've somehow made a loss." Richling looked at him with +amused astonishment, but he persisted. "I'm in earnest! We've had +something refined out of us that we shouldn't have parted with. Now, +there's Mrs. Reisen. I like her. She's a good woman. If the savage can +stand you, why can't you stand the savage?" + +"Yes, true enough. Yet--well, I must get out of this, anyway." + +The little man clapped him on the shoulder. + +"_Climb_ out. See here, you Milwaukee man,"--he pushed Richling +playfully,--"what are _you_ doing with these Southern notions of ours +about the 'yoke of menial service,' anyhow?" + +"I was not born in Milwaukee," said Richling. + +"And you'll not die with these notions, either," retorted the other. +"Look here, I am going. Good-by. You've got to get rid of them, you +know, before your wife comes. I'm glad you are not going to send for her +now." + +"I didn't say I wasn't." + +"I wouldn't." + +"Oh, you don't know what you'd do," said Richling. + +The little preacher eyed him steadily for a moment, and then slowly +returned to where he still sat holding his knee. + +They had a long talk in very quiet tones. At the end the rector +asked:-- + +"Didn't you once meet Dr. Sevier's two nieces--at his house?" + +"Yes," said Richling. + +"Do you remember the one named Laura?--the dark, flashing one?" + +"Yes." + +"Well,--oh, pshaw! I could tell you something funny, but I don't care to +do it." + +What he did not care to tell was, that she had promised him five years +before to be his wife any day when he should say the word. In all that +time, and this very night, one letter, one line almost, and he could +have ended his waiting; but he was not seeking his own happiness. + +They smiled together. "Well, good-by again. Don't think I'm always going +to persecute you with my solicitude." + +"I'm not worth it," said Richling, slipping slowly down from his high +stool and letting the little man out into the street. + +A little way down the street some one coming out of a dark alley just in +time to confront the clergyman extended a hand in salutation. + +"Good-evenin', Mr. Blank." + +He took the hand. It belonged to a girl of eighteen, bareheaded and +barefooted, holding in the other hand a small oil-can. Her eyes looked +steadily into his. + +"You don't know me," she said, pleasantly. + +"Why, yes, now I remember you. You're Maggie." + +"Yes," replied the girl. "Don't you recollect--in the mission-school? +Don't you recollect you married me and Larry? That's two years ago." She +almost laughed out with pleasure. + +"And where's Larry?" + +"Why, don't you recollect? He's on the sloop-o'-war _Preble_." Then she +added more gravely: "I aint seen him in twenty months. But I know he's +all right. I aint a-scared about _that_--only if he's alive and well; +yes, sir. Well, good-evenin', sir. Yes, sir; I think I'll come to the +mission nex' Sunday--and I'll bring the baby, will I? All right, sir. +Well, so long, sir. Take care of yourself, sir." + +What a word that was! It echoed in his ear all the way home: "Take care +of _yourself_." What boast is there for the civilization that refines +away the unconscious heroism of the unfriended poor? + +He was glad he had not told Richling all his little secret. But Richling +found it out later from Dr. Sevier. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +WHAT WOULD YOU DO? + + +Three days Mary's letter lay unanswered. About dusk of the third, as +Richling was hurrying across the yard of the bakery on some errand +connected with the establishment, a light touch was laid upon his +shoulder; a peculiar touch, which he recognized in an instant. He turned +in the gloom and exclaimed, in a whisper:-- + +"Why, Ristofalo!" + +"Howdy?" said Raphael, in his usual voice. + +"Why, how did you get out?" asked Richling. "Have you escaped?" + +"No. Just come out for little air. Captain of the prison and me. Not +captain, exactly; one of the keepers. Goin' back some time to-night." He +stood there in his old-fashioned way, gently smiling, and looking as +immovable as a piece of granite. "Have you heard from wife lately?" + +"Yes," said Richling. "But--why--I don't understand. You and the jailer +out together?" + +"Yes, takin' a little stroll 'round. He's out there in the street. You +can see him on door-step 'cross yonder. Pretty drunk, eh?" The Italian's +smile broadened for a moment, then came back to its usual self again. "I +jus' lef' Kate at home. Thought I'd come see you a little while." + +"Return calls?" suggested Richling. + +"Yes, return call. Your wife well?" + +"Yes. But--why, this is the drollest"-- He stopped short, for the +Italian's gravity indicated his opinion that there had been enough +amusement shown. "Yes, she's well, thank you. By-the-by, what do you +think of my letting her come out here now and begin life over again? +Doesn't it seem to you it's high time, if we're ever going to do it at +all?" + +"What you think?" asked Ristofalo. + +"Well, now, you answer my question first." + +"No, you answer me first." + +"I can't. I haven't decided. I've been three days thinking about it. It +may seem like a small matter to hesitate so long over"--Richling paused +for his hearer to dissent. + +"Yes," said Ristofalo, "pretty small." His smile remained the same. "She +ask you? Reckon you put her up to it, eh?" + +"I don't see why you should reckon that," said Richling, with resentful +coldness. + +"I dunno," said the Italian; "thought so--that's the way fellows do +sometimes." There was a pause. Then he resumed: "I wouldn't let her come +yet. Wait." + +"For what?" + +"See which way the cat goin' to jump." + +Richling laughed unpleasantly. + +"What do you mean by that?" he inquired. + +"We goin' to have war," said Raphael Ristofalo. + +"Ho! ho! ho! Why, Ristofalo, you were never more mistaken in your life!" + +"I dunno," replied the Italian, sticking in his tracks, "think it pretty +certain. I read all the papers every day; nothin' else to do in parish +prison. Think we see war nex' winter." + +"Ristofalo, a man of your sort can hardly conceive the amount of +bluster this country can stand without coming to blows. We Americans are +not like you Italians." + +"No," responded Ristofalo, "not much like." His smile changed +peculiarly. "Wasn't for Kate, I go to Italia now." + +"Kate and the parish prison," said Richling. + +"Oh!"--the old smile returned,--"I get out that place any time I want." + +"And you'd join Garibaldi, I suppose?" The news had just come of +Garibaldi in Sicily. + +"Yes," responded the Italian. There was a twinkle deep in his eyes as he +added: "I know Garibaldi." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes. Sailed under him when he was ship-cap'n. He knows me." + +"And I dare say he'd remember you," said Richling, with enthusiasm. + +"He remember me," said the quieter man. "Well,--must go. Good-e'nin'. +Better tell yo' wife wait a while." + +"I--don't know. I'll see. Ristofalo"-- + +"What?" + +"I want to quit this business." + +"Better not quit. Stick to one thing." + +"But you never did that. You never did one thing twice in succession." + +"There's heap o' diff'ence." + +"I don't see it. What is it?" + +But the Italian only smiled and shrugged, and began to move away. In a +moment he said:-- + +"You see, Mr. Richlin', you sen' for yo' wife, you can't risk change o' +business. You change business, you can't risk sen' for yo' wife. Well, +good-night." + +Richling was left to his thoughts. Naturally they were of the man whom +he still saw, in his imagination, picking his jailer up off the +door-step and going back to prison. Who could say that this man might +not any day make just such a lion's leap into the world's arena as +Garibaldi had made, and startle the nations as Garibaldi had done? What +was that red-shirted scourge of tyrants that this man might not be? +Sailor, soldier, hero, patriot, prisoner! See Garibaldi: despising the +restraints of law; careless of the simplest conventionalities that go to +make up an honest gentleman; doing both right and wrong--like a lion; +everything in him leonine. All this was in Ristofalo's reach. It was all +beyond Richling's. Which was best, the capability or the incapability? +It was a question he would have liked to ask Mary. + +Well, at any rate, he had strength now for one thing--"one pretty small +thing." He would answer her letter. He answered it, and wrote: "Don't +come; wait a little while." He put aside all those sweet lovers' +pictures that had been floating before his eyes by night and day, and +bade her stay until the summer, with its risks to health, should have +passed, and she could leave her mother well and strong. + +It was only a day or two afterward that he fell sick. It was provoking +to have such a cold and not know how he caught it, and to have it in +such fine weather. He was in bed some days, and was robbed of much sleep +by a cough. Mrs. Reisen found occasion to tell Dr. Sevier of Mary's +desire, as communicated to her by "Mr. Richlin'," and of the advice she +had given him. + +"And he didn't send for her, I suppose." + +"No, sir." + +"Well, Mrs. Reisen, I wish you had kept your advice to yourself." The +Doctor went to Richling's bedside. + +"Richling, why don't you send for your wife?" + +The patient floundered in the bed and drew himself up on his pillow. + +"O Doctor, just listen!" He smiled incredulously. "Bring that little +woman and her baby down here just as the hot season is beginning?" He +thought a moment, and then continued: "I'm afraid, Doctor, you're +prescribing for homesickness. Pray don't tell me that's my ailment." + +"No, it's not. You have a bad cough, that you must take care of; but +still, the other is one of the counts in your case, and you know how +quickly Mary and--the little girl would cure it." + +Richling smiled again. + +"I can't do that, Doctor; when I go to Mary, or send for her, on account +of homesickness, it must be hers, not mine." + +"Well, Mrs. Reisen," said the Doctor, outside the street door, "I hope +you'll remember my request." + +"I'll tdo udt, Dtoctor," was the reply, so humbly spoken that he +repented half his harshness. + +"I suppose you've often heard that 'you can't make a silk purse of a +sow's ear,' haven't you?" he asked. + +"Yes; I pin right often heeard udt." She spoke as though she was not +wedded to any inflexible opinion concerning the proposition. + +"Well, Mrs. Reisen, as a man once said to me, 'neither can you make a +sow's ear out of a silk purse.'" + +"Vell, to be cettaintly!" said the poor woman, drawing not the shadow of +an inference; "how kin you?" + +"Mr. Richling tells me he will write to Mrs. Richling to prepare to come +down in the fall." + +"Vell," exclaimed the delighted Mrs. Reisen, in her husband's best +manner, "t'at's te etsectly I atwised him!" And, as the Doctor drove +away, she rubbed her mighty hands around each other in restored +complacency. Two or three days later she had the additional pleasure of +seeing Richling up and about his work again. It was upon her motherly +urging that he indulged himself, one calm, warm afternoon, in a walk in +the upper part of the city. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +NARCISSE WITH NEWS. + + +It was very beautiful to see the summer set in. Trees everywhere. You +looked down a street, and, unless it were one of the two broad avenues +where the only street-cars ran, it was pretty sure to be so overarched +with boughs that, down in the distance, there was left but a narrow +streak of vivid blue sky in the middle. Well-nigh every house had its +garden, as every garden its countless flowers. The dark orange began to +show its growing weight of fruitfulness, and was hiding in its thorny +interior the nestlings of yonder mocking-bird, silently foraging down in +the sunny grass. The yielding branches of the privet were bowed down +with their plumy panicles, and swayed heavily from side to side, drunk +with gladness and plenty. Here the peach was beginning to droop over a +wall. There, and yonder again, beyond, ranks of fig-trees, that had so +muffled themselves in their foliage that not the nakedness of a twig +showed through, had yet more figs than leaves. The crisp, cool masses of +the pomegranate were dotted with scarlet flowers. The cape jasmine wore +hundreds of her own white favors, whose fragrance forerun the sight. +Every breath of air was a new perfume. Roses, an innumerable host, ran a +fairy riot about all grounds, and clambered from the lowest door-step to +the highest roof. The oleander, wrapped in one great garment of red +blossoms, nodded in the sun, and stirred and winked in the faint +stirrings of the air The pale banana slowly fanned herself with her own +broad leaf. High up against the intense sky, its hard, burnished foliage +glittering in the sunlight, the magnolia spread its dark boughs, adorned +with their queenly white flowers. Not a bird nor an insect seemed +unmated. The little wren stood and sung to his sitting wife his loud, +ecstatic song, made all of her own name,--Matilda, Urilda, Lucinda, +Belinda, Adaline, Madaline, Caroline, or Melinda, as the case might +be,--singing as though every bone of his tiny body were a golden flute. +The hummingbirds hung on invisible wings, and twittered with delight as +they feasted on woodbine and honeysuckle. The pigeon on the roof-tree +cooed and wheeled about his mate, and swelled his throat, and +tremulously bowed and walked with a smiting step, and arched his +purpling neck, and wheeled and bowed and wheeled again. Pairs of +butterflies rose in straight upward flight, fluttered about each other +in amorous strife, and drifted away in the upper air. And out of every +garden came the voices of little children at play,--the blessedest sound +on earth. + +"O Mary, Mary! why should two lovers live apart on this beautiful earth? +Autumn is no time for mating. Who can tell what autumn will bring?" + +The revery was interrupted. + +"Mistoo Itchlin, 'ow you enjoyin' yo' 'ealth in that beaucheouz weatheh +juz at the pwesent? Me, I'm well. Yes, I'm always well, in fact. At the +same time nevvatheless, I fine myseff slightly sad. I s'pose 'tis +natu'al--a man what love the 'itings of Lawd By'on as much as me. You +know, of co'se, the melancholic intelligens?" + +"No," said Richling; "has any one"-- + +"Lady By'on, seh. Yesseh. 'In the mids' of life'--you know where we ah, +Mistoo Itchlin, I su-pose?" + +"Is Lady Byron dead?" + +"Yesseh." Narcisse bowed solemnly. "Gone, Mistoo Itchlin. Since the +seventeenth of last; yesseh. 'Kig the bucket,' as the povvub say." He +showed an extra band of black drawn neatly around his new straw hat. "I +thought it but p'opeh to put some moaning--as a species of twibute." He +restored the hat to his head. "You like the tas'e of that, Mistoo +Itchlin?" + +Richling could but confess the whole thing was delicious. + +"Yo humble servan', seh," responded the smiling Creole, with a flattered +bow. Then, assuming a gravity becoming the historian, he said:-- + +"In fact, 'tis a gweat mistake, that statement that Lawd By'on evva +qua'led with his lady, Mistoo Itchlin. But I s'pose you know 'tis but a +slandeh of the pwess. Yesseh. As, faw instance, thass anotheh slandeh of +the pwess that the delegates qua'led ad the Chawleston convention. +They only pwetend to qua'l; so, by that way, to mizguide those +A_bol_ish-nists. Mistoo Itchlin, I am p'ojecting to 'ite some obitua' +'emawks about that Lady By'on, but I scass know w'etheh to 'ite them in +the poetic style aw in the p'osaic. Which would you conclude, Mistoo +Itchlin?" + +Richling reflected with downcast eyes. + +"It seems to me," he said, when he had passed his hand across his mouth +in apparent meditation and looked up,--"seems to me I'd conclude both, +without delay." + +"Yes? But accawding to what fawmule, Mistoo Itchlin? 'Ay, 'tis theh is +the 'ub,' in fact, as Lawd By'on say. Is it to migs the two style' that +you advise?" + +"That's the favorite method," replied Richling. + +"Well, I dunno 'ow 'tis, Mistoo Itchlin, but I fine the moze facil'ty in +the poetic. 'Tis t'ue, in the poetic you got to look out concehning the +_'ime_. You got to keep the eye skin' faw it, in fact. But in the +p'osaic, on the cont'a-ay, 'tis juz the opposite; you got to keep +the eye skin' faw the _sense_. Yesseh. Now, if you migs the two +style'--well--'ow's that, Mistoo Itchlin, if you migs them? Seem' to +me I dunno." + +"Why, don't you see?" asked Richling. "If you mix them, you avoid both +necessities. You sail triumphantly between Scylla and Charybdis without +so much as skinning your eye." + +Narcisse looked at him a moment with a slightly searching glance, +dropped his eyes upon his own beautiful feet, and said, in a meditative +tone:-- + +"I believe you co'ect." But his smile was gone, and Richling saw he had +ventured too far. + +"I wish my wife were here," said Richling; "she might give you better +advice than I." + +"Yes," replied Narcisse, "I believe you co'ect ag'in, Mistoo Itchlin. +'Tis but since yeste'd'y that I jus appen to hea' Dr. Seveeah d'op a +saying 'esembling to that. Yesseh, she's a v'ey 'emawkable, Mistoo +Itchlin." + +"Is that what Dr. Sevier said?" Richling began to fear an ambush. + +"No, seh. What the Doctah say--'twas me'ly to 'emawk in his jocose +way--you know the Doctah's lill callous, jocose way, Mistoo Itchlin." + +He waved either hand outward gladsomely. + +"Yes," said Richling, "I've seen specimens of it." + +"Yesseh. He was ve'y complimenta'y, in fact, the Doctah. 'Tis the +trooth. He says, 'She'll make a man of Witchlin if anythin' can.' Juz in +his jocose way, you know." + +The Creole's smile had returned in concentrated sweetness. He stood +silent, his face beaming with what seemed his confidence that Richling +would be delighted. Richling recalled the physician's saying concerning +this very same little tale-bearer,--that he carried his nonsense on top +and his good sense underneath. + +"Dr. Sevier said that, did he?" asked Richling, after a time. + +"'Tis the vehbatim, seh. Convussing to yo' 'eve'end fwend. You can ask +him; he will co'obo'ate me in fact. Well, Mistoo Itchlin, it supp'ise me +you not tickle at that. Me, I may say, I wish _I_ had a wife to make a +man out of _me_." + +"I wish you had," said Richling. But Narcisse smiled on. + +"Well, _au 'evoi'_." He paused an instant with an earnest face. +"Pehchance I'll meet you this evening, Mistoo Itchlin? Faw doubtless, +like myseff, you will assist at the gweat a-ally faw the Union, the +Const'ution, and the enfo'cemen' of the law. Dr. Seveeah will addwess." + +"I don't know that I care to hear him," replied Richling. + +"Goin' to be a gwan' out-po'-ing, Mistoo Itchlin. Citizens of Noo 'Leans +without the leas' 'espec' faw fawmeh polly-tickle diff'ence. Also +fiah-works. 'Come one, come all,' as says the gweat Scott--includin' +yo'seff, Mistoo Itchlin. No? Well, _au 'evoi'_, Mistoo Itchlin." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +A PRISON MEMENTO. + + +The political pot began to seethe. Many yet will remember how its smoke +went up. The summer--summer of 1860--grew fervent. Its breath became hot +and dry. All observation--all thought--turned upon the fierce campaign. +Discussion dropped as to whether Heenan would ever get that champion's +belt, which even the little rector believed he had fairly won in the +international prize-ring. The news brought by each succeeding European +steamer of Garibaldi's splendid triumphs in the cause of a new Italy, +the fierce rattle of partisan warfare in Mexico, that seemed almost +within hearing, so nearly was New Orleans concerned in some of its +movements,--all things became secondary and trivial beside the +developments of a political canvass in which the long-foreseen, +long-dreaded issues between two parts of the nation were at length to be +made final. The conventions had met, the nominations were complete, and +the clans of four parties and fractions of parties were "meeting," and +"rallying," and "uprising," and "outpouring." + +All life was strung to one high pitch. This contest was +everything,--nay, everybody,--men, women, and children. They were all +for the Constitution; they were all for the Union; and each, even +Richling, for the enforcement of--his own ideas. On every bosom, "no +matteh the sex," and no matter the age, hung one of those little round, +ribbanded medals, with a presidential candidate on one side and his +vice-presidential man Friday on the other. Needless to say that +Ristofalo's Kate, instructed by her husband, imported the earliest and +many a later invoice of them, and distributing her peddlers at choice +thronging-places, "everlastin'ly," as she laughingly and confidentially +informed Dr. Sevier, "raked in the sponjewlicks." They were exposed for +sale on little stalls on populous sidewalks and places of much entry and +exit. + +The post-office in those days was still on Royal street, in the old +Merchants' Exchange. The small hand-holes of the box-delivery were in +the wide tessellated passage that still runs through the building from +Royal street to Exchange alley. A keeper of one of these little stalls +established himself against a pillar just where men turned into and out +of Royal street, out of or into this passage. One day, in this place, +just as Richling turned from a delivery window to tear the envelope of a +letter bearing the Milwaukee stamp, his attention was arrested by a man +running by him toward Exchange alley, pale as death, and followed by a +crowd that suddenly broke into a cry, a howl, a roar: "Hang him! Hang +him!" + +"Come!" said a small, strong man, seizing Richling's arm and turning him +in the common direction. If the word was lost on Richling's defective +hearing, not so the touch; for the speaker was Ristofalo. The two +friends ran with all their speed through the passage and out into the +alley. A few rods away the chased wretch had been overtaken, and was +made to face his pursuers. When Richling and Ristofalo reached him there +was already a rope about his neck. + +The Italian's leap, as he closed in upon the group around the victim, +was like a tiger's. The men he touched did not fall; they were rather +hurled, driving backward those whom they were hurled against. A man +levelled a revolver at him; Richling struck it a blow that sent it over +twenty men's heads. A long knife flashed in Ristofalo's right hand. He +stood holding the rope in his left, stooping slightly forward, and +darting his eyes about as if selecting a victim for his weapon. A +stranger touched Richling from behind, spoke a hurried word in Italian, +and handed him a huge dirk. But in that same moment the affair was over. +There stood Ristofalo, gentle, self-contained, with just a perceptible +smile turned upon the crowd, no knife in his hand, and beside him the +slender, sinewy, form, and keen gray eye of Smith Izard. + +The detective was addressing the crowd. While he was speaking, half a +score of police came from as many directions. When he had finished, he +waved his slender hand at the mass of heads. + +"Stand back. Go about your business." And they began to go. He laid a +hand upon the rescued stranger and addressed the police. + +"Take this rope off. Take this man to the station and keep him until +it's safe to let him go." + +The explanation by which he had so quickly pacified the mob was a simple +one. The rescued man was a seller of campaign medals. That morning, in +opening a fresh supply of his little stock, he had failed to perceive +that, among a lot of "Breckenridge and Lane" medals, there had crept +in one of Lincoln. That was the sum of his offence. The mistake had +occurred in the Northern factory. Of course, if he did not intend to +sell Lincoln medals, there was no crime. + +"Don't I tell you?" said the Italian to Richling, as they were walking +away together. "Bound to have war; is already begin-n." + +"It began with me the day I got married," said Richling. + +Ristofalo waited some time, and then asked:-- + +"How?" + +"I shouldn't have said so," replied Richling; "I can't explain." + +"Thass all right," said the other. And, a little later: "Smith Izard +call' you by name. How he know yo' name?" + +"I can't imagine!" + +The Italian waved his hand. + +"Thass all right, too; nothin' to me." Then, after another pause: "Think +you saved my life to-day." + +"The honors are easy," said Richling. + +He went to bed again for two or three days. He liked it little when Dr. +Sevier attributed the illness to a few moments' violent exertion and +excitement. + +"It was bravely done, at any rate, Richling," said the Doctor. + +"_That_ it was!" said Kate Ristofalo, who had happened to call to see +the sick man at the same hour. "Doctor, ye'r mighty right! Ha!" + +Mrs. Reisen expressed a like opinion, and the two kind women met the two +men's obvious wish by leaving the room. + +"Doctor," said Richling at once, "the last time you said it was +love-sickness; this time you say it's excitement; at the bottom it isn't +either. Will you please tell me what it really is? What is this thing +that puts me here on my back this way?" + +"Richling," replied the Doctor, slowly, "if I tell you the honest truth, +it began in that prison." + +The patient knit his hands under his head and lay motionless and +silent. + +"Yes," he said, after a time. And by and by again: "Yes; I feared as +much. And can it be that my _physical_ manhood is going to fail me at +such a time as this?" He drew a long breath and turned restively in the +bed. + +"We'll try to keep it from doing that," replied the physician. "I've +told you this, Richling, old fellow to impress upon you the necessity of +keeping out of all this hubbub,--this night-marching and mass-meeting +and exciting nonsense." + +"And am I always--always to be blown back--blown back this way?" said +Richling, half to himself, half to his friend. + +"There, now," responded the Doctor, "just stop talking entirely. No, no; +not always blown back. A sick man always thinks the present moment is +the whole boundless future. Get well. And to that end possess your soul +in patience. No newspapers. Read your Bible. It will calm you. I've been +trying it myself." His tone was full of cheer, but it was also so +motherly and the touch so gentle with which he put back the sick man's +locks--as if they had been a lad's--that Richling turned away his face +with chagrin. + +"Come!" said the Doctor, more sturdily, laying his hand on the patient's +shoulder. "You'll not lie here more than a day or two. Before you know +it summer will be gone, and you'll be sending for Mary." + +Richling turned again, put out a parting hand, and smiled with new +courage. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +NOW I LAY ME-- + + +Time may drag slowly, but it never drags backward. So the summer wore +on, Richling following his physician's directions; keeping to his work +only--out of public excitements and all overstrain; and to every day, as +he bade it good-by, his eager heart, lightened each time by that much, +said, "When you come around again, next year, Mary and I will meet you +hand in hand." This was _his_ excitement, and he seemed to flourish on +it. + +But day by day, week by week, the excitements of the times rose. Dr. +Sevier was deeply stirred, and ever on the alert, looking out upon every +quarter of the political sky, listening to the rising thunder, watching +the gathering storm. There could hardly have been any one more +completely engrossed by it. If there was, it was his book-keeper. It +wasn't so much the Constitution that enlisted Narcisse's concern; nor +yet the Union, which seemed to him safe enough; much less did the desire +to see the enforcement of the laws consume him. Nor was it altogether +the "'oman candles" and the "'ockets"; but the rhetoric. + +Ah, the "'eto'ic"! He bathed, he paddled, dove, splashed, in a surf of +it. + +"Doctah,"--shaking his finely turned shoulders into his coat and lifting +his hat toward his head,--"I had the honah, and at the same time the +pleasu', to yeh you make a shawt speech lass evening. I was p'oud to +yeh yo' bunning eloquence, Doctah,--if you'll allow. Yesseh. Eve'ybody +said 'twas the moze bilious effo't of the o'-casion." + +Dr. Sevier actually looked up and smiled, and thanked the happy young +man for the compliment. + +"Yesseh," continued his admirer, "I nevveh flatteh. I give me'-it where +the me'-it lies. Well, seh, we juz make the welkin 'ing faw joy when you +finally stop' at the en'. Pehchance you heard my voice among that sea of +head'? But I doubt--in 'such a vas' up'ising--so many imposing pageant', +in fact,--and those 'ocket' exploding in the staw-y heaven', as they +say. I think I like that exp'ession I saw on the noozpapeh, wheh it +says: 'Long biffo the appointed owwa, thousan' of flashing tawches and +tas'eful t'anspa'encies with divuz devices whose blazing effulgence +turn' day into night.' Thass a ve'y talented style, in fact. Well, _au +'evoi'_, Doctah. I'm going ad the--an' thass anotheh thing I like--'tis +faw the ladies to 'ing bells that way on the balconies. Because Mr. Bell +and Eve'et is name _bell_, and so is the _bells_ name' juz the same way, +and so they 'ing the _bells_ to signify. I had to elucidate that to my +hant. Well, _au 'evoi'_, Doctah." + +The Doctor raised his eyes from his letter-writing. The young man had +turned, and was actually going out without another word. What perversity +moved the physician no one will ever know; but he sternly called:-- + +"Narcisse?" + +The Creole wheeled about on the threshold. + +"Yesseh?" + +The Doctor held him with a firm, grave eye, and slowly said:-- + +"I suppose before you return you will go to the post office." He said +nothing more,--only that, just in his jocose way,--and dropped his eyes +again upon his pen. Narcisse gave him one long black look, and silently +went out. + +But a sweet complacency could not stay long away from the young man's +breast. The world was too beautiful; the white, hot sky above was in +such fine harmony with his puffed lawn shirt-bosom and his white linen +pantaloons, bulging at the thighs and tapering at the ankles, and at the +corner of Canal and Royal streets he met so many members of the Yancey +Guards and Southern Guards and Chalmette Guards and Union Guards and +Lane Dragoons and Breckenridge Guards and Douglas Rangers and Everett +Knights, and had the pleasant trouble of stepping aside and yielding the +pavement to the far-spreading crinoline. Oh, life was one scintillating +cluster breast-pin of ecstasies! And there was another thing,--General +William Walker's filibusters! Royal street, St. Charles, the rotunda of +the St. Charles Hotel, were full of them. + +It made Dr. Sevier both sad and fierce to see what hold their lawless +enterprise took upon the youth of the city. Not that any great number +were drawn into the movement, least of all Narcisse; but it captivated +their interest and sympathy, and heightened the general unrest, when +calmness was what every thoughtful man saw to be the country's greatest +need. + +An incident to illustrate the Doctor's state of mind. + +It occurred one evening in the St. Charles rotunda. He saw some +citizens of high standing preparing to drink at the bar with a group of +broad-hatted men, whose bronzed foreheads and general out-of-door mien +hinted rather ostentatiously of Honduras and Ruatan Island. As he passed +close to them one of the citizens faced him blandly, and unexpectedly +took his hand, but quickly let it go again. The rest only glanced at +the Doctor, and drew nearer to the bar. + +"I trust you're not unwell, Doctor," said the sociable one, with +something of a smile, and something of a frown, at the tall physician's +gloomy brow. + +"I am well, sir." + +"I--didn't know," said the man again, throwing an aggressive resentment +into his tone; "you seemed preoccupied." + +"I was," replied the Doctor, returning his glance with so keen an eye +that the man smiled again, appeasingly. "I was thinking how barely +skin-deep civilization is." + +The man ha-ha'd artificially, stepping backward as he said, "That's so!" +He looked after the departing Doctor an instant and then joined his +companions. + +Richling had a touch of this contagion. He looked from Garibaldi to +Walker and back again, and could not see any enormous difference between +them. He said as much to one of the bakery's customers, a restaurateur +with a well-oiled tongue, who had praised him for his intrepidity in the +rescue of the medal-peddler, which, it seems, he had witnessed. With +this praise still upon his lips the caterer walked with Richling to the +restaurant door, and detained him there to enlarge upon the subject of +Spanish-American misrule, and the golden rewards that must naturally +fall to those who should supplant it with stable government. Richling +listened and replied and replied again and listened; and presently the +restaurateur startled him with an offer to secure him a captain's +commission under Walker. He laughed incredulously; but the restaurateur, +very much in earnest, talked on; and by littles, but rapidly, Richling +admitted the value of the various considerations urged. Two or three +months of rapid adventure; complete physical renovation--of +course--natural sequence; the plaudits of a grateful people; maybe +fortune also, but at least a certainty of finding the road to it,--all +this to meet Mary with next fall. + +"I'm in a great hurry just now," said Richling; "but I'll talk about +this thing with you again to-morrow or next day," and so left. + +The restaurateur turned to his head-waiter, stuck his tongue in his +cheek, and pulled down the lower lid of an eye with his forefinger. He +meant to say he had been lying for the pure fun of it. + +When Dr. Sevier came that afternoon to see Reisen--of whom there was now +but little left, and that little unable to leave the bed--Richling took +occasion to raise the subject that had entangled his fancy. He was +careful to say nothing of himself or the restaurateur, or anything, +indeed, but a timid generality or two. But the Doctor responded with a +clear, sudden energy that, when he was gone, left Richling feeling +painfully blank, and yet unable to find anything to resent except the +Doctor's superfluous--as he thought, quite superfluous--mention of the +island of Cozumel. + +However, and after all, that which for the most part kept the public +mind heated was, as we have said, the political campaign. Popular +feeling grew tremulous with it as the landscape did under the burning +sun. It was a very hot summer. Not a good one for feeble folk; and one +early dawn poor Reisen suddenly felt all his reason come back to him, +opened his eyes, and lo! he had crossed the river in the night, and was +on the other side. + +Dr. Sevier's experienced horse halted of his own will to let a +procession pass. In the carriage at its head the physician saw the +little rector, sitting beside a man of German ecclesiastical appearance. +Behind it followed a majestic hearse, drawn by black-plumed and +caparisoned horses,--four of them. Then came a long line of red-shirted +firemen; for he in the hearse had been an "exempt." Then a further line +of big-handed, white-gloved men in beavers and regalias; for he had +been also a Freemason and an Odd-fellow. Then another column, of +emotionless-visaged German women, all in bunchy black gowns, walking out +of time to the solemn roll and pulse of the muffled drums, and the +brazen peals of the funeral march. A few carriages closed the long +line. In the first of them the waiting Doctor marked, with a sudden +understanding of all, the pale face of John Richling, and by his side +the widow who had been forty years a wife,--weary and red with weeping. +The Doctor took off his hat. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + +RISE UP, MY LOVE, MY FAIR ONE. + + +The summer at length was past, and the burning heat was over and gone. +The days were refreshed with the balm of a waning October. There had +been no fever. True, the nights were still aglare with torches, and the +street echoes kept awake by trumpet notes and huzzas, by the tramp of +feet and the delicate hint of the bell-ringing; and men on the stump and +off it; in the "wigwams;" along the sidewalks, as they came forth, +wiping their mouths, from the free-lunch counters, and on the +curb-stones and "flags" of Carondelet street, were saying things to make +a patriot's heart ache. But contrariwise, in that same Carondelet +street, and hence in all the streets of the big, scattered town, the +most prosperous commercial year--they measure from September to +September--that had ever risen upon New Orleans had closed its distended +record, and no one knew or dreamed that, for nearly a quarter of a +century to come, the proud city would never see the equal of that golden +year just gone. And so, away yonder among the great lakes on the +northern border of the anxious but hopeful country, Mary was calling, +calling, like an unseen bird piping across the fields for its mate, to +know if she and the one little nestling might not come to hers. + +And at length, after two or three unexpected contingencies had caused +delays of one week after another, all in a silent tremor of joy, John +wrote the word--"Come!" + +He was on his way to put it into the post-office, in Royal street. At +the newspaper offices, in Camp street, he had to go out into the middle +of the way to get around the crowd that surrounded the bulletin-boards, +and that scuffled for copies of the latest issue. The day of days was +passing; the returns of election were coming in. In front of the +"Picayune" office he ran square against a small man, who had just pulled +himself and the most of his clothing out of the press with the last news +crumpled in the hand that he still held above his head. + +"Hello, Richling, this is pretty exciting, isn't it?" It was the little +clergyman. "Come on, I'll go your way; let's get out of this." + +He took Richling's arm, and they went on down the street, the rector +reading aloud as they walked, and shopkeepers and salesmen at their +doors catching what they could of his words as the two passed. + +"It's dreadful! dreadful!" said the little man, thrusting the paper into +his pocket in a wad. + +"Hi! Mistoo Itchlin," quoth Narcisse, passing them like an arrow, on his +way to the paper offices. + +"He's happy," said Richling. + +"Well, then, he's the only happy man I know of in New Orleans to-day," +said the little rector, jerking his head and drawing a sigh through his +teeth. + +"No," said Richling, "I'm another. You see this letter." He showed it +with the direction turned down. "I'm going now to mail it. When my wife +gets it she starts." + +The preacher glanced quickly into his face. Richling met his gaze with +eyes that danced with suppressed joy. The two friends attracted no +attention from those whom they passed or who passed them; the newsboys +were scampering here and there, everybody buying from them, and the +walls of Common street ringing with their shouted proffers of the "full +account" of the election. + +"Richling, don't do it." + +"Why not?" Richling showed only amusement. + +"For several reasons," replied the other. "In the first place, look at +your business!" + +"Never so good as to-day." + +"True. And it entirely absorbs you. What time would you have at your +fireside, or even at your family table? None. It's--well you know what +it is--it's a bakery, you know. You couldn't expect to lodge _your_ wife +and little girl in a bakery in Benjamin street; you know you couldn't. +Now, _you_--you don't mind it--or, I mean, you can stand it. Those +things never need damage a gentleman. But with your wife it would be +different. You smile, but--why, you know she couldn't go there. And if +you put her anywhere where a lady ought to be, in New Orleans, she would +be--well, don't you see she would be about as far away as if she were in +Milwaukee? Richling, I don't know how it looks to you for me to be so +meddlesome, and I believe you think I'm making a very poor argument; but +you see this is only one point and the smallest. Now"-- + +Richling raised his thin hand, and said pleasantly:-- + +"It's no use. You can't understand; it wouldn't be possible to explain; +for you simply don't know Mary." + +"But there are some things I do know. Just think; she's with her mother +where she is. Imagine her falling ill here,--as you've told me she used +to do,--and you with that bakery on your hands." + +Richling looked grave. + +"Oh no," continued the little man. "You've been so brave and patient, +you and your wife, both,--do be so a little bit longer! Live close; save +your money; go on rising in value in your business; and after a little +you'll rise clear out of the sphere you're now in. You'll command your +own time; you'll build your own little home; and life and happiness and +usefulness will be fairly and broadly open before you." Richling gave +heed with a troubled face, and let his companion draw him into the +shadow of that "St. Charles" from the foot of whose stair-way he had +once been dragged away as a vagrant. + +"See, Richling! Every few weeks you may read in some paper of how a +man on some ferry-boat jumps for the wharf before the boat has touched +it, falls into the water, and-- Make sure! Be brave a little +longer--only a little longer! Wait till you're sure!" + +"I'm sure enough!" + +"Oh, no, you're not! Wait till this political broil is over. They say +Lincoln is elected. If so, the South is not going to submit to it. +Nobody can tell what the consequences are to be. Suppose we should have +war? I don't think we shall, but suppose we should? There would be a +general upheaval, commercial stagnation, industrial collapse, shrinkage +everywhere! Wait till it's over. It may not be two weeks hence; it can +hardly be more than ninety days at the outside. If it should the North +would be ruined, and you may be sure they are not going to allow _that_. +Then, when all starts fair again, bring your wife and baby. I'll tell +you what to do, Richling!" + +"Will you?" responded the listener, with an amiable laugh that the +little man tried to echo. + +"Yes. Ask Dr. Sevier! He's right here in the next street. He was on +your side last time; maybe he'll be so now." + +"Done!" said Richling. They went. The rector said he would do an errand +in Canal street, while Richling should go up and see the physician. + +Dr. Sevier was in. + +"Why, Richling!" He rose to receive him. "How are you?" He cast his eye +over his visitor with professional scrutiny. "What brings _you_ here?" + +"To tell you that I've written for Mary," said Richling, sinking wearily +into a chair. + +"Have you mailed the letter?" + +"I'm taking it to the post-office now." + +The Doctor threw one leg energetically over the other, and picked up the +same paper-knife that he had handled when, two years and a half before, +he had sat thus, talking to Mary and John on the eve of their +separation. + +"Richling, I'll tell you. I've been thinking about this thing for some +time, and I've decided to make you a proposal. I look at you and at Mary +and at the times--the condition of the country--the probable +future--everything. I know you, physically and mentally, better than +anybody else does. I can say the same of Mary. So, of course, I don't +make this proposal impulsively, and I don't want it rejected. + +"Richling, I'll lend you two thousand to twenty-five hundred dollars, +payable at your convenience, if you will just go to your room, pack up, +go home, and take from six to twelve months' holiday with your wife and +child." + +The listener opened his mouth in blank astonishment. + +"Why, Doctor, you're jesting! You can't suppose"-- + +"I don't suppose anything. I simply want you to do it." + +"Well, I simply can't!" + +"Did you ever regret taking my advice, Richling?" + +"No, never. But this--why, it's utterly impossible! Me leave the results +of four years' struggle to go holidaying? I can't understand you, +Doctor." + +"'Twould take weeks to explain." + +"It's idle to think of it," said Richling, half to himself. + +"Go home and think of it twenty-four hours," said the Doctor. + +"It is useless, Doctor." + +"Very good, then; send for Mary. Mail your letter." + +"You don't mean it!" said Richling. + +"Yes, I do. Send for Mary; and tell her I advised it." He turned quickly +away to his desk, for Richling's eyes had filled with tears; but turned +again and rose as Richling rose. They joined hands. + +"Yes, Richling, send for her. It's the right thing to do--if you will +not do the other. You know I want you to be happy." + +"Doctor, one word. In your opinion is there going to be war?" + +"I don't know. But if there is it's time for husband and wife and child +to draw close together. Good-day." + +And so the letter went. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +A BUNDLE OF HOPES. + + +Richling insisted, in the face of much scepticism on the part of the +baker's widow, that he felt better, was better, and would go on getting +better, now that the weather was cool once more. + +"Well, I hope you vill, Mr. Richlin', dtat's a fect. 'Specially ven yo' +vife comin'. Dough _I_ could a-tooken care ye choost tso koot as vot she +couldt." + +"But maybe you couldn't take care of her as well as I can," said the +happy Richling. + +"Oh, tdat's a tdifferendt. A voman kin tek care herself." + +Visiting the French market on one of these glad mornings, as his +business often required him to do, he fell in with Narcisse, just +withdrawing from the celebrated coffee-stand of Rose Nicaud. Richling +stopped in the moving crowd and exchanged salutations very willingly; +for here was one more chance to hear himself tell the fact of Mary's +expected coming. + +"So'y, Mistoo Itchlin," said Narcisse, whipping away the pastry crumbs +from his lap with a handkerchief and wiping his mouth, "not to encounteh +you a lill biffo', to join in pahtaking the cup what cheeahs at the same +time whilce it invigo'ates; to-wit, the coffee-cup--as the maxim say. I +dunno by what fawmule she makes that coffee, but 'tis astonishin' how +'tis good, in fact. I dunno if you'll billieve me, but I feel almost I +could pahtake anotheh cup--? 'Tis the tooth." He gave Richling time to +make any handsome offer that might spontaneously suggest itself, but +seeing that the response was only an over-gay expression of face, he +added, "But I conclude no. In fact, Mistoo Itchlin, thass a thing I have +discovud,--that too much coffee millytates ag'inst the chi'og'aphy; and +thus I abstain. Well, seh, ole Abe is elected." + +"Yes," rejoined Richling, "and there's no telling what the result will +be." + +"You co'ect, Mistoo Itchlin." Narcisse tried to look troubled. + +"I've got a bit of private news that I don't think you've heard," said +Richling. And the Creole rejoined promptly:-- + +"Well, I _thought_ I saw something on yo' thoughts--if you'll excuse my +tautology. Thass a ve'y diffycult to p'event sometime'. But, Mistoo +Itchlin, I trus' 'tis not you 'ave allowed somebody to swin'le +you?--confiding them too indiscweetly, in fact?" He took a pretty +attitude, his eyes reposing in Richling's. + +Richling laughed outright. + +"No, nothing of that kind. No, I"-- + +"Well, I'm ve'y glad," interrupted Narcisse. + +"Oh, no, 'tisn't trouble at all! I've sent for Mrs. Richling. We're +going to resume housekeeping." + +Narcisse gave a glad start, took his hat off, passed it to his left +hand, extended his right, bowed from the middle with princely grace, +and, with joy breaking all over his face, said:-- + +"Mistoo Itchlin, in fact,--shake!" + +They shook. + +"Yesseh--an' many 'appy 'eturn! I dunno if you kin billieve that, Mistoo +Itchlin; but I was juz about to 'ead that in yo' physio'nomie! Yesseh. +But, Mistoo Itchlin, when shall the happy o'casion take effect?" + +"Pretty soon. Not as soon as I thought, for I got a despatch yesterday, +saying her mother is very ill, and of course I telegraphed her to stay +till her mother is at least convalescent. But I think that will be soon. +Her mother has had these attacks before. I have good hopes that before +long Mrs. Richling will actually be here." + +Richling began to move away down the crowded market-house, but Narcisse +said:-- + +"Thass yo' di'ection? 'Tis the same, mine. We may accompany togetheh--if +you'll allow yo' 'umble suvvant?" + +"Come along! You do me honor!" Richling laid his hand on Narcisse's +shoulder and they went at a gait quickened by the happy husband's +elation. Narcisse was very proud of the touch, and, as they began to +traverse the vegetable market, took the most populous arcade. + +"Mistoo Itchlin," he began again, "I muz congwatu_late_ you! You know I +always admiah yo' lady to excess. But appopo of that news, I might +infawm you some intelligens consunning myseff." + +"Good!" exclaimed Richling. "For it's good news, isn't it?" + +"Yesseh,--as you may say,--yes. Faw in fact, Mistoo Itchlin, I 'ave ass +Dr. Seveeah to haugment me." + +"Hurrah!" cried Richling. He coughed and laughed and moved aside to a +pillar and coughed, until people looked at him, and lifted his eyes, +tired but smiling, and, paying his compliments to the paroxysm in one or +two ill-wishes, wiped his eyes at last, and said:-- + +"And the Doctor augmented you?" + +"Well, no, I can't say that--not p'ecisely." + +"Why, what did he do?" + +"Well, he 'efuse' me, in fact." + +"Why--but that isn't good news, then." + +Narcisse gave his head a bright, argumentative twitch. + +"Yesseh. 'Tis t'ue he 'efuse'; but ad the same time--I dunno--I thing he +wasn' so mad about it as he make out. An' you know thass one thing, +Mistoo Itchlin, whilce they got life they got hope; and hence I +ente'tain the same." + +They had reached that flagged area without covering or inclosure, before +the third of the three old market-houses, where those dealers in the +entire miscellanies of a housewife's equipment, excepting only stoves +and furniture, spread their wares and fabrics in the open weather before +the Bazar market rose to give them refuge. He grew suddenly fierce. + +"But any'ow I don't care! I had the spunk to ass 'im, an' he din 'ave +the spunk to dischawge me! All he can do; 'tis to shake the fis' of +impatience." He was looking into his companion's face, as they walked, +with an eye distended with defiance. + +"Look out!" exclaimed Richling, reaching a hurried hand to draw him +aside. Narcisse swerved just in time to avoid stepping into a pile of +crockery, but in so doing went full into the arms of a stately female +figure dressed in the crispest French calico and embarrassed with +numerous small packages of dry goods. The bundles flew hither and yon. +Narcisse tried to catch the largest as he saw it going, but only sent it +farther than it would have gone, and as it struck the ground it burst +like a pomegranate. But the contents were white: little thin, +square-folded fractions of barred jaconet and white flannel; rolls of +slender white lutestring ribbon; very narrow papers of tiny white pearl +buttons, minute white worsted socks, spools of white floss, cards of +safety-pins, pieces of white castile soap, etc. + +"_Mille pardons, madame!_" exclaimed Narcisse; "I make you a thousan' +poddons, madam!" + +He was ill-prepared for the majestic wrath that flashed from the eyes +and radiated from the whole dilating, and subsiding, and reexpanding, +and rising, and stiffening form of Kate Ristofalo! + +"Officerr," she panted,--for instantly there was a crowd, and a man with +the silver-crescent badge was switching the assemblage on the legs with +his cane to make room,--"Officerr," she gasped, levelling her tremulous +finger at Narcisse, "arrist that man!" + +"Mrs. Ristofalo!" exclaimed Richling, "don't do that! It was all an +accident! Why, don't you see it's Narcisse,--my friend?" + +"Yer frind rised his hand to sthrike me, sur, he did! Yer frind rised +his hand to sthrike me, he did!" And up she went and down she went, +shortening and lengthening, swelling and decreasing. "Yes, yes, I +know yer frind; indeed I do! I paid two dollars and a half fur his +acquaintans nigh upon three years agone, sur. Yer frind!" And still she +went up and down, enlarging, diminishing, heaving her breath and waving +her chin around, and saying, in broken utterances,--while a hackman on +her right held his whip in her auditor's face, crying, "Carriage, sir? +Carriage, sir?"-- + +"Why didn'--he rin agin--a man, sur! I--I--oh! I wish Mr. Ristofalah war +heer!--to teach um how--to walk!--Yer frind, sur--ixposing me!" She +pointed to Narcisse and the policeman gathering up the scattered lot of +tiny things. Her eyes filled with tears, but still shot lightning. "If +he's hurrted me, he's got 'o suffer fur ud, Mr. Richlin'!" And she +expanded again. + +"Carriage, sir, carriage?" continued the man with the whip. + +"Yes!" said Richling and Mrs. Ristofalo in a breath. She took his arm, +the hackman seized the bundles from the policeman, threw open his hack +door, laid the bundles on the front seat, and let down the folding +steps. The crowd dwindled away to a few urchins. + +"Officerr," said Mrs. Ristofalo, her foot on the step and composure once +more in her voice, "ye needn't arrist um. I could of done ud, sur," she +added to Narcisse himself, "but I'm too much of a laydy, sur!" And she +sank together and stretched herself up once more, entered the vehicle, +and sat with a perpendicular back, her arms folded on her still heaving +bosom, and her head high. + +As to her ability to have that arrest made, Kate Ristofalo was in error. +Narcisse smiled to himself; for he was conscious of one advantage that +overtopped all the sacredness of female helplessness, public right, or +any other thing whatsoever. It lay in the simple fact that he was +acquainted with the policeman. He bowed blandly to the officer, stepped +backward, touching his hat, and walked away, the policeman imitating +each movement with the promptness and faithfulness of a mirror. + +"Aren't ye goin' to get in, Mr. Richlin'?" asked Mrs. Ristofalo. She +smiled first and then looked alarmed. + +"I--I can't very well--if you'll excuse me, ma'am." + +"Ah, Mr. Richlin'!"--she pouted girlishly. "Gettin' proud!" She gave her +head a series of movements, as to say she might be angry if she would, +but she wouldn't. "Ye won't know uz when Mrs. Richlin' comes." + +Richling laughed, but she gave a smiling toss to indicate that it was a +serious matter. + +"Come," she insisted, patting the seat beside her with honeyed +persuasiveness, "come and tell me all about ud. Mr. Ristofalah nivver +goes into peticklers, an' so I har'ly know anny more than jist she's +a-comin'. Come, git in an' tell me about Mrs. Richlin'--that is, if ye +like the subject--and I don't believe ye do." She lifted her finger, +shook it roguishly close to her own face, and looked at him sidewise. +"Ah, nivver mind, sur! that's rright! Furgit yer old frinds--maybe ye +wudden't do ud if ye knewn everythin'. But that's rright; that's the way +with min." She suddenly changed to subdued earnestness, turned the catch +of the door, and, as the door swung open, said: "Come, if ud's only fur +a bit o' the way--if ud's only fur a ming-ute. I've got somethin' to +tell ye." + +"I must get out at Washington Market," said Richling, as he got in. The +hack hurried down Old Levee street. + +"And now," said she, merriment dancing in her eyes, her folded arms +tightening upon her bosom, and her lips struggling against their own +smile, "I'm just a good mind not to tell ye at ahll!" + +Her humor was contagious and Richling was ready to catch it. His own eye +twinkled. + +"Well, Mrs. Ristofalo, of course, if you feel any embarrassment"-- + +"Ye villain!" she cried, with delighted indignation, "I didn't mean +nawthing about _that_, an' ye knew ud! Here, git out o' this carridge!" +But she made no effort to eject him. + +"Mary and I are interested in all your hopes," said Richling, smiling +softly upon the damaged bundle which he was making into a tight package +again on his knee. "You'll tell me your good news if it's only that I +may tell her, will you not?" + +"_I_ will. And it's joost this,--Mr. Richlin',--that if there be's a war +Mr. Ristofalah's to be lit out o' prison." + +"I'm very glad!" cried Richling, but stopped short, for Mrs. +Ristofalo's growing dignity indicated that there was more to be told. + +"I'm sure ye air, Mr. Richlin'; and I'm sure ye'll be glad--a heap +gladder nor I am--that in that case he's to be Captain Ristofalah." + +"Indeed!" + +"Yes, sur." The wife laid her palm against her floating ribs and +breathed a sigh. "I don't like ud, Mr. Richlin'. No, sur. I don't like +tytles." She got her fan from under her handkerchief and set it a-going. +"I nivver liked the idee of bein' a tytled man's wife. No, sur." She +shook her head, elevating it as she shook it. "It creates too much +invy, Mr. Richlin'. Well, good-by." The carriage was stopping at the +Washington Market. "Now, don't ye mintion it to a livin' soul, Mr. +Richlin'!" + +Richling said "No." + +"No, sur; fur there be's manny a slip 'tuxt the cup an' the lip, +ye know; an' there may be no war, after all, and we may all be +disapp'inted. But he's bound to be tleared if he's tried, and don't ye +see--I--I don't want um to be a captain, anyhow, don't ye see?" + +Richling saw, and they parted. + + * * * + +Thus everybody hoped. Dr. Sevier, wifeless, childless, had his hopes +too, nevertheless. Hopes for the hospital and his many patients in it +and out of it; hopes for his town and his State; hopes for Richling +and Mary; and hopes with fears, and fears with hopes, for the great +sisterhood of States. Richling had one hope more. After some weeks had +passed Dr. Sevier ventured once more to say:-- + +"Richling, go home. Go to your wife. I must tell you you're no ordinary +sick man. Your life is in danger." + +"Will I be out of danger if I go home?" asked Richling. + +Dr. Sevier made no answer. + +"Do you still think we may have war?" asked Richling again. + +"I know we shall." + +"And will the soldiers come back," asked the young man, smilingly, "when +they find their lives in danger?" + +"Now, Richling, that's another thing entirely; that's the battle-field." + +"Isn't it all the _same_ thing, Doctor? Isn't it all a battle-field?" + +The Doctor turned impatiently, disdaining to reply. But in a moment he +retorted:-- + +"We take wounded men off the field." + +"They don't take themselves off," said Richling, smiling. + +"Well," rejoined the Doctor, rising and striding toward a window, "a +good general may order a retreat." + +"Yes, but--maybe I oughtn't to say what I was thinking"-- + +"Oh, say it." + +"Well, then, he don't let his surgeon order it. Doctor," continued +Richling, smiling apologetically as his friend confronted him, "you +know, as you say, better than any one else, all that Mary and I have +gone through--nearly all--and how we've gone through it. Now, if my life +should end here shortly, what would the whole thing mean? It would mean +nothing. Doctor; it would be meaningless. No, sir; this isn't the end. +Mary and I"--his voice trembled an instant and then was firm again--"are +designed for a long life. I argue from the simple fitness of +things,--this is not the end." + +Dr. Sevier turned his face quickly toward the window, and so remained. + + + + +CHAPTER L. + +FALL IN! + + +There came a sound of drums. Twice on such a day, once the day +before, thrice the next day, till by and by it was the common thing. +High-stepping childhood, with laths and broom-handles at shoulder, was +not fated, as in the insipid days of peace, to find, on running to the +corner, its high hopes mocked by a wagon of empty barrels rumbling over +the cobble-stones. No; it was the Washington Artillery, or the Crescent +Rifles, or the Orleans Battalion, or, best of all, the blue-jacketed, +white-leggined, red-breeched, and red-fezzed Zouaves; or, better than +the best, it was all of them together, their captains stepping backward, +sword in both hands, calling "_Gauche! gauche!_" ("Left! left!") "Guide +right!"--"_Portez armes!_" and facing around again, throwing their +shining blades stiffly to belt and epaulette, and glancing askance from +under their abundant plumes to the crowded balconies above. Yea, and the +drum-majors before, and the brilliant-petticoated _vivandieres_ behind! + +What pomp! what giddy rounds! Pennons, cock-feathers, clattering steeds, +pealing salvos, banners, columns, ladies' favors, balls, concerts, +toasts, the Free Gift Lottery--don't you recollect?--and this uniform +and that uniform, brother a captain, father a colonel, uncle a major, +the little rector a chaplain, Captain Ristofalo of the Tiger Rifles; the +levee covered with munitions of war, steam-boats unloading troops, +troops, troops, from Opelousas, Attakapas, Texas; and a supper to this +company, a flag to that battalion, farewell sermon to the Washington +Artillery, tears and a kiss to a spurred and sashed lover, hurried +weddings,--no end of them,--a sword to such a one, addresses by such and +such, serenades to Miss and to Mademoiselle. + +Soon it will have been a quarter of a century ago! + +And yet--do you not hear them now, coming down the broad, granite-paved, +moonlit street, the light that was made for lovers glancing on bayonet +and sword soon to be red with brothers' blood, their brave young hearts +already lifted up with the triumph of battles to come, and the trumpets +waking the midnight stillness with the gay notes of the Cracovienne?-- + + "Again, again, the pealing drum, + The clashing horn, they come, they come, + And lofty deeds and daring high + Blend with their notes of victory." + +Ah! the laughter; the music; the bravado; the dancing; the songs! +"_Voila l'Zouzou!_" "Dixie!" "_Aux armes, vos citoyens!_" "The Bonnie +Blue Flag!"--it wasn't bonnie very long. Later the maidens at home +learned to sing a little song,--it is among the missing now,--a part of +it ran:-- + + "Sleeping on grassy couches; + Pillowed on hillocks damp; + Of martial fame how little we know + Till brothers are in the camp." + +By and by they began to depart. How many they were! How many, many! We +had too lightly let them go. And when all were gone, and they of +Carondelet street and its tributaries, massed in that old gray, +brittle-shanked regiment, the Confederate Guards, were having their +daily dress parade in Coliseum place, and only they and the Foreign +Legion remained; when sister Jane made lint, and flour was high, and +the sounds of commerce were quite hushed, and in the custom-house +gun-carriages were a-making, and in the foundries big guns were being +cast, and the cotton gun-boats and the rams were building, and at the +rotting wharves the masts of a few empty ships stood like dead trees in +a blasted wilderness, and poor soldiers' wives crowded around the "Free +Market," and grass began to spring up in the streets,--they were many +still, while far away; but some marched no more, and others marched on +bleeding feet, in rags; and it was very, very hard for some of us to +hold the voice steady and sing on through the chorus of the little +song:-- + + "Brave boys are they! + Gone at their country's call. + And yet--and yet--we cannot forget + That many brave boys must fall." + +Oh! Shiloh, Shiloh! + +But before the gloom had settled down upon us it was a gay dream. + +"Mistoo Itchlin, in fact 'ow you ligue my uniefawm? You think it suit my +style? They got about two poun' of gole lace on that uniefawm. Yesseh. +Me, the h-only thing--I don' ligue those epaulette'. So soon ev'ybody +see that on me, 'tis 'Lieut'nan'!' in thiz place, an' 'Lieut'nan'!' in +that place. My de'seh, you'd thing I'm a majo'-gen'l, in fact. Well, of +co'se, I don' ligue that." + +"And so you're a lieutenant?" + +"Third! Of the Chasseurs-a-Pied! Coon he'p 't, in fact; the fellehs +elected me. Goin' at Pensacola tomaw. Dr. Seveeah _con_tinue my sala'y +whilce I'm gone. no matteh the len'th. Me, I don' care, so long the +sala'y _con_tinue, if that waugh las' ten yeah! You ah pe'haps goin' ad +the ball to-nighd, Mistoo Itchlin? I dunno 'ow 'tis--I suppose you'll be +aztonizh' w'en I infawm you--that ball wemine me of that battle of +Wattaloo! Did you evva yeh those line' of Lawd By'on,-- + + 'Theh was a soun' of wibalwy by night, + W'en--'Ush-'ark!--A deep saun' stwike'--? + +Thaz by Lawd By'on. Yesseh. Well"-- + +The Creole lifted his right hand energetically, laid its inner edge +against the brass buttons of his _kepi_, and then waved it gracefully +abroad:-- + +"_Au 'evoi'_, Mistoo Itchlin. I leave you to defen' the city." + +"To-morrow," in those days of unreadiness and disconnection, glided just +beyond reach continually. When at times its realization was at length +grasped, it was away over on the far side of a fortnight or farther. +However, the to-morrow for Narcisse came at last. + +A quiet order for attention runs down the column. Attention it is. +Another order follows, higher-keyed, longer drawn out, and with one +sharp "clack!" the sword-bayoneted rifles go to the shoulders of as fine +a battalion as any in the land of Dixie. + +"_En avant!_"--Narcisse's heart stands still for joy--"_Marche!_" + +The bugle rings, the drums beat; "tramp, tramp," in quick succession, go +the short-stepping, nimble Creole feet, and the old walls of the Rue +Chartres ring again with the pealing huzza, as they rang in the days of +Villere and Lafreniere, and in the days of the young Galvez, and in the +days of Jackson. + +The old Ponchartrain cars move off, packed. Down at the "Old Lake End" +the steamer for Mobile receives the burden. The gong clangs in her +engine-room, the walking-beam silently stirs, there is a hiss of water +underneath, the gang-plank is in, the wet hawser-ends whip through the +hawse-holes,--she moves; clang goes the gong again--she glides--or is it +the crowded wharf that is gliding?--No.--Snatch the kisses! snatch them! +Adieu! Adieu! She's off, huzza--she's off! + +Now she stands away. See the mass of gay colors--red, gold, blue, +yellow, with glitter of steel and flutter of flags, a black veil of +smoke sweeping over. Wave, mothers and daughters, wives, sisters, +sweethearts--wave, wave; you little know the future! + +And now she is a little thing, her white wake following her afar across +the green waters, the call of the bugle floating softly back. And now +she is a speck. And now a little smoky stain against the eastern blue is +all,--and now she is gone. Gone! Gone! + +Farewell, soldier boys! Light-hearted, little-forecasting, brave, +merry boys! God accept you, our offering of first fruits! See that +mother--that wife--take them away; it is too much. Comfort them, father, +brother; tell them their tears may be for naught. + + "And yet--and yet--we cannot forget + That many brave boys must fall." + +Never so glad a day had risen upon the head of Narcisse. For the first +time in his life he moved beyond the corporate limits of his native +town. + +"'Ezcape fum the aunt, thou sluggud!'" "_Au 'evoi'_" to his aunt and the +uncle of his aunt. "_Au 'evoi'!_ _Au 'evoi'!_"--desk, pen, book--work, +care, thought, restraint--all sinking, sinking beneath the receding +horizon of Lake Ponchartrain, and the wide world and a soldier's life +before him. + +Farewell, Byronic youth! You are not of so frail a stuff as you have +seemed. You shall thirst by day and hunger by night. You shall keep +vigil on the sands of the Gulf and on the banks of the Potomac. You +shall grow brown, but prettier. You shall shiver in loathsome tatters, +yet keep your grace, your courtesy, your joyousness. You shall ditch and +lie down in ditches, and shall sing your saucy songs of defiance in the +face of the foe, so blackened with powder and dust and smoke that your +mother in heaven would not know her child. And you shall borrow to your +heart's content chickens, hogs, rails, milk, buttermilk, sweet potatoes, +what not; and shall learn the American songs, and by the camp-fire of +Shenandoah valley sing "The years creep slowly by, Lorena" to messmates +with shaded eyes, and "Her bright smile haunts me still." Ah, boy! +there's an old woman still living in the Rue Casa Calvo--your bright +smile haunts her still. And there shall be blood on your sword, and +blood--twice--thrice--on your brow. Your captain shall die in your arms; +and you shall lead charge after charge, and shall step up from rank to +rank; and all at once, one day, just in the final onset, with the cheer +on your lips, and your red sword waving high, with but one lightning +stroke of agony, down, down you shall go in the death of your dearest +choice. + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + +BLUE BONNETS OVER THE BORDER. + + +One morning, about the 1st of June, 1861, in the city of New York, two +men of the mercantile class came from a cross street into Broadway, near +what was then the upper region of its wholesale stores. They paused on +the corner, near the edge of the sidewalk. + +"Even when the States were seceding," said one of them, "I couldn't make +up my mind that they really meant to break up the Union." + +He had rosy cheeks, a retreating chin, and amiable, inquiring eyes. The +other had a narrower face, alert eyes, thin nostrils, and a generally +aggressive look. He did not reply at once, but, after a quick glance +down the great thoroughfare and another one up it, said, while his eyes +still ran here and there:-- + +"Wonderful street, this Broadway!" + +He straightened up to his fullest height and looked again, now down the +way, now up, his eye kindling with the electric contagion of the scene. +His senses were all awake. They took in, with a spirit of welcome, all +the vast movement: the uproar, the feeling of unbounded multitude, the +commercial splendor, the miles of towering buildings; the long, +writhing, grinding mass of coming and going vehicles, the rush of +innumerable feet, and the countless forms and faces hurrying, dancing, +gliding by, as though all the world's mankind, and womankind, and +childhood must pass that way before night. + +"How many people, do you suppose, go by this corner in a single hour?" +asked the man with the retreating chin. But again he got no answer. He +might as well not have yielded the topic of conversation as he had done; +so he resumed it. "No, I didn't believe it," he said. "Why, look at the +Southern vote of last November--look at New Orleans. The way it went +there, I shouldn't have supposed twenty-five per cent. of the people +would be in favor of secession. Would you?" + +But his companion, instead of looking at New Orleans, took note of two +women who had come to a halt within a yard of them and seemed to be +waiting, as he and his companion were, for an opportunity to cross the +street. The two new-comers were very different in appearance, the one +from the other. The older and larger was much beyond middle life, red, +fat, and dressed in black stuff, good as to fabric, but uncommonly bad +as to fit. The other was young and pretty, refined, tastefully dressed, +and only the more interesting for the look of permanent anxiety that +asserted itself with distinctness about the corners of her eyes and +mouth. She held by the hand a rosy, chubby little child, that seemed +about three years old, and might be a girl or might be a boy, so far as +could be discerned by masculine eyes. The man did not see this fifth +member of their group until the elder woman caught it under the arms in +her large hands, and, lifting it above her shoulder, said, looking far +up the street:-- + +"O paypy, paypy, choost look de fla-ags! One, two, dtree,--a tuzzent, a +hundut, a dtowsant fla-ags!" + +Evidently the child did not know her well. The little face remained +without a smile, the lips sealed, the shoulders drawn up, and the legs +pointing straight to the spot whence they had been lifted. She set it +down again. + +"We're not going to get by here," said the less talkative man. "They +must be expecting some troops to pass here. Don't you see the windows +full of women and children?" + +"Let's wait and look at them," responded the other, and his companion +did not dissent. + +"Well, sir," said the more communicative one, after a moment's +contemplation, "I never expected to see this!" He indicated by a gesture +the stupendous life of Broadway beginning slowly to roll back upon +itself like an obstructed river. It was obviously gathering in a general +pause to concentrate its attention upon something of leading interest +about to appear to view. "We're in earnest at last, and we can see, now, +that the South was in the deadest kind of earnest from the word go." + +"They can't be any more in earnest than we are, now," said the more +decided speaker. + +"I had great hopes of the peace convention," said the rosier man. + +"I never had a bit," responded the other. + +"The suspense was awful--waiting to know what Lincoln would do when he +came in," said he of the poor chin. "My wife was in the South visiting +her relatives; and we kept putting off her return, hoping for a quieter +state of affairs--hoping and putting off--till first thing you knew the +lines closed down and she had the hardest kind of a job to get through." + +"I never had a doubt as to what Lincoln would do," said the man with +sharp eyes; but while he spoke he covertly rubbed his companion's elbow +with his own, and by his glance toward the younger of the two women gave +him to understand that, though her face was partly turned away, the very +pretty ear, with no ear-ring in the hole pierced for it, was listening. +And the readier speaker rejoined in a suppressed voice:-- + +"That's the little lady I travelled in the same car with all the way +from Chicago." + +"No times for ladies to be travelling alone," muttered the other. + +"She hoped to take a steam-ship for New Orleans, to join her husband +there." + +"Some rebel fellow, I suppose." + +"No, a Union man, she says." + +"Oh, of course!" said the sharp-eyed one, sceptically. "Well, she's +missed it. The last steamer's gone and may get back or may not." He +looked at her again, narrowly, from behind his companion's shoulder. She +was stooping slightly toward the child, rearranging some tie under its +lifted chin and answering its questions in what seemed a chastened +voice. He murmured to his fellow, "How do you know she isn't a spy?" + +The other one turned upon him a look of pure amusement, but, seeing the +set lips and earnest eye of his companion, said softly, with a faint, +scouting hiss and smile:-- + +"She's a perfect lady--a perfect one." + +"Her friend isn't," said the aggressive man. + +"Here they come," observed the other aloud, looking up the street. There +was a general turning of attention and concentration of the street's +population toward the edge of either sidewalk. A force of police was +clearing back into the by-streets a dense tangle of drays, wagons, +carriages, and white-topped omnibuses, and far up the way could be seen +the fluttering and tossing of handkerchiefs, and in the midst a solid +mass of blue with a sheen of bayonets above, and every now and then a +brazen reflection from in front, where the martial band marched before. +It was not playing. The ear caught distantly, instead of its notes, the +warlike thunder of the drum corps. + +The sharper man nudged his companion mysteriously. + +"Listen," he whispered. Neither they nor the other pair had materially +changed their relative positions. The older woman was speaking. + +"'Twas te fun'est dting! You pe lookin' for te Noo 'Leants shteamer, +undt me lookin' for te Hambourg shteamer, undt coompt right so togeder +undt never vouldn't 'a' knowedt udt yet, ovver te mayne exdt me, 'Misses +Reisen, vot iss your name?' undt you headt udt. Undt te minudt you +shpeak, udt choost come to me like a flash o' lightenin'--'Udt iss +Misses Richlin'!'" The speaker's companion gave her such attention as +one may give in a crowd to words that have been heard two or three times +already within the hour. + +"Yes, Alice," she said, once or twice to the little one, who pulled +softly at her skirt asking confidential questions. But the baker's widow +went on with her story, enjoying it for its own sake. + +"You know, Mr. Richlin' he told me finfty dtimes, 'Misses Reisen, doant +kif up te pissness!' Ovver I see te mutcheenery proke undt te foundtries +all makin' guns undt kennons, undt I choost says, 'I kot plenteh +moneh--I tdtink I kfit undt go home.' Ovver I sayss to de Doctor, 'Dte +oneh dting--vot Mr. Richlin' ko-in to tdo?' Undt Dr. Tseweer he sayss, +'How menneh pa'ls flour you kot shtowed away?' Undt I sayss, 'Tsoo +hundut finfty.' Undt he sayss, 'Misses Reisen, Mr. Richlin' done made +you rich; you choost kif um dtat flour; udt be wort' tweny-fife tollahs +te pa'l, yet.' Undt sayss I, 'Doctor, you' right, undt I dtank you for +te goodt idea; I kif Mr. Richlin' innahow one pa'l.' Undt I done-d it. +Ovver I sayss, 'Doctor, dtat's not like a rigler sellery, yet.' Undt +dten he sayss, 'You know, _mine_ pookkeeper he gone to te vor, undt I +need'"-- + +A crash of brazen music burst upon the ear and drowned the voice. The +throng of the sidewalk pushed hard upon its edge. + +"Let me hold the little girl up," ventured the milder man, and set her +gently upon his shoulder, as amidst a confusion of outcries and flutter +of hats and handkerchiefs the broad, dense column came on with +measured tread, its stars and stripes waving in the breeze and its +backward-slanting thicket of bayoneted arms glittering in the morning +sun. All at once there arose from the great column, in harmony with the +pealing music, the hoarse roar of the soldiers' own voices singing in +time to the rhythm of their tread. And a thrill runs through the people, +and they answer with mad huzzas and frantic wavings and smiles, half of +wild ardor and half of wild pain; and the keen-eyed man here by Mary +lets the tears roll down his cheeks unhindered as he swings his hat and +cries "Hurrah! hurrah!" while on tramps the mighty column, singing from +its thousand thirsty throats the song of John Brown's Body. + +Yea, so, soldiers of the Union,--though that little mother there +weeps but does not wave, as the sharp-eyed man notes well through his +tears,--yet even so, yea, all the more, go--"go marching on," saviors of +the Union; your cause is just. Lo, now, since nigh twenty-five years +have passed, we of the South can say it! + + "And yet--and yet, we cannot forget"-- + +and we would not. + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + +A PASS THROUGH THE LINES. + + +About the middle of September following the date of the foregoing +incident, there occurred in a farmhouse head-quarters on the Indiana +shore of the Ohio river the following conversation:-- + +"You say you wish me to give you a pass through the lines, ma'am. Why do +you wish to go through?" + +"I want to join my husband in New Orleans." + +"Why, ma'am, you'd much better let New Orleans come through the lines. +We shall have possession of it, most likely, within a month." The +speaker smiled very pleasantly, for very pleasant and sweet was the +young face before him, despite its lines of mental distress, and very +soft and melodious the voice that proceeded from it. + +"Do you think so?" replied the applicant, with an unhopeful smile. "My +friends have been keeping me at home for months on that idea, but the +fact seems as far off now as ever. I should go straight through without +stopping, if I had a pass." + +"Ho!" exclaimed the man, softly, with pitying amusement. "Certainly, I +understand you would try to do so. But, my dear madam, you would find +yourself very much mistaken. Suppose, now, we should let you through our +lines. You'd be between two fires. You'd still have to get into the +rebel lines. You don't know what you're undertaking." + +She smiled wistfully. + +"I'm undertaking to get to my husband." + +"Yes, yes," said the officer, pulling his handkerchief from between two +brass buttons of his double-breasted coat and wiping his brow. She did +not notice that he made this motion purely as a cover for the searching +glance which he suddenly gave her from head to foot. "Yes," he +continued, "but you don't know what it is, ma'am. After you get through +the _other_ lines, what are you going to do _then_? There's a perfect +reign of terror over there. I wouldn't let a lady relative of mine take +such risks for thousands of dollars. I don't think your husband ought to +thank me for giving you a pass. You say he's a Union man; why don't he +come to you?" + +Tears leaped into the applicant's eyes. + +"He's become too sick to travel," she said. + +"Lately?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I thought you said you hadn't heard from him for months." The officer +looked at her with narrowed eyes. + +"I said I hadn't had a letter from him." The speaker blushed to find her +veracity on trial. She bit her lip, and added, with perceptible tremor: +"I got one lately from his physician." + +"How did you get it?" + +"What, sir?" + +"Now, madam, you know what I asked you, don't you?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Yes. Well, I'd like you to answer." + +"I found it, three mornings ago, under the front door of the house where +I live with my mother and my little girl." + +"Who put it there?" + +"I do not know." + +The officer looked her steadily in the eyes. They were blue. His own +dropped. + +"You ought to have brought that letter with you, ma'am," he said, +looking up again; "don't you see how valuable it would be to you?" + +"I did bring it," she replied, with alacrity, rummaged a moment in a +skirt-pocket, and brought it out. The officer received it and read the +superscription audibly. + +"'Mrs. John H----.' Are you Mrs. John H----?" + +"That is not the envelope it was in," she replied. "It was not directed +at all. I put it into that envelope merely to preserve it. That's the +envelope of a different letter,--a letter from my mother." + +"Are you Mrs. John H----?" asked her questioner again. She had turned +partly aside and was looking across the apartment and out through a +window. He spoke once more. "Is this your name?" + +"What, sir?" + +He smiled cynically. + +"Please don't do that again, madam." + +She blushed down into the collar of her dress. + +"That is my name, sir." + +The man put the missive to his nose, snuffed it softly, and looked +amused, yet displeased. + +"Mrs. H----, did you notice just a faint smell of--garlic--about +this--?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Well, I have no less than three or four others with the very same +odor." He smiled on. "And so, no doubt, we are both of the same private +opinion that the bearer of this letter was--who, Mrs. H----?" + +Mrs. H---- frequently by turns raised her eyes honestly to her +questioner's and dropped them to where, in her lap, the fingers of one +hand fumbled with a lone wedding-ring on the other, while she said:-- + +"Do you think, sir, if you were in my place you would like to give the +name of the person you thought had risked his life to bring you word +that your husband--your wife--was very ill, and needed your presence? +Would you like to do it?" + +The officer looked severe. + +"Don't you know perfectly well that wasn't his principal errand inside +our lines?" + +"No." + +"No!" echoed the man; "and you don't know perfectly well, I suppose, +that he's been shot at along this line times enough to have turned his +hair white? Or that he crossed the river for the third time last night, +loaded down with musket-caps for the rebels?" + +"No." + +"But you must admit you know a certain person, wherever he may be, or +whatever he may be doing, named Raphael Ristofalo?" + +"I do not." + +The officer smiled again. + +"Yes, I see. That is to say, you don't _admit_ it. And you don't deny +it." + +The reply came more slowly:-- + +"I do not." + +"Well, now, Mrs. H----, I've given you a pretty long audience. I'll tell +you what I'll do. But do you please tell me, first, you affirm on your +word of honor that your name is really Mrs. H----; that you are no spy, +and have had no voluntary communication with any, and that you are a +true and sincere Union woman." + +"I affirm it all." + +"Well, then, come in to-morrow at this hour, and if I am going to give +you a pass at all I'll give it to you then. Here, here's your letter." + +As she received the missive she lifted her eyes, suffused, but full of +hope, to his, and said:-- + +"God grant you the heart to do it, sir, and bless you." + +The man laughed. Her eyes fell, she blushed, and, saying not a word, +turned toward the door and had reached the threshold when the officer +called, with a certain ringing energy:-- + +"Mrs. Richling!" + +She wheeled as if he had struck her, and answered:-- + +"What, sir!" Then, turning as red as a rose, she said, "O sir, that was +cruel!" covered her face with her hands, and sobbed aloud. It was only +as she was in the midst of these last words that she recognized in the +officer before her the sharper-visaged of those two men who had stood by +her in Broadway. + +"Step back here, Mrs. Richling." + +She came. + +"Well, madam! I should like to know what we are coming to, when a lady +like you--a palpable, undoubted lady--can stoop to such deceptions!" + +"Sir," said Mary, looking at him steadfastly and then shaking her head +in solemn asseveration, "all that I have said to you is the truth." + +"Then will you explain how it is that you go by one name in one part of +the country, and by another in another part?" + +"No," she said. It was very hard to speak. The twitching of her mouth +would hardly let her form a word. "No--no--I can't--tell you." + +"Very well, ma'am. If you don't start back to Milwaukee by the next +train, and stay there, I shall"-- + +"Oh, don't say that, sir! I must go to my husband! Indeed, sir, it's +nothing but a foolish mistake, made years ago, that's never harmed any +one but us. I'll take all the blame of it if you'll only give me a +pass!" + +The officer motioned her to be silent. + +"You'll have to do as I tell you, ma'am. If not, I shall know it; you +will be arrested, and I shall give you a sort of pass that you'd be a +long time asking for." He looked at the face mutely confronting him and +felt himself relenting. "I dare say this does sound very cruel to you, +ma'am; but remember, this is a cruel war. I don't judge you. If I did, +and could harden my heart as I ought to, I'd have you arrested now. But, +I say, you'd better take my advice. Good-morning! _No, ma'am, I can't +hear you!_ So, now, that's enough! Good-morning, madam!" + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + +TRY AGAIN. + + +One afternoon in the month of February, 1862, a locomotive engine and a +single weather-beaten passenger-coach, moving southward at a very +moderate speed through the middle of Kentucky, stopped in response to a +handkerchief signal at the southern end of a deep, rocky valley, and, in +a patch of gray, snow-flecked woods, took on board Mary Richling, +dressed in deep mourning, and her little Alice. The three or four +passengers already in the coach saw no sign of human life through the +closed panes save the roof of one small cabin that sent up its slender +thread of blue smoke at one corner of a little badly cleared field a +quarter of a mile away on a huge hill-side. As the scant train crawled +off again into a deep, ice-hung defile, it passed the silent figure of a +man in butternut homespun, spattered with dry mud, standing close beside +the track on a heap of cross-tie cinders and fire-bent railroad iron, a +gray goat-beard under his chin, and a quilted homespun hat on his head. +From beneath the limp brim of this covering, as the train moved by him, +a tender, silly smile beamed upward toward one hastily raised window, +whence the smile of Mary and the grave, unemotional gaze of the child +met it for a moment before the train swung round a curve in the narrow +way, and quickened speed on down grade. + +The conductor came and collected her fare. He smelt of tobacco above the +smell of the coach in general. + +"Do you charge anything for the little girl?" + +The purse in which the inquirer's finger and thumb tarried was limber +and flat. + +"No, ma'am." + +It was not the customary official negative; a tawdry benevolence of face +went with it, as if to say he did not charge because he would not; and +when Mary returned a faint beam of appreciation he went out upon the +rear platform and wiped the plenteous dust from his shoulders and cap. +Then he returned to his seat at the stove and renewed his conversation +with a lieutenant in hard-used blue, who said "the rebel lines ought +never to have been allowed to fall back to Nashville," and who knew "how +Grant could have taken Fort Donelson a week ago if he had had any +sense." + +There were but few persons, as we have said, in the car. A rough man in +one corner had a little captive, a tiny, dappled fawn, tied by a short, +rough bit of rope to the foot of the car-seat. When the conductor by and +by lifted the little Alice up from the cushion, where she sat with her +bootees straight in front of her at its edge, and carried her, +speechless and drawn together like a kitten, and stood her beside the +captive orphan, she simply turned about and pattered back to her +mother's side. + +"I don't believe she even saw it," said the conductor, standing again by +Mary. + +"Yes, she did," replied Mary, smiling upon the child's head as she +smoothed its golden curls; "she'll talk about it to-morrow." + +The conductor lingered a moment, wanting to put his own hand there, but +did not venture, perhaps because of the person sitting on the next seat +behind, who looked at him rather steadily until he began to move away. + +This was a man of slender, commanding figure and advanced years. Beside +him, next the window, sat a decidedly aristocratic woman, evidently his +wife. She, too, was of fine stature, and so, without leaning forward +from the back of her seat, or unfolding her arms, she could make kind +eyes to Alice, as the child with growing frequency stole glances, at +first over her own little shoulder, and later over her mother's, facing +backward and kneeling on the cushion. At length a cooky passed between +them in dead silence, and the child turned and gazed mutely in her +mother's face, with the cooky just in sight. + +"It can't hurt her," said the lady, in a sweet voice, to Mary, leaning +forward with her hands in her lap. By the time the sun began to set in +a cool, golden haze across some wide stretches of rolling fallow, a +conversation had sprung up, and the child was in the lady's lap, her +little hand against the silken bosom, playing with a costly watch. + +The talk began about the care of Alice, passed to the diet, and then +to the government, of children, all in a light way, a similarity of +convictions pleasing the two ladies more and more as they found it run +further and further. Both talked, but the strange lady sustained the +conversation, although it was plainly both a pastime and a comfort to +Mary. Whenever it threatened to flag the handsome stranger persisted in +reviving it. + +Her husband only listened and smiled, and with one finger made every now +and then a soft, slow pass at Alice, who each time shrank as slowly and +softly back into his wife's fine arm. Presently, however, Mary raised +her eyebrows a little and smiled, to see her sitting quietly in the +gentleman's lap; and as she turned away and rested her elbow on the +window-sill and her cheek on her hand in a manner that betrayed +weariness, and looked out upon the ever-turning landscape, he murmured +to his wife, "I haven't a doubt in my mind," and nodded significantly at +the preoccupied little shape in his arms. His manner with the child was +imperceptibly adroit, and very soon her prattle began to be heard. Mary +was just turning to offer a gentle check to this rising volubility, when +up jumped the little one to a standing posture on the gentleman's knee, +and, all unsolicited and with silent clapping of hands, plumped out her +full name:-- + +"Alice Sevier Witchlin'!" + +The husband threw a quick glance toward his wife; but she avoided it +and called Mary's attention to the sunset as seen through the opposite +windows. Mary looked and responded with expressions of admiration, but +was visibly disquieted, and the next moment called her child to her. + +"My little girl mustn't talk so loud and fast in the cars," she said, +with tender pleasantness, standing her upon the seat and brushing back +the stray golden waves from the baby's temples, and the brown ones, so +like them, from her own. She turned a look of amused apology to the +gentleman, and added, "She gets almost boisterous sometimes," then gave +her regard once more to her offspring, seating the little one beside her +as in the beginning, and answering her musical small questions with +composing yeas and nays. + +"I suppose," she said, after a pause and a look out through the +window,--"I suppose we ought soon to be reaching M---- station, +now, should we not?" + +"What, in Tennessee? Oh! no," replied the gentleman. "In ordinary times +we should; but at this slow rate we cannot nearly do it. We're on a +road, you see, that was destroyed by the retreating army and made over +by the Union forces. Besides, there are three trains of troops ahead of +us, that must stop and unload between here and there, and keep you +waiting, there's no telling how long." + +"Then I'll get there in the night!" exclaimed Mary. + +"Yes, probably after midnight." + +"Oh, I shouldn't have _thought_ of coming before to-morrow if I had +known that!" In the extremity of her dismay she rose half from her seat +and looked around with alarm. + +"Have you no friends expecting to receive you there?" asked the lady. + +"Not a soul! And the conductor says there's no lodging-place nearer than +three miles"-- + +"And that's gone now," said the gentleman. + +"You'll have to get out at the same station with us," said the lady, her +manner kindness itself and at the same time absolute. + +"I think you have claims on us, anyhow, that we'd like to pay." + +"Oh! impossible," said Mary. "You're certainly mistaking me." + +"I think you have," insisted the lady; "that is, if your name is +Richling." + +Mary blushed. + +"I don't think you know my husband," she said; "he lives a long way from +here." + +"In New Orleans?" asked the gentleman. + +"Yes, sir," said Mary, boldly. She couldn't fear such good faces. + +"His first name is John, isn't it?" + +"Yes, sir. Do you really know John, sir?" The lines of pleasure and +distress mingled strangely in Mary's face. The gentleman smiled. He +tapped little Alice's head with the tips of his fingers. + +"I used to hold him on my knee when he was no bigger than this little +image of him here." + +The tears leaped into Mary's eyes. + +"Mr. Thornton," she whispered, huskily, and could say no more. + +"You must come home with us," said the lady, touching her tenderly on +the shoulder. "It's a wonder of good fortune that we've met. Mr. +Thornton has something to say to you,--a matter of business. He's the +family's lawyer, you know." + +"I must get to my husband without delay," said Mary. + +"Get to your husband?" asked the lawyer, in astonishment. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Through the lines?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I told him so," said the lady. + +"I don't know how to credit it," said he. "Why, my child, I don't think +you can possibly know what you are attempting. Your friends ought never +to have allowed you to conceive such a thing. You must let us dissuade +you. It will not be taking too much liberty, will it? Has your husband +never told you what good friends we were?" + +Mary nodded and tried to speak. + +"Often," said Mrs. Thornton to her husband, interpreting the +half-articulated reply. + +They sat and talked in low tones, under the dismal lamp of the railroad +coach, for two or three hours. Mr. Thornton came around and took the +seat in front of Mary, and sat with one leg under him, facing back +toward her. Mrs. Thornton sat beside her, and Alice slumbered on the +seat behind, vacated by the lawyer and his wife. + +"You needn't tell me John's story," said the gentleman; "I know it. What +I didn't know before, I got from a man with whom I corresponded in New +Orleans." + +"Dr. Sevier?" + +"No, a man who got it from the Doctor." + +So they had Mary tell her own story. + +"I thought I should start just as soon as my mother's health would +permit. John wouldn't have me start before that, and, after all, I don't +see how I could have done it--rightly. But by the time she was well--or +partly well--every one was in the greatest anxiety and doubt everywhere. +You know how it was." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Thornton. + +"And everybody thinking everything would soon be settled," continued +Mary. + +"Yes," said the sympathetic lady, and her husband touched her quietly, +meaning for her not to interrupt. + +"We didn't think the Union _could_ be broken so easily," pursued Mary. +"And then all at once it was unsafe and improper to travel alone. Still +I went to New York, to take steamer around by sea. But the last steamer +had sailed, and I had to go back home; for--the fact is,"--she +smiled,--"my money was all gone. It was September before I could raise +enough to start again; but one morning I got a letter from New Orleans, +telling me that John was very ill, and enclosing money for me to travel +with." + +She went on to tell the story of her efforts to get a pass on the bank +of the Ohio river, and how she had gone home once more, knowing she was +watched, not daring for a long time to stir abroad, and feeding on the +frequent hope that New Orleans was soon to be taken by one or another of +the many naval expeditions that from time to time were, or were said to +be, sailing. + +"And then suddenly--my mother died." + +Mrs. Thornton gave a deep sigh. + +"And then," said Mary, with a sudden brightening, but in a low voice, "I +determined to make one last effort. I sold everything in the world I had +and took Alice and started. I've come very slowly, a little way at a +time, feeling along, for I was resolved not to be turned back. I've been +weeks getting this far, and the lines keep moving south ahead of me. But +I haven't been turned back," she went on to say, with a smile, "and +everybody, white and black, everywhere, has been just as kind as kind +can be." Tears stopped her again. + +"Well, never mind, Mrs. Richling," said Mrs. Thornton; then turned to +her husband, and asked, "May I tell her?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, Mrs. Richling,--but do you wish to be called Mrs. Richling?" + +"Yes," said Mary, and "Certainly," said Mr. Thornton. + +"Well, Mrs. Richling, Mr. Thornton has some money for your husband. Not +a great deal, but still--some. The younger of the two sisters died a few +weeks ago. She was married, but she was rich in her own right. She left +almost everything to her sister; but Mr. Thornton persuaded her to leave +some money--well, two thousand--'tisn't much, but it's something, you +know--to--ah to Mr. Richling. Husband has it now at home and will give +it to you,--at the breakfast-table to-morrow morning; can't you, dear?" + +"Yes." + +"Yes, and we'll not try to persuade you to give up your idea of going to +New Orleans. I know we couldn't do it. We'll watch our chance,--eh, +husband?--and put you through the lines; and not only that, but give +you letters to--why, dear," said the lady, turning to her partner in +good works, "you can give Mrs. Richling a letter to Governor Blank; and +another to General Um-hm, can't you? and--yes, and one to Judge Youknow. +Oh, they will take you anywhere! But first you'll stop with us till you +get well rested--a week or two, or as much longer as you will." + +Mary pressed the speaker's hand. + +"I can't stay." + +"Oh, you know you needn't have the least fear of seeing any of John's +relatives. They don't live in this part of the State at all; and, even +if they did, husband has no business with them just now, and being a +Union man, you know"-- + +"I want to see my husband," said Mary, not waiting to hear what Union +sympathies had to do with the matter. + +"Yes," said the lady, in a suddenly subdued tone. "Well, we'll get you +through just as quickly as we can." And soon they all began to put on +wraps and gather their luggage. Mary went with them to their home, laid +her tired head beside her child's in sleep, and late next morning rose +to hear that Fort Donelson was taken, and the Southern forces were +falling back. A day or two later came word that Columbus, on the +Mississippi, had been evacuated. It was idle for a woman to try just +then to perform the task she had set for herself. The Federal lines! + +"Why, my dear child, they're trying to find the Confederate lines and +strike them. You can't lose anything--you may gain much--by remaining +quiet here awhile. The Mississippi, I don't doubt, will soon be open +from end to end." + +A fortnight seemed scarcely more than a day when it was past, and +presently two of them had gone. One day comes Mr. Thornton, saying:-- + +"My dear child, I cannot tell you how I have the news, but you may +depend upon its correctness. New Orleans is to be attacked by the most +powerful naval expedition that ever sailed under the United States flag. +If the place is not in our hands by the first of April I will put you +through both lines, if I have to go with you myself." When Mary made no +answer, he added, "Your delays have all been unavoidable, my child!" + +"Oh, I don't know; I don't know!" exclaimed Mary, with sudden +distraction; "it seems to me I _must_ be to blame, or I'd have been +through long ago. I ought to have _run through_ the lines. I ought to +have 'run the blockade.'" + +"My child," said the lawyer, "you're mad." + +"You'll see," replied Mary, almost in soliloquy. + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + +"WHO GOES THERE?" + + +The scene and incident now to be described are without date. As Mary +recalled them, years afterward, they hung out against the memory a bold, +clear picture, cast upon it as the magic lantern casts its tableaux upon +the darkened canvas. She had lost the day of the month, the day of the +week, all sense of location, and the points of the compass. The most +that she knew was that she was somewhere near the meeting of the +boundaries of three States. Either she was just within the southern +bound of Tennessee, or the extreme north-eastern corner of Mississippi, +or else the north-western corner of Alabama. She was aware, too, that +she had crossed the Tennessee river; that the sun had risen on her left +and had set on her right, and that by and by this beautiful day would +fade and pass from this unknown land, and the fire-light and lamp-light +draw around them the home-groups under the roof-trees, here where she +was a homeless stranger, the same as in the home-lands where she had +once loved and been beloved. + +She was seated in a small, light buggy drawn by one good horse. Beside +her the reins were held by a rather tall man, of middle age, gray, dark, +round-shouldered, and dressed in the loose blue flannel so much worn by +followers of the Federal camp. Under the stiff brim of his soft-crowned +black hat a pair of clear eyes gave a continuous playful twinkle. +Between this person and Mary protruded, at the edge of the buggy-seat, +two small bootees that have already had mention, and from his elbow to +hers, and back to his, continually swayed drowsily the little golden +head to which the bootees bore a certain close relation. The dust of the +highway was on the buggy and the blue flannel and the bootees. It showed +with special boldness on a black sun-bonnet that covered Mary's head, +and that somehow lost all its homeliness whenever it rose sufficiently +in front to show the face within. But the highway itself was not there; +it had been left behind some hours earlier. The buggy was moving at a +quiet jog along a "neighborhood road," with unploughed fields on the +right and a darkling woods pasture on the left. By the feathery softness +and paleness of the sweet-smelling foliage you might have guessed it was +not far from the middle of April, one way or another; and, by certain +allusions to Pittsburg Landing as a place of conspicuous note, you might +have known that Shiloh had been fought. There was that feeling of +desolation in the land that remains after armies have passed over, let +them tread never so lightly. + +"D'you know what them rails is put that way fur?" asked the man. He +pointed down with his buggy-whip just off the roadside, first on one +hand and then on the other. + +"No," said Mary, turning the sun-bonnet's limp front toward the +questioner and then to the disjointed fence on her nearer side; "that's +what I've been wondering for days. They've been ordinary worm fences, +haven't they?" + +"Jess so," responded the man, with his accustomed twinkle. "But I think +I see you oncet or twicet lookin' at 'em and sort o' tryin' to make out +how come they got into that shape." The long-reiterated W's of the +rail-fence had been pulled apart into separate V's, and the two sides +of each of these had been drawn narrowly together, so that what had been +two parallel lines of fence, with the lane between, was now a long +double row of wedge-shaped piles of rails, all pointing into the woods +on the left. + +"How did it happen?" asked Mary, with a smile of curiosity. + +"Didn't happen at all, 'twas jess _done_ by live men, and in a powerful +few minutes at that. Sort o' shows what we're approachin' unto, as it +were, eh? Not but they's plenty behind us done the same way, all the way +back into Kentuck', as you already done see; but this's been done sence +the last rain, and it rained night afore last." + +"Still I'm not sure what it means," said Mary; "has there been fighting +here?" + +"Go up head," said the man, with a facetious gesture. "See? The fight +came through these here woods, here. 'Taint been much over twenty-four +hours, I reckon, since every one o' them-ah sort o' shut-up-fan-shape +sort o' fish-traps had a gray-jacket in it layin' flat down an' firin' +through the rails, sort o' random-like, only not much so." His manner of +speech seemed a sort of harlequin patchwork from the bad English of many +sections, the outcome of a humorous and eclectic fondness for verbal +deformities. But his lightness received a sudden check. + +"Heigh-h-h!" he gravely and softly exclaimed, gathering the reins +closer, as the horse swerved and dashed ahead. Two or three buzzards +started up from the roadside, with their horrid flapping and whiff of +quills, and circled low overhead. "Heigh-h-h!" he continued soothingly. +"Ho-o-o-o! somebody lost a good nag there,--a six-pound shot right +through his head and neck. Whoever made that shot killed two birds with +one stone, sho!" He was half risen from his seat, looking back. As he +turned again, and sat down, the drooping black sun-bonnet quite +concealed the face within. He looked at it a moment. "If you think you +don't like the risks we can still turn back." + +"No," said the voice from out the sun-bonnet; "go on." + +"If we don't turn back now we can't turn back at all." + +"Go on," said Mary; "I can't turn back." + +"You're a good soldier," said the man, playfully again. "You're a better +one than me, I reckon; I kin turn back frequently, as it were. I've done +it 'many a time and oft,' as the felleh says." + +Mary looked up with feminine surprise. He made a pretence of silent +laughter, that showed a hundred crows' feet in his twinkling eyes. + +"Oh, don't you fret; I'm not goin' to run the wrong way with you in +charge. Didn't you hear me promise Mr. Thornton? Well, you see, I've got +a sort o' bad memory, that kind o' won't let me forgit when I make a +promise;--bothers me that way a heap sometimes." He smirked in a +self-deprecating way, and pulled his hat-brim down in front. Presently +he spoke again, looking straight ahead over the horse's ears:-- + +"Now, that's the mischief about comin' with me--got to run both +blockades at oncet. Now, if you'd been a good Secesh and could somehow +or 'nother of got a pass through the Union lines you'd of been all gay. +But bein' Union, the fu'ther you git along the wuss off you air, 'less-n +I kin take you and carry you 'way 'long yonder to where you kin jess +jump onto a south-bound Rebel railroad and light down amongst folks +that'll never think o' you havin' run through the lines." + +"But you can't do that," said Mary, not in the form of a request. "You +know you agreed with Mr. Thornton that you would simply"-- + +"Put you down in a safe place," said the man, jocosely; "that's what it +meant, and don't you get nervous"-- His face suddenly changed; he +raised his whip and held it up for attention and silence, looking at +Mary, and smiling while he listened. "Do you hear anything?" + +"Yes," said Mary, in a hushed tone. There were some old fields on the +right-hand now, and a wood on the left. Just within the wood a +turtle-dove was cooing. + +"I don't mean that," said the man, softly. + +"No," said Mary, "you mean this, away over here." She pointed across the +fields, almost straight away in front. + +"'Taint so scandalous far 'awa-a-ay' as you talk like," murmured the +man, jestingly; and just then a fresh breath of the evening breeze +brought plainer and nearer the soft boom of a bass-drum. + +"Are they coming this way?" asked Mary. + +"No; they're sort o' dress-paradin' in camp, I reckon." He began to draw +rein. "We turn off here, anyway," he said, and drove slowly, but point +blank into the forest. + +"I don't see any road," said Mary. It was so dark in the wood that even +her child, muffled in a shawl and asleep in her arms, was a dim shape. + +"Yes," was the reply; "we have to sort o' smell out the way here; but my +smellers is good, at times, and pretty soon we'll strike a little sort +o' somepnuther like a road, about a quarter from here." + +Pretty soon they did so. It started suddenly from the edge of an old +field in the forest, and ran gradually down, winding among the trees, +into a densely wooded bottom, where even Mary's short form often had to +bend low to avoid the boughs of beech-trees and festoons of grape-vine. +Under one beech the buggy stood still a moment. The man drew and opened +a large clasp-knife and cut one of the long, tough withes. He handed it +to Mary, as they started on again. + +"With compliments," he said, "and hoping you won't find no use for it." + +"What is it for?" + +"Why, you see, later on we'll be in the saddle; and if such a thing +should jess accidentally happen to happen, which I hope it won't, to be +sho', that I should happen to sort o' absent-mindedly yell out 'Go!' +like as if a hornet had stabbed me, you jess come down with that switch, +and make the critter under you run like a scared dog, as it were." + +"Must I?" + +"No, I don't say you _must_, but you'd better, I bet you. You needn't if +you don't want to." + +Presently the dim path led them into a clear, rippling creek, and seemed +to Mary to end; but when the buggy wheels had crunched softly along down +stream over some fifty or sixty yards of gravelly shallow, the road +showed itself faintly again on the other bank, and the horse, with a +plunge or two and a scramble, jerked them safely over the top, and moved +forward in the direction of the rising moon. They skirted a small field +full of ghostly dead trees, where corn was beginning to make a show, +turned its angle, and saw the path under their feet plain to view, +smooth and hard. + +"See that?" said the man, in a tone of playful triumph, as the animal +started off at a brisk trot, lifted his head and neighed. "'My day's +work's done,' sezee; 'I done hoed my row.'" A responsive neigh came out +of the darkness ahead. "That's the trick!" said the man. "Thanks, as the +felleh says." He looked to Mary for her appreciation of his humor. + +"I suppose that means a good deal; does it?" asked she, with a smile. + +"Jess so! It means, first of all, fresh hosses. And then it means a +house what aint been burnt by jayhawkers yit, and a man and woman +a-waitin' in it, and some bacon and cornpone, and maybe a little coffee; +and milk, anyhow, till you can't rest, and buttermilk to fare-you-well. +Now, have you ever learned the trick o' jess sort o' qui'lin'[2] up, +cloze an' all, dry so, and puttin' half a night's rest into an hour's +sleep? 'Caze why, in one hour we must be in the saddle. No mo' buggy, +and powerful few roads. Comes as nigh coonin' it as I reckon you ever +'lowed you'd like to do, don't it?" + + [2] Coiling. + +He smiled, pretending to hold back much laughter, and Mary smiled too. +At mention of a woman she had removed her bonnet and was smoothing her +hair with her hand. + +"I don't care," she said, "if only you'll bring us through." + +The man made a ludicrous gesture of self-abasement. + +"Not knowin', can't say, as the felleh says; but what I can tell you--I +always start out to make a spoon or spoil a horn, and which one I'll do +I seldom ever promise till it's done. But I have a sneakin' notion, as +it were, that I'm the clean sand, and no discount, as Mr. Lincoln says, +and I do my best. Angels can do no more, as the felleh says." + +He drew rein. "Whoa!" Mary saw a small log cabin, and a fire-light +shining under the bottom of the door. + +"The woods seem to be on fire just over there in three or four places, +are they not?" she asked, as she passed the sleeping Alice down to the +man, who had got out of the buggy. + +"Them's the camps," said another man, who had come out of the house and +was letting the horse out of the shafts. + +"If we was on the rise o' the hill yonder we could see the Confedick +camps, couldn't we, Isaiah?" asked Mary's guide. + +"Easy," said that prophet. "I heer 'em to-day two, three times, plain, +cheerin' at somethin'." + + * * * + +About the middle of that night Mary Richling was sitting very still and +upright on a large dark horse that stood champing his Mexican bit in the +black shadow of a great oak. Alice rested before her, fast asleep +against her bosom. Mary held by the bridle another horse, whose naked +saddle-tree was empty. A few steps in front of her the light of the full +moon shone almost straight down upon a narrow road that just there +emerged from the shadow of woods on either side, and divided into a main +right fork and a much smaller one that curved around to Mary's left. Off +in the direction of the main fork the sky was all aglow with camp-fires. +Only just here on the left there was a cool and grateful darkness. + +She lifted her head alertly. A twig crackled under a tread, and the next +moment a man came out of the bushes at the left, and without a word took +the bridle of the led horse from her fingers and vaulted into the +saddle. The hand that rested a moment on the cantle as he rose grasped a +"navy-six." He was dressed in dull homespun but he was the same who had +been dressed in blue. He turned his horse and led the way down the +lesser road. + +"If we'd of gone three hundred yards further," he whispered, falling +back and smiling broadly, "we'd 'a' run into the pickets. I went nigh +enough to see the videttes settin' on their hosses in the main road. +This here aint no road; it just goes up to a nigger quarters. I've got +one o' the niggers to show us the way." + +"Where is he?" whispered Mary; but, before her companion could answer, a +tattered form moved from behind a bush a little in advance and started +ahead in the path, walking and beckoning. Presently they turned into a +clear, open forest and followed the long, rapid, swinging stride of the +negro for nearly an hour. Then they halted on the bank of a deep, narrow +stream. The negro made a motion for them to keep well to the right when +they should enter the water. The white man softly lifted Alice to his +arms, directed and assisted Mary to kneel in her saddle, with her skirts +gathered carefully under her, and so they went down into the cold +stream, the negro first, with arms outstretched above the flood; then +Mary, and then the white man,--or, let us say plainly the spy,--with the +unawakened child on his breast. And so they rose out of it on the +farther side without a shoe or garment wet save the rags of their dark +guide. + +Again they followed him, along a line of stake-and-rider fence, with the +woods on one side and the bright moonlight flooding a field of young +cotton on the other. Now they heard the distant baying of house-dogs, +now the doleful call of the chuck-will's-widow; and once Mary's blood +turned, for an instant, to ice, at the unearthly shriek of the hoot-owl +just above her head. At length they found themselves in a dim, narrow +road, and the negro stopped. + +"Dess keep dish yeh road fo' 'bout half mile an' you strak 'pon the +broad, main road. Tek de right, an' you go whah yo' fancy tek you." + +"Good-by," whispered Mary. + +"Good-by, miss," said the negro, in the same low voice; "good-by, boss; +don't you fo'git you promise tek me thoo to de Yankee' when you come +back. I 'feered you gwine fo'git it, boss." + +The spy said he would not, and they left him. The half-mile was soon +passed, though it turned out to be a mile and a half, and at length +Mary's companion looked back, as they rode single file, with Mary in the +rear, and said softly, "There's the road," pointing at its broad, pale +line with his six-shooter. + +As they entered it and turned to the right, Mary, with Alice again +in her arms, moved somewhat ahead of her companion, her indifferent +horsemanship having compelled him to drop back to avoid a prickly bush. +His horse was just quickening his pace to regain the lost position when +a man sprang up from the ground on the farther side of the highway, +snatched a carbine from the earth and cried, "Halt!" + +The dark, recumbent forms of six or eight others could be seen, +enveloped in their blankets, lying about a few red coals. Mary turned a +frightened look backward and met the eyes of her companion. + +"Move a little faster," said he, in a low, clear voice. As she promptly +did so she heard him answer the challenge. His horse trotted softly +after hers. + +"Don't stop us, my friend; we're taking a sick child to the doctor." + +"Halt, you hound!" the cry rang out; and as Mary glanced back three +or four men were just leaping into the road. But she saw, also, her +companion, his face suffused with an earnestness that was almost an +agony, rise in his stirrups, with the stoop of his shoulders all gone, +and wildly cry:-- + +"Go!" + +She smote the horse and flew. Alice awoke and screamed. + +"Hush, my darling!" said the mother, laying on the withe; "mamma's here. +Hush, darling!--mamma's here. Don't be frightened, darling baby! O God, +spare my child!" and away she sped. + +The report of a carbine rang out and went rolling away in a thousand +echoes through the wood. Two others followed in sharp succession, and +there went close by Mary's ear the waspish whine of a minie-ball. At the +same moment she recognized, once,--twice,--thrice,--just at her back +where the hoofs of her companion's horse were clattering,--the tart +rejoinders of his navy-six. + +"Go!" he cried again. "Lay low! lay low! cover the child!" But his words +were needless. With head bowed forward and form crouched over the +crying, clinging child, with slackened rein and fluttering dress, and +sun-bonnet and loosened hair blown back upon her shoulders, with lips +compressed and silent prayers, Mary was riding for life and liberty and +her husband's bedside. + +"O mamma! mamma!" wailed the terrified little one. + +"Go on! Go on!" cried the voice behind; "they're saddling--up! Go! go! +We're goin' to make it. We're goin' to _make_ it! Go-o-o!" + +Half an hour later they were again riding abreast, at a moderate gallop. +Alice's cries had been quieted, but she still clung to her mother in a +great tremor. Mary and her companion conversed earnestly in the subdued +tone that had become their habit. + +"No, I don't think they followed us fur," said the spy. "Seem like +they's jess some scouts, most likely a-comin' in to report, feelin' +pooty safe and sort o' takin' it easy and careless; 'dreamin' the happy +hours away,' as the felleh says. I reckon they sort o' believed my +story, too, the little gal yelled so sort o' skilful. We kin slack up +some more now; we want to get our critters lookin' cool and quiet ag'in +as quick as we kin, befo' we meet up with somebody." They reined into a +gentle trot. He drew his revolver, whose emptied chambers he had already +refilled. "D'd you hear this little felleh sing, 'Listen to the +mockin'-bird'?" + +"Yes," said Mary; "but I hope it didn't hit any of them." + +He made no reply. + +"Don't you?" she asked. + +He grinned. + +"D'you want a felleh to wish he was a bad shot?" + +"Yes," said Mary, smiling. + +"Well, seein' as you're along, I do. For they wouldn't give us up so +easy if I'd a hit one. Oh,--mine was only sort o' complimentary +shots,--much as to say, 'Same to you, gents,' as the felleh says." + +Mary gave him a pleasant glance by way of courtesy, but was busy calming +the child. The man let his weapon into its holster under his homespun +coat and lapsed into silence. He looked long and steadily at the small +feminine figure of his companion. His eyes passed slowly from the knee +thrown over the saddle's horn to the gentle forehead slightly bowed, as +her face sank to meet the uplifted kisses of the trembling child, then +over the crown and down the heavy, loosened tresses that hid the +sun-bonnet hanging back from her throat by its strings and flowed on +down to the saddle-bow. His admiring eyes, grave for once, had made the +journey twice before he noticed that the child was trying to comfort the +mother, and that the light of the sinking moon was glistening back from +Mary's falling tears. + +"Better let me have the little one," he said, "and you sort o' fix up a +little, befo' we happen to meet up with somebody, as I said. It's lucky +we haven't done it already." + +A little coaxing prevailed with Alice, and the transfer was made. Mary +turned away her wet eyes, smiling for shame of them, and began to coil +her hair, her companion's eye following. + +"Oh, you aint got no business to be ashamed of a few tears. I knowed you +was a good soldier, befo' ever we started; I see' it in yo' eye. Not as +I want to be complimentin' of you jess now. 'I come not here to talk,' +as they used to say in school. D'd you ever hear that piece?" + +"Yes," said Mary. + +"That's taken from Romans, aint it?" + +"No," said Mary again, with a broad smile. + +"I didn't know," said the man; "I aint no brag Bible scholar." He put on +a look of droll modesty. "I used to could say the ten commandments of +the decalogue, oncet, and I still tries to keep 'em, in ginerally. +There's another burnt house. That's the third one we done passed inside +a mile. Raiders was along here about two weeks back. Hear that rooster +crowin'? When we pass the plantation whar he is and rise the next hill, +we'll be in sight o' the little town whar we stop for refresh_ments_, as +the railroad man says. You must begin to feel jess about everlastin'ly +wore out, don't you?" + +"No," said Mary; but he made a movement of the head to indicate that he +had his belief to the contrary. + +At an abrupt angle of the road Mary's heart leaped into her throat to +find herself and her companion suddenly face to face with two horsemen +in gray, journeying leisurely toward them on particularly good horses. +One wore a slouched hat, the other a Federal officer's cap. They were +the first Confederates she had ever seen eye to eye. + +"Ride on a little piece and stop," murmured the spy. The strangers +lifted their hats respectfully as she passed them. + +"Gents," said the spy, "good-morning!" He threw a leg over the pommel of +his saddle and the three men halted in a group. One of them copied the +spy's attitude. They returned the greeting in kind. + +"What command do you belong to?" asked the lone stranger. + +"Simmons's battery," said one. "Whoa!"--to his horse. + +"Mississippi?" asked Mary's guardian. + +"Rackensack," said the man in the blue cap. + +"Arkansas," said the other in the same breath. "What is your command?" + +"Signal service," replied the spy. "Reckon I look mighty like a citizen +jess about now, don't I?" He gave them his little laugh of +self-depreciation and looked toward Mary, where she had halted and was +letting her horse nip the new grass of the roadside. + +"See any troops along the way you come?" asked the man in the hat. + +"No; on'y a squad o' fellehs back yonder who was all unsaddled and fast +asleep, and jumped up worse scared'n a drove o' wile hogs. We both sort +o' got a little mad and jess swapped a few shots, you know, kind o' tit +for tat, as it were. Enemy's loss unknown." He stooped more than ever in +the shoulders, and laughed. The men were amused. "If you see 'em, I'd +like you to mention me"-- He paused to exchange smiles again. "And +tell 'em the next time they see a man hurryin' along with a lady and +sick child to see the doctor, they better hold their fire till they sho +he's on'y a citizen." He let his foot down into the stirrup again and +they all smiled broadly. "Good-morning!" The two parties went their +ways. + +"Jess as leave not of met up with them two buttermilk rangers," said the +spy, once more at Mary's side; "but seein' as thah we was the oniest +thing was to put on all the brass I had." + +From the top of the next hill the travellers descended into a village +lying fast asleep, with the morning star blazing over it, the cocks +calling to each other from their roosts, and here and there a light +twinkling from a kitchen window, or a lazy axe-stroke smiting the +logs at a wood-pile. In the middle of the village one lone old man, +half-dressed, was lazily opening the little wooden "store" that +monopolized its commerce. The travellers responded to his silent bow, +rode on through the place, passed over and down another hill, met an +aged negro, who passed on the roadside, lifting his forlorn hat and +bowing low; and, as soon as they could be sure they had gone beyond his +sight and hearing, turned abruptly into a dark wood on the left. Twice +again they turned to the left, going very warily through the deep +shadows of the forest, and so returned half around the village, seeing +no one. Then they stopped and dismounted at a stable-door, on the +outskirts of the place. The spy opened it with a key from his own +pocket, went in and came out again with a great armful of hay, which he +spread for the horses' feet to muffle their tread, led them into the +stable, removed the hay again, and closed and locked the door. + +"Make yourself small," he whispered, "and walk fast." They passed by a +garden path up to the back porch and door of a small unpainted cottage. +He knocked, three soft, measured taps. + +"Day's breakin'," he whispered again, as he stood with Alice asleep in +his arms, while somebody was heard stirring within. + +"Sam?" said a low, wary voice just within the unopened door. + +"Sister," softly responded the spy, and the door swung inward, and +revealed a tall woman, with an austere but good face, that could just be +made out by the dim light of a tallow candle shining from the next room. +The travellers entered and the door was shut. + +"Well," said the spy, standing and smiling foolishly, and bending +playfully in the shoulders, "well, Mrs. Richlin',"--he gave his hand a +limp wave abroad and smirked,--"'In Dixie's land you take yo' stand.' +This is it. You're in it!--Mrs. Richlin', my sister; sister, Mrs. +Richlin'." + +"Pleased to know ye," said the woman, without the faintest ray of +emotion. "Take a seat and sit down." She produced a chair bottomed with +raw-hide. + +"Thank you," was all Mary could think of to reply as she accepted the +seat, and "Thank you" again when the woman brought a glass of water. The +spy laid Alice on a bed in sight of Mary in another chamber. He came +back on tiptoe. + +"Now, the next thing is to git you furder south. Wust of it is that, +seein' as you got sich a weakness fur tellin' the truth, we'll jess have +to sort o' slide you along fum one Union man to another; sort o' hole +fass what I give ye, as you used to say yourself, I reckon. But you've +got one strong holt." His eye went to his sister's, and he started away +without a word, and was presently heard making a fire, while the woman +went about spreading a small table with cold meats and corn-bread, milk +and butter. Her brother came back once more. + +"Yes," he said to Mary, "you've got one mighty good card, and that's it +in yonder on the bed. 'Humph!' folks'll say; 'didn't come fur with that +there baby, sho!'" + +"I wouldn't go far without her," said Mary, brightly. + +"_I_ say," responded the hostess, with her back turned, and said no +more. + +"Sister," said the spy, "we'll want the buggy." + +"All right," responded the sister. + +"I'll go feed the hosses," said he, and went out. In a few minutes he +returned. "Joe must give 'em a good rubbin' when he comes, sister," he +said. + +"All right," replied the woman, and then turning to Mary, "Come." + +"What, ma'm?" + +"Eat." She touched the back of a chair. "Sam, bring the baby." She stood +and waited on the table. + +Mary was still eating, when suddenly she rose up, saying:-- + +"Why, where is Mr. ----, your brother?" + +"He's gone to take a sleep outside," said his sister. "It's too resky +for him to sleep in a house." + +She faintly smiled, for the first time, at the end of this long speech. + +"But," said Mary, "oh, I haven't uttered a word of thanks. What will he +think of me?" + +She sank into her chair again with an elbow on the table, and looked up +at the tall standing figure on the other side, with a little laugh of +mortification. + +"You kin thank God," replied the figure. "_He_ aint gone." Another ghost +of a smile was seen for a moment on the grave face. "Sam aint thinkin' +about that. You hurry and finish and lay down and sleep, and when you +wake up he'll be back here ready, to take you along furder. That's a +healthy little one. She wants some more buttermilk. Give it to her. If +she don't drink it the pigs'll git it, as the ole woman says.... Now you +better lay down on the bed in yonder and go to sleep. Jess sort o' +loosen yo' cloze; don't take off noth'n' but dress and shoes. You +needn't be afeard to sleep sound; I'm goin' to keep a lookout." + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + +DIXIE. + + +In her sleep Mary dreamed over again the late rencontre. Again she heard +the challenging outcry, and again was lashing her horse to his utmost +speed; but this time her enemy seemed too fleet for her. He overtook--he +laid his hand upon her. A scream was just at her lips, when she awoke +with a wild start, to find the tall woman standing over her, and bidding +her in a whisper rise with all stealth and dress with all speed. + +"Where's Alice?" asked Mary. "Where's my little girl?" + +"She's there. Never mind her yit, till you're dressed. Here; not them +cloze; these here homespun things. Make haste, but don't get excited." + +"How long have I slept?" asked Mary, hurriedly obeying. + +"You couldn't 'a' more'n got to sleep. Sam oughtn't to have shot back at +'em. They're after 'im, hot; four of 'em jess now passed through on the +road, right here past my front gate." + +"What kept them back so long?" asked Mary, tremblingly attempting to +button her dress in the back. + +"Let me do that," said the woman. "They couldn't come very fast; had to +kind o' beat the bushes every hundred yards or so. If they'd of been +more of 'em they'd a-come faster, 'cause they'd a-left one or two behind +at each turn-out, and come along with the rest. There; now that there +hat, there, on the table." As Mary took the hat the speaker stepped to a +window and peeped into the early day. A suppressed exclamation escaped +her. "O you poor boy!" she murmured. Mary sprang toward her, but the +stronger woman hurried her away from the spot. + +"Come; take up the little one 'thout wakin' her. Three more of 'em's +a-passin'. The little young feller in the middle reelin' and swayin' in +his saddle, and t'others givin' him water from his canteen." + +"Wounded?" asked Mary, with a terrified look, bringing the sleeping +child. + +"Yes, the last wound he'll ever git, I reckon. Jess take the baby, so. +Sam's already took her cloze. He's waitin' out in the woods here behind +the house. He's got the critters down in the hollow. Now, here! This +here bundle's a ridin'-skirt. It's not mournin', but you mustn't mind. +It's mighty green and cottony-lookin', but--anyhow, you jess put it on +when you git into the woods. Now it's good sun-up outside. The way you +must do--you jess keep on the lef' side o' me, close, so as when I jess +santer out e-easy todes the back gate you'll be hid from all the other +houses. Then when we git to the back gate I'll kind o' stand like I was +lookin' into the pig-pen, and you jess slide away on a line with me into +the woods, and there'll be Sam. No, no; take your hat off and sort o' +hide it. Now; you ready?" + +Mary threw her arms around the woman's neck and kissed her passionately. + +"Oh, don't stop for that!" said the woman, smiling with an awkward +diffidence. "Come!" + + * * * + +"What is the day of the month?" asked Mary of the spy. + +They had been riding briskly along a mere cattle-path in the woods for +half an hour, and had just struck into an old, unused road that promised +to lead them presently into and through some fields of cotton. Alice, +slumbering heavily, had been, little by little, dressed, and was now in +the man's arms. As Mary spoke they slackened pace to a quiet trot, and +crossed a broad highway nearly at right angles. + +"That would 'a' been our road with the buggy," said the man, "if we +could of took things easy." They were riding almost straight away from +the sun. His dress had been changed again, and in a suit of new, dark +brown homespun wool, over a pink calico shirt and white cuffs and +collar, he presented the best possible picture of spruce gentility that +the times would justify. "'What day of the month,' did you ask? _I_'ll +never tell you, but I know it's Friday." + +"Then it's the eighteenth," said Mary. + +They met an old negro driving three yoke of oxen attached to a single +empty cart. + +"Uncle," said the spy, "I don't reckon the boss will mind our sort o' +ridin' straight thoo his grove, will he?" + +"Not 'tall, boss; on'y dess be so kyine an' shet de gates behine you, +sah." + +They passed those gates and many another, shutting them faithfully, and +journeying on through miles of fragrant lane and fields of young cotton +and corn, and stretches of wood where the squirrel scampered before them +and reaches of fallow grounds still wet with dew, and patches of sedge, +and old fields grown up with thickets of young trees; now pushing their +horses to a rapid gallop, where they were confident of escaping notice, +and now ambling leisurely, where the eyes of men afield, or of women at +home, followed them with rustic scrutiny; or some straggling +Confederate soldier on foot or in the saddle met them in the way. + +"How far must we go before we can stop?" asked Mary. + +"Jess as far's the critters'll take us without showin' distress." + +"South is out that way, isn't it?" she asked again, pointing off to the +left. + +"Look here," said the spy, with a look that was humorous, but not only +humorous. + +"What?" + +"Two or three times last night, and now ag'in, you gimme a sort o' +sneakin' notion you don't trust me," said he. + +"Oh!" exclaimed she, "I do! Only I'm so anxious to be going south." + +"Jess so," said the man. "Well, we're goin' sort o' due west right now. +You see we dassent take this railroad anywheres about here,"--they were +even then crossing the track of the Mobile and Ohio Railway--"because +that's jess where they _sho_ to be on the lookout fur us. And I can't +take you straight south on the dirt roads, because I don't know the +country down that way. But this way I know it like your hand knows the +way to your mouth, as the felleh says. Learned it most all sence the war +broke out, too. And so the whole thing is we got to jess keep straight +across the country here till we strike the Mississippi Central." + +"What time will that be?" + +"Time! You don't mean time o' day, do you?" he asked. + +"Yes," said Mary, smiling. + +"Why, we'll be lucky to make it in two whole days. Won't we, Alice!" The +child had waked, and was staring into her mother's face. Mary caressed +her. The spy looked at them silently. The mother looked up, as if to +speak, but was silent. + +"Hello!" said the man, softly; for a tear shone through her smile. +Whereat she laughed. + +"I ought to be ashamed to be so unreasonable," she said. + +"Well, now, I'd like to contradict you for once," responds the spy; "but +the fact is, how kin I, when Noo Orleens is jest about south-west frum +here, anyhow?" + +"Yes," said Mary, pleasantly, "it's between south and south-west." + +The spy made a gesture of mock amazement. + +"Well, you air partickly what you say. I never hear o' but one party +that was more partickly than you. I reckon you never hear' tell o' him, +did you?" + +"Who was he?" asked Mary. + +"Well, I never got his name, nor his habitation, as the felleh says; but +he was so conscientious that when a highwayman attackted him onct, he +wouldn't holla murder nor he wouldn't holla thief, 'cause he wasn't +certain whether the highwayman wanted to kill him or rob him. He was +something like George Washington, who couldn't tell a lie. Did you ever +hear that story about George Washington?" + +"About his chopping the cherry-tree with his hatchet?" asked Mary. + +"Oh, I see you done heard the story!" said the spy, and left it untold; +but whether he was making game of his auditor or not she did not know, +and never found out. But on they went, by many a home; through miles of +growing crops, and now through miles of lofty pine forests, and by +log-cabins and unpainted cottages, from within whose open doors came +often the loud feline growl of the spinning-wheel. So on and on, +Mary spending the first night in a lone forest cabin of pine poles, +whose master, a Confederate deserter, fed his ague-shaken wife and +cotton-headed children oftener with the spoils of his rifle than with +the products of the field. The spy and the deserter lay down together, +and together rose again with the dawn, in a deep thicket, a few hundred +yards away. + +The travellers had almost reached the end of this toilsome horseback +journey, when rains set in, and, for forty-eight hours more, swollen +floods and broken bridges held them back, though within hearing of the +locomotive's whistle. + +But at length, one morning, Mary stepped aboard the train that had not +long before started south from the town of Holly Springs, Mississippi, +assisted with decorous alacrity by the conductor, and followed by the +station-agent with Alice in his arms, and by the telegraph-operator +with a home-made satchel or two of luggage and luncheon. It was +disgusting,--to two thin, tough-necked women, who climbed aboard, +unassisted, at the other end of the same coach. + +"You kin just bet she's a widder, and them fellers knows it," said one +to the other, taking a seat and spitting expertly through the window. + +"If she aint," responded the other, putting a peeled snuff-stick into +her cheek, "then her husband's got the brass buttons, and they knows +that. Look at 'er a-smi-i-ilin'!" + +"What you reckon makes her look so wore out?" asked the first. And the +other replied promptly, with unbounded loathing, "Dayncin'," and sent +her emphasis out of the window in liquid form without disturbing her +intervening companion. + +During the delay caused by the rain Mary had found time to refit her +borrowed costume. Her dress was a stout, close-fitting homespun of mixed +cotton and wool, woven in a neat plaid of walnut-brown, oak-red, and the +pale olive dye of the hickory. Her hat was a simple round thing of woven +pine straw, with a slightly drooping brim, its native brown gloss +undisturbed, and the low crown wrapped about with a wreath of wild +grasses plaited together with a bit of yellow cord. Alice wore a +much-washed pink calico frock and a hood of the same stuff. + +"Some officer's wife," said two very sweet and lady-like persons, of +unequal age and equal good taste in dress, as their eyes took an +inventory of her apparel. They wore bonnets that were quite handsome, +and had real false flowers and silk ribbons on them. + +"Yes, she's been to camp somewhere to see him." + +"Beautiful child she's got," said one, as Alice began softly to smite +her mother's shoulder for private attention, and to whisper gravely as +Mary bent down. + +Two or three soldiers took their feet off the seats, and one of them, at +the amiably murmured request of the conductor, put his shoes on. + +"The car in front is your car," said the conductor to another man, in +especially dirty gray uniform. + +"You kin hev it," said the soldier, throwing his palm open with an air +of happy extravagance, and a group of gray-headed "citizens," just +behind, exploded a loud country laugh. + +"D' I onderstaynd you to lafe at me, saw?" drawled the soldier, turning +back with a pretence of heavy gloom on his uncombed brow. + +"Laughin' at yo' friend yondeh," said one of the citizens, grinning and +waving his hand after the departing conductor. + +"'Caze if you lafe at me again, saw,"--the frown deepened,--"I'll thess +go 'ight straight out iss caw."[3] + + [3] Out of this car. + +The laugh that followed this dreadful threat was loud and general, the +victims laughing loudest of all, and the soldier smiling about benignly, +and slowly scratching his elbows. Even the two ladies smiled. Alice's +face remained impassive. She looked twice into her mother's to see if +there was no smile there. But the mother smiled at her, took off her +hood and smoothed back the fine gold, then put the hood on again, and +tied its strings under the upstretched chin. + +Presently Alice pulled softly at the hollow of her mother's elbow. + +"Mamma--mamma!" she whispered. Mary bowed her ear. The child gazed +solemnly across the car at another stranger, then pulled the mother's +arm again, "That man over there--winked at me." + +And thereupon another man, sitting sidewise on the seat in front, and +looking back at Alice, tittered softly, and said to Mary, with a raw +drawl:-- + +"She's a-beginnin' young." + +"She means some one on the other side," said Mary, quite pleasantly, and +the man had sense enough to hush. + +The jest and the laugh ran to and fro everywhere. It seemed very strange +to Mary to find it so. There were two or three convalescent wounded men +in the car, going home on leave, and they appeared never to weary of the +threadbare joke of calling their wounds "furloughs." There was one +little slip of a fellow--he could hardly have been seventeen--wounded in +the hand, whom they kept teazed to the point of exasperation by urging +him to confess that he had shot himself for a furlough, and of whom +they said, later, when he had got off at a flag station, that he was the +bravest soldier in his company. No one on the train seemed to feel that +he had got all that was coming to him until the conductor had exchanged +a jest with him. The land laughed. On the right hand and on the left it +dimpled and wrinkled in gentle depressions and ridges, and rolled away +in fields of young corn and cotton. The train skipped and clattered +along at a happy-go-lucky, twelve-miles-an-hour gait, over trestles +and stock-pits, through flowery cuts and along slender, rain-washed +embankments where dewberries were ripening, and whence cattle ran down +and galloped off across the meadows on this side and that, tails up and +heads down, throwing their horns about, making light of the screaming +destruction, in their dumb way, as the people made light of the war. At +stations where the train stopped--and it stopped on the faintest +excuse--a long line of heads and gray shoulders was thrust out of the +windows of the soldiers' car, in front, with all manner of masculine +head-coverings, even bloody handkerchiefs; and woe to the negro or +negress or "citizen" who, by any conspicuous demerit or excellence of +dress, form, stature, speech, or bearing, drew the fire of that line! No +human power of face or tongue could stand the incessant volley of stale +quips and mouldy jokes, affirmative, interrogative, and exclamatory, +that fell about their victim. + +At one spot, in a lovely natural grove, where the air was spiced with +the gentle pungency of the young hickory foliage, the train paused a +moment to let off a man in fine gray cloth, whose yellow stripes and one +golden star on the coat-collar indicated a major of cavalry. It seemed +as though pandemonium had opened. Mules braying, negroes yodling, axes +ringing, teamsters singing, men shouting and howling, and all at +nothing; mess-fires smoking all about in the same hap-hazard, but +roomy, disorder in which the trees of the grove had grown; the railroad +side lined with a motley crowd of jolly fellows in spurs, and the +atmosphere between them and the line of heads in the car-windows murky +with the interchange of compliments that flew back and forth from the +"web-foots"[4] to the "critter company," and from the "critter company" +to the "web-foots." As the train moved off, "I say, boys," drawled a +lank, coatless giant on the roadside, with but one suspender and one +spur, "tha-at's right! Gen'l Beerygyard told you to strike fo' yo' +homes, an' I see you' a-doin' it ez fass as you kin git thah." And the +"citizens" in the rear car-windows giggled even at that; while the +"web-foots" he-hawed their derision, and the train went on, as one might +say, with its hands in its pockets, whooping and whistling over the +fields--after the cows; for the day was declining. + + [4] Infantry. + +Mary was awed. As she had been forewarned to do, she tried not to seem +unaccustomed to, or out of harmony with, all this exuberance. But there +was something so brave in it, coming from a people who were playing a +losing game with their lives and fortunes for their stakes; something so +gallant in it, laughing and gibing in the sight of blood, and smell of +fire, and shortness of food and raiment, that she feared she had +betrayed a stranger's wonder and admiration every time the train +stopped, and the idlers of the station platform lingered about her +window and silently paid their ungraceful but complimentary tribute of +simulated casual glances. + +For, with all this jest, it was very plain there was but little joy. It +was not gladness; it was bravery. It was the humor of an invincible +spirit--the gayety of defiance. She could easily see the grim +earnestness beneath the jocund temper, and beneath the unrepining smile +the privation and the apprehension. What joy there was, was a martial +joy. The people were confident of victory at last,--a victorious end, +whatever might lie between, and of even what lay between they would +confess no fear. Richmond was safe, Memphis safer, New Orleans safest. +Yea, notwithstanding Porter and Farragut were pelting away at Forts +Jackson and St. Philip. Indeed, if the rumor be true, if Farragut's +ships had passed those forts, leaving Porter behind, then the Yankee +sea-serpent was cut in two, and there was an end of him in that +direction. Ha! ha! + +"Is to-day the twenty-sixth?" asked Mary, at last, of one of the ladies +in real ribbons, leaning over toward her. + +"Yes, ma'am." + +It was the younger one who replied. As she did so she came over and sat +by Mary. + +"I judge, from what I heard your little girl asking you, that you are +going beyond Jackson." + +"I'm going to New Orleans." + +"Do you live there?" The lady's interest seemed genuine and kind. + +"Yes. I am going to join my husband there." + +Mary saw by the reflection in the lady's face that a sudden gladness +must have overspread her own. + +"He'll be mighty glad, I'm sure," said the pleasant stranger, patting +Alice's cheek, and looking, with a pretty fellow-feeling, first into the +child's face and then into Mary's. + +"Yes, he will," said Mary, looking down upon the curling locks at her +elbow with a mother's happiness. + +"Is he in the army?" asked the lady. + +Mary's face fell. + +"His health is bad," she replied. + +"I know some nice people down in New Orleans," said the lady again. + +"We haven't many acquaintances," rejoined Mary, with a timidity that was +almost trepidation. Her eyes dropped, and she began softly to smooth +Alice's collar and hair. + +"I didn't know," said the lady, "but you might know some of them. For +instance, there's Dr. Sevier." + +Mary gave a start and smiled. + +"Why, is he your friend too?" she asked. She looked up into the lady's +quiet, brown eyes and down again into her own lap, where her hands had +suddenly knit together, and then again into the lady's face. "We have no +friend like Dr. Sevier." + +"Mother," called the lady softly, and beckoned. The senior lady leaned +toward her. "Mother, this lady is from New Orleans and is an intimate +friend of Dr. Sevier." + +The mother was pleased. + +"What might one call your name?" she asked, taking a seat behind Mary +and continuing to show her pleasure. + +"Richling." + +The mother and daughter looked at each other. They had never heard the +name before. + +Yet only a little while later the mother was saying to Mary,--they were +expecting at any moment to hear the whistle for the terminus of the +route, the central Mississippi town of Canton:-- + +"My dear child, no! I couldn't sleep to-night if I thought you was all +alone in one o' them old hotels in Canton. No, you must come home with +us. We're barely two mile' from town, and we'll have the carriage ready +for you bright and early in the morning, and our coachman will put you +on the cars just as nice--Trouble?" She laughed at the idea. "No; I tell +you what would trouble me,--that is, if we'd allow it; that'd be for you +to stop in one o' them hotels all alone, child, and like' as not some +careless servant not wake you in time for the cars to-morrow." At this +word she saw capitulation in Mary's eyes. "Come, now, my child, we're +not going to take no for an answer." + +Nor did they. + +But what was the result? The next morning, when Mary and Alice stood +ready for the carriage, and it was high time they were gone, the +carriage was not ready; the horses had got astray in the night. And +while the black coachman was on one horse, which he had found and +caught, and was scouring the neighboring fields and lanes and meadows +in search of the other, there came out from townward upon the still, +country air the long whistle of the departing train; and then the +distant rattle and roar of its far southern journey began, and then +its warning notes to the scattering colts and cattle. + +"Look away!"--it seemed to sing--"Look away!"--the notes fading, +failing, on the ear,--"away--away--away down south in Dixie,"--the last +train that left for New Orleans until the war was over. + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + +FIRE AND SWORD. + + +The year the war began dates also, for New Orleans, the advent of two +better things: street-cars and the fire-alarm telegraph. The frantic +incoherence of the old alarum gave way to the few solemn, numbered +strokes that called to duty in the face of hot danger, like the electric +voice of a calm commander. The same new system also silenced, once for +all, the old nine-o'clock gun. For there were not only taps to signify +each new fire-district,--one for the first, two for the second, three, +four, five, six seven, eight, and nine,--but there was also one lone +toll at mid-day for the hungry mechanic, and nine at the evening hour +when the tired workman called his children in from the street and turned +to his couch, and the slave must show cause in a master's handwriting +why he or she was not under that master's roof. + +And then there was one signal more. Fire is a dreadful thing, and all +the alarm signals were for fire except this one. Yet the profoundest +wish of every good man and tender women in New Orleans, when this +pleasing novelty of electro-magnetic warnings was first published for +the common edification, was that mid-day or midnight, midsummer or +midwinter, let come what might of danger or loss or distress, that one +particular signal might not sound. Twelve taps. Anything but that. + +Dr. Sevier and Richling had that wish together. They had many wishes +that were greatly at variance the one's from the other's. The Doctor +had struggled for the Union until the very smoke of war began to rise +into the sky; but then he "went with the South." He was the only one in +New Orleans who knew--whatever some others may have suspected--that +Richling's heart was on the other side. Had Richling's bodily strength +remained, so that he could have been a possible factor, however small, +in the strife, it is hard to say whether they could have been together +day by day and night by night, as they came to be when the Doctor took +the failing man into his own home, and have lived in amity, as they did. +But there is this to be counted; they were both, though from different +directions, for peace, and their gentle forbearance toward each other +taught them a moderation of sentiment concerning the whole great issue. +And, as I say, they both together held the one longing hope that, +whatever war should bring of final gladness or lamentation, the steeples +of New Orleans might never toll--twelve. + +But one bright Thursday April morning, as Richling was sitting, half +dressed, by an open window of his room in Dr. Sevier's house, leaning on +the arm of his soft chair and looking out at the passers on the street, +among whom he had begun to notice some singular evidences of excitement, +there came from a slender Gothic church-spire that was highest of all in +the city, just beyond a few roofs in front of him, the clear, sudden, +brazen peal of its one great bell. + +"Fire," thought Richling; and yet, he knew not why, wondered where Dr. +Sevier might be. He had not seen him that morning. A high official had +sent for him at sunrise and he had not returned. + +"Clang," went the bell again, and the softer ding--dang--dong of others, +struck at the same instant, came floating in from various distances. +And then it clanged again--and again--and again--the loud one near, +the soft ones, one by one, after it--six, seven, eight, nine--ah! +stop there! stop there! But still the alarm pealed on; ten--alas! +alas!--eleven--oh, oh, the women and children!--twelve! And then the +fainter, final asseverations of the more distant bells--twelve! twelve! +twelve!--and a hundred and seventy thousand souls knew by that sign that +the foe had passed the forts. New Orleans had fallen. + +Richling dressed himself hurriedly and went out. Everywhere drums were +beating to arms. Couriers and aides-de-camp were galloping here and +there. Men in uniform were hurrying on foot to this and that rendezvous. +Crowds of the idle and poor were streaming out toward the levee. +Carriages and cabs rattled frantically from place to place; men ran +out-of-doors and leaped into them and leaped out of them and sprang up +stair-ways; hundreds of all manner of vehicles, fit and unfit to carry +passengers and goods, crowded toward the railroad depots and steam-boat +landings; women ran into the streets wringing their hands and holding +their brows; and children stood in the door-ways and gate-ways and +trembled and called and cried. + +Richling took the new Dauphine street-car. Far down in the Third +district, where there was a silence like that of a village lane, he +approached a little cottage painted with Venetian red, setting in its +garden of oranges, pomegranates, and bananas, and marigolds, and +coxcombs behind its white paling fence and green gate. + +The gate was open. In it stood a tall, strong woman, good-looking, rosy, +and neatly dressed. That she was tall you could prove by the gate, and +that she was strong, by the graceful muscularity with which she held +two infants,--pretty, swarthy little fellows, with joyous black eyes, +and evidently of one age and parentage,--each in the hollow of a fine, +round arm. There was just a hint of emotional disorder in her shining +hair and a trace of tears about her eyes. As the visitor drew near, a +fresh show of distressed exaltation was visible in the slight play of +her form. + +"Ah! Mr. Richlin'," she cried, the moment he came within hearing, "'the +dispot's heels is on our shores!'" Tears filled her eyes again. Mike, +the bruiser, in his sixth year, who had been leaning backward against +her knees and covering his legs with her skirts, ran forward and clasped +the visitor's lower limbs with the nerve and intention of a wrestler. +Kate followed with the cherubs. They were Raphael's. + +"Yes, it's terrible," said Richling. + +"Ah! no, Mr. Richlin'," replied Kate, lifting her head proudly as she +returned with him toward the gate, "it's outrageouz; but it's not +terrible. At least it's not for me, Mr. Richlin'. I'm only Mrs. Captain +Ristofalah; and whin I see the collonels' and gin'r'ls' ladies +a-prancin' around in their carridges I feel my _humility_; but it's my +djuty to be _brave_, sur! An' I'll help to _fight_ thim, sur, if the min +can't do ud. Mr. Richlin', my husband is the intimit frind of Gin'r'l +Garrybaldy, sur! I'll help to burrin the cittee, sur!--rather nor give +ud up to thim vandjals! Come in, Mr. Richlin'; come in." She led the way +up the narrow shell-walk. "Come 'n, sur, it may be the last time ye' do +ud before the flames is leppin' from the roof! Ah! I knowed ye'd come. I +was a-lookin' for ye. I knowed _ye'd_ prove yerself that frind in need +that he's the frind indeed! Take a seat an' sit down." She faced about +on the vine-covered porch, and dropped into a rocking-chair, her eyes +still at the point of overflow. "But ah! Mr. Richlin', where's all thim +flatterers that fawned around uz in the days of tytled prosperity?" + +Richling said nothing; he had not seen any throngs of that sort. + +"Gone, sur! and it's a relief; it's a relief, Mr. Richlin'!" She +marshalled the twins on her lap, Carlo commanding the right, Francisco +the left. + +"You mustn't expect too much of them," said Richling, drawing Mike +between his knees, "in such a time of alarm and confusion as this." And +Kate responded generously:-- + +"Well, I suppose you're right, sur." + +"I've come down," resumed the visitor, letting Mike count off "Rich man, +poor man, beggar man, thief," on the buttons of his coat, "to give you +any help I can in getting ready to leave town. For you mustn't think of +staying. It isn't possible to be anything short of dreadful to stay in a +city occupied by hostile troops. It's almost certain the Confederates +will try to hold the city, and there may be a bombardment. The city may +be taken and retaken half-a-dozen times before the war is over." + +"Mr. Richlin'," said Kate, with a majestic lifting of the hand, "I'll +nivver rin away from the Yanks." + +"No, but you must _go_ away from them. You mustn't put yourself in such +a position that you can't go to your husband if he needs you, Mrs. +Ristofalo; don't get separated from him." + +"Ah! Mr. Richlin', it's you as has the right to say so; and I'll do as +you say. Mr. Richlin', my husband"--her voice trembled--"may be wounded +this hour. I'll go, sur, indeed I will; but, sur, if Captain Raphael +Ristofalah wor _here_, sur, he'd be ad the _front_, sur, and Kate +Ristofalah would be at his galliant side!" + +"Well, then, I'm glad he's not here," rejoined Richling, "for I'd have +to take care of the children." + +"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Kate. "No, sur! I'd take the lion's whelps with +me, sur! Why, that little Mike theyre can han'le the dthrum-sticks to +beat the felley in the big hat!" And she laughed again. + +They made arrangements for her and the three children to go "out +into the confederacy" within two or three days at furthest; as soon +as she and her feeble helper could hurry a few matters of business to +completion at and about the Picayune Tier. Richling did not get back to +the Doctor's house until night had fallen and the sky was set aglare by +seven miles' length of tortuous harbor front covered with millions' +worth of burning merchandise. The city was being evacuated. + +Dr. Sevier and he had but few words. Richling was dejected from +weariness, and his friend weary with dejections. + +"Where have you been all day?" asked the Doctor, with a touch of +irritation. + +"Getting Kate Ristofalo ready to leave the city." + +"You shouldn't have left the house; but it's no use to tell you +anything. Has she gone?" + +"No." + +"Well, in the name of common-sense, then, when is she going?" + +"In two or three days," replied Richling, almost in retort. + +The Doctor laughed with impatience. + +"If you feel responsible for her going get her off by to-morrow +afternoon at the furthest." He dropped his tired head against the back +of his chair. + +"Why," said Richling, "I don't suppose the fleet can fight its way +through all opposition and get here short of a week." + +The Doctor laid his long fingers upon his brow and rolled his head from +side to side. Then, slowly raising it:-- + +"Well, Richling!" he said, "there must have been some mistake made when +you was put upon the earth." + +Richling's thin cheek flushed. The Doctor's face confessed the bitterest +resentment. + +"Why, the fleet is only eighteen miles from here now." He ceased, and +then added, with sudden kindness of tone, "I want you to do something +for me, will you?" + +"Yes." + +"Well, then, go to bed; I'm going. You'll need every grain of strength +you've got for to-morrow. I'm afraid then it will not be enough. This is +an awful business, Richling." + +They went upstairs together. As they were parting at its top Richling +said:-- + +"You told me a few days ago that if the city should fall, which we +didn't expect"-- + +"That I'd not leave," said the Doctor. "No; I shall stay. I haven't the +stamina to take the field, and I can't be a runaway. Anyhow, I couldn't +take you along. You couldn't bear the travel, and I wouldn't go and +leave you here, Richling--old fellow!" + +He laid his hand gently on the sick man's shoulder, who made no +response, so afraid was he that another word would mar the perfection of +the last. + +When Richling went out the next morning the whole city was in an ecstasy +of rage and terror. Thousands had gathered what they could in their +hands, and were flying by every avenue of escape. Thousands ran hither +and thither, not knowing where or how to fly. He saw the wife and son +of the silver-haired banker rattling and bouncing away toward one of the +railway depots in a butcher's cart. A messenger from Kate by good chance +met him with word that she would be ready for the afternoon train of the +Jackson Railroad, and asking anew his earliest attention to her +interests about the lugger landing. + +He hastened to the levee. The huge, writhing river, risen up above the +town, was full to the levee's top, and, as though the enemy's fleet was +that much more than it could bear, was silently running over by a +hundred rills into the streets of the stricken city. + +As far as the eye could reach, black smoke, white smoke, brown smoke, +and red flames rolled and spread, and licked and leaped, from unnumbered +piles of cotton bales, and wooden wharves, and ships cut adrift, and +steam-boats that blazed like shavings, floating down the harbor as they +blazed. He stood for a moment to see a little revenue cutter,--a pretty +topsail schooner,--lying at the foot of Canal street, sink before his +eyes into the turbid yellow depths of the river, scuttled. Then he +hurried on. Huge mobs ran to and fro in the fire and smoke, howling, +breaking, and stealing. Women and children hurried back and forth like +swarms of giant ants, with buckets and baskets, and dippers and bags, +and bonnets, hats, petticoats, anything,--now empty, and now full of +rice and sugar and meal and corn and syrup,--and robbed each other, and +cursed and fought, and slipped down in pools of molasses, and threw live +pigs and coops of chickens into the river, and with one voiceless rush +left the broad levee a smoking, crackling desert, when some shells +exploded on a burning gunboat, and presently were back again like a +flock of evil birds. + +It began to rain, but Richling sought no shelter. The men he was in +search of were not to be found. But the victorious ships, with bare +black arms stretched wide, boarding nettings up, and the dark muzzles of +their guns bristling from their sides, came, silently as a nightmare, +slowly around the bend at Slaughterhouse Point and moved up the middle +of the harbor. At the French market he found himself, without +forewarning, witness of a sudden skirmish between some Gascon and +Sicilian market-men, who had waved a welcome to the fleet, and some +Texan soldiers who resented the treason. The report of a musket rang +out, a second and third reechoed it, a pistol cracked, and another, +and another; there was a rush for cover; another shot, and another, +resounded in the market-house, and presently in the street beyond. Then, +in a moment, all was silence and emptiness, into which there ventured +but a single stooping, peeping Sicilian, glancing this way and that, +with his finger on trigger, eager to kill, gliding from cover to cover, +and presently gone again from view, leaving no human life visible nearer +than the swarming mob that Richling, by mounting a pile of ship's +ballast, could see still on the steam-boat landing, pillaging in the +drenching rain, and the long fleet casting anchor before the town in +line of battle. + +Late that afternoon Richling, still wet to the skin, amid pushing and +yelling and the piping calls of distracted women and children, and +scuffling and cramming in, got Kate Ristofalo, trunks, baskets, and +babes, safely off on the cars. And when, one week from that day, the +sound of drums, that had been hushed for a while, fell upon his ear +again,--no longer the jaunty rataplan of Dixie's drums, but the heavy, +monotonous roar of the conqueror's at the head of his dark-blue +columns,--Richling could not leave his bed. + +Dr. Sevier sat by him and bore the sound in silence. As it died away and +ceased, Richling said:-- + +"May I write to Mary?" + +Then the Doctor had a hard task. + +"I wrote for her yesterday," he said. "But, Richling, I--don't think +she'll get the letter." + +"Do you think she has already started?" asked the sick man, with glad +eagerness. + +"Richling, I did the best I knew how"-- + +"Whatever you did was all right, Doctor." + +"I wrote to her months ago, by the hand of Ristofalo. He knows she got +the letter. I'm afraid she's somewhere in the Confederacy, trying to get +through. I meant it for the best, my dear boy." + +"It's all right, Doctor," said the invalid; but the physician could see +the cruel fact slowly grind him. + +"Doctor, may I ask one favor?" + +"One or a hundred, Richling." + +"I want you to let Madame Zenobie come and nurse me." + +"Why, Richling, can't I nurse you well enough?" + +The Doctor was jealous. + +"Yes," answered the sick man. "But I'll need a good deal of attention. +She wants to do it. She was here yesterday, you knew. She wanted to ask +you, but was afraid." + +His wish was granted. + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + +ALMOST IN SIGHT. + + +In St. Tammany Parish, on the northern border of Lake Ponchartrain, +about thirty miles from New Orleans, in a straight line across the +waters of the lake, stood in time of the war, and may stand yet, an old +house, of the Creole colonial fashion, all of cypress from sills to +shingles, standing on brick pillars ten feet from the ground, a wide +veranda in front, and a double flight of front steps running up to it +sidewise and meeting in a balustraded landing at its edge. Scarcely +anything short of a steamer's roof or a light-house window could have +offered a finer stand-point from which to sweep a glass round the +southern semi-circle of water and sky than did this stair-landing; and +here, a long ship's-glass in her hands, and the accustomed look of care +on her face, faintly frowning against the glare of noonday, stood Mary +Richling. She still had on the pine-straw hat, and the skirt--stirring +softly in a breeze that had to come around from the north side of the +house before it reached her--was the brown and olive homespun. + +"No use," said an old, fat, and sun-tanned man from his willow chair on +the veranda behind her. There was a slight palsied oscillation in his +head. He leaned forward somewhat on a staff, and as he spoke his entire +shapeless and nearly helpless form quaked with the effort. But Mary, for +all his advice, raised the glass and swung it slowly from east to west. + +The house was near the edge of a slightly rising ground, close to the +margin of a bayou that glided around toward the left from the woods at +its back, and ran, deep and silent, under the shadows of a few huge, +wide-spreading, moss-hung live-oaks that stood along its hither shore, +laving their roots in its waters, and throwing their vast green images +upon its glassy surface. As the dark stream slipped away from these it +flashed a little while in the bright open space of a marsh, and, just +entering the shade of a spectral cypress wood, turned as if to avoid it, +swung more than half about, and shone sky-blue, silver, and green as it +swept out into the unbroken sunshine of the prairie. + +It was over this flowery savanna, broadening out on either hand, and +spreading far away until its bright green margin joined, with the +perfection of a mosaic, the distant blue of the lake, that Mary, +dallying a moment with hope, passed her long glass. She spoke with it +still raised and her gaze bent through it:-- + +"There's a big alligator crossing the bayou down in the bend." + +"Yes," said the aged man, moving his flat, carpet-slippered feet a +laborious inch; "alligator. Alligator not goin' take you 'cross lake. No +use lookin'. 'Ow Peter goin' come when win' dead ahead? Can't do it." + +Yet Mary lifted the glass a little higher, beyond the green, beyond the +crimpling wavelets of the nearer distance that seemed drawn by the +magical lens almost into her hand, out to the fine, straight line that +cut the cool blue below from the boundless blue above. Round swung the +glass, slowly, waveringly, in her unpractised hand, from the low cypress +forests of Manchac on the west, to the skies that glittered over the +unseen marshes of the Rigolets on the farthest east. + +"You see sail yondeh?" came the slow inquiry from behind. + +"No," said Mary, letting the instrument down, and resting it on the +balustrade. + +"Humph! No! Dawn't I tell you is no use look?" + +"He was to have got here three days ago," said Mary, shutting the glass +and gazing in anxious abstraction across the prairie. + +The Spanish Creole grunted. + +"When win' change, he goin' start. He dawn't start till win' change. +Win' keep ligue dat, he dawn't start 't all." He moved his orange-wood +staff an inch, to suit the previous movement of his feet, and Mary came +and laid the glass on its brackets in the veranda, near the open door of +a hall that ran through the dwelling to another veranda in the rear. + +In the middle of the hall a small woman, as dry as the peppers that hung +in strings on the wall behind her, sat in a rush-bottomed rocking-chair +plaiting a palmetto hat, and with her elbow swinging a tattered manilla +hammock, in whose bulging middle lay Alice, taking her compulsory +noonday nap. Mary came, expressed her thanks in sprightly whispers, +lifted the child out, and carried her to a room. How had Mary got here? + +The morning after that on which she had missed the cars at Canton she +had taken a south-bound train for Camp Moore, the camp of the forces +that had evacuated New Orleans, situated near the railway station of +Tangipahoa, some eighty miles north of the captured city. Thence, after +a day or two of unavoidable delay, and of careful effort to know the +wisest step, she had taken stage,--a crazy ambulance,--with some others, +two women, three children, and an old man, and for two days had +travelled through a beautiful country of red and yellow clays and +sands below and murmuring pines above,--vast colonnades of towering, +branchless brown columns holding high their green, translucent roof, and +opening up their wide, bright, sunshot vistas of gentle, grassy hills +that undulated far away under the balsamic forest, and melted at length +into luminous green unity and deer-haunted solitudes. Now she went down +into richer bottom-lands, where the cotton and corn were growing tall +and pretty to look upon, like suddenly grown girls, and the sun was +beginning to shine hot. Now she passed over rustic bridges, under posted +warnings to drive slow or pay a fine, or through sandy fords across +purling streams, hearing the monotone of some unseen mill-dam, or +scaring the tall gray crane from his fishing, or the otter from his +pranks. Again she went up into leagues of clear pine forest, with stems +as straight as lances; meeting now a farmer, and now a school-girl or +two, and once a squad of scouts, ill-mounted, worse clad, and yet more +sorrily armed; bivouacking with the jolly, tattered fellows, Mary and +one of the other women singing for them, and the "boys" singing for +Mary, and each applauding each about the pine-knot fire, and the women +and children by and by lying down to slumber, in soldier fashion, with +their feet to the brands, under the pines and the stars, while the +gray-coats stood guard in the wavering fire-light; but Mary lying broad +awake staring at the great constellation of the Scorpion, and thinking +now of him she sought, and now remorsefully of that other scout, that +poor boy whom the spy had shot far away yonder to the north and +eastward. Now she rose and journeyed again. Rare hours were those for +Alice. They came at length into a low, barren land, of dwarfed and +scrawny pines, with here and there a marshy flat; thence through a +narrow strip of hickories, oaks, cypresses, and dwarf palmetto, and so +on into beds of white sand and oyster-shells, and then into one of the +villages on the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain. + +Her many little adventures by the way, the sayings and doings and +seeings of Alice, and all those little adroitnesses by which Mary from +time to time succeeded in avoiding or turning aside the suspicions +that hovered about her, and the hundred times in which Alice was her +strongest and most perfect protection, we cannot pause to tell. But we +give a few lines to one matter. + +Mary had not yet descended from the ambulance at her journey's end; +she and Alice only were in it; its tired mules were dragging it slowly +through the sandy street of the village, and the driver was praising +the milk, eggs, chickens, and genteel seclusion of Mrs. ----'s +"hotel," at that end of the village toward which he was driving, when a +man on horseback met them, and, in passing, raised his hat to Mary. The +act was only the usual courtesy of the highway; yet Mary was startled, +disconcerted, and had to ask the unobservant, loquacious driver to +repeat what he had said. Two days afterward Mary was walking at the +twilight hour, in a narrow, sandy road, that ran from the village out +into the country to the eastward. Alice walked beside her, plying her +with questions. At a turn of the path, without warning, she confronted +this horseman again. He reined up and lifted his hat. An elated look +brightened his face. + +"It's all fixed," he said. But Mary looked distressed, even alarmed. + +"You shouldn't have done this," she replied. + +The man waved his hand downward repressively, but with a countenance +full of humor. + +"Hold on. It's _still_ my deal. This is the last time, and then I'm +done. Make a spoon or spoil a horn, you know. When you commence to do a +thing, do it. Them's the words that's inscribed on my banner, as the +felleh says; only I, Sam, aint got much banner. And if I sort o' use +about this low country a little while for my health, as it were, and +nibble around sort o' _pro bono p[=u]blico_ takin' notes, why you aint +a-carin', is you? For wherefore shouldest thou?" He put on a yet more +ludicrous look, and spread his hand off at one side, working his +outstretched fingers. + +"Yes," responded Mary, with severe gravity; "I must care. You did finish +at Holly Springs. I was to find the rest of the way as best I could. +That was the understanding. Go away!" She made a commanding gesture, +though she wore a pleading look. He looked grave; but his habitual +grimace stole through his gravity and invited her smile. But she +remained fixed. He gathered the rein and straightened up in the saddle. + +"Yes," she insisted, answering his inquiring attitude; "go! I shall be +grateful to you as long as I live. It wasn't because I mistrusted you that +I refused your aid at Camp Moore or at----that other place on this side. I +don't mistrust you. But don't you see--you must see--it's your duty to +see--that this staying and--and--foll--following--is--is--wrong." She +stood, holding her skirt in one hand, and Alice's hand in the other, not +upright, but in a slightly shrinking attitude, and as she added once more, +"Go! I implore you--go!" her eyes filled. + +"I will; I'll go," said the man, with a soft chuckle intended for +self-abasement. "I go, thou goest, he goes. 'I'll skedaddle,' as the +felleh says. And yit it do seem to me sorter like,--if my moral sense is +worthy of any consideration, which is doubtful, may be,--seems to me +like it's sort o' jumpin' the bounty for you to go and go back on an +arrangement that's been all fixed up nice and tight, and when it's on'y +jess to sort o' 'jump into the wagon' that's to call for you to-morrow, +sun-up, drove by a nigger boy, and ride a few mile' to a house on the +bayou, and wait there till a man comes with a nice little schooner, and +take you on bode and sail off, and 'good-by, Sally,' and me never in +sight from fust to last, 'and no questions axed.'" + +"I don't reject the arrangement," replied Mary, with tearful +pleasantness. "If you'll do as I say, I'll do as you say; and that will +be final proof to you that I believe you're"--she fell back a step, +laughingly--"'the clean sand!'" She thought the man would have +perpetrated some small antic; but he did not. He did not even smile, but +lifted the rein a little till the horse stepped forward, and, putting +out his hand, said:-- + +"Good-by. You don't need no directions. Jess tell the lady where you' +boardin' that you've sort o' consented to spend a day or two with old +Adrien Sanchez, and get into the wagon when it comes for you." He let go +her hand. "Good-by, Alice." The child looked up in silence and pressed +herself against her mother. "Good-by," said he once more. + +"Good-by," replied Mary. + +His eyes lingered as she dropped her own. + +"Come, Alice," she said, resisting the little one's effort to stoop and +pick a wild-pea blossom, and the mother and child started slowly back +the way they had come. The spy turned his horse, and moved still more +slowly in the opposite direction. But before he had gone many rods he +turned the animal's head again, rode as slowly back, and, beside the +spot where Mary had stood, got down, and from the small imprint of her +shoe in the damp sand took the pea-blossom, which, in turning to +depart, she had unawares trodden under foot. He looked at the small, +crushed thing for a moment, and then thrust it into his bosom; but in a +moment, as if by a counter impulse, drew it forth again, let it flutter +to the ground, following it with his eyes, shook his head with an amused +air, half of defiance and half of discomfiture, turned, drew himself +into the saddle, and with one hand laid upon another on the saddle-bow +and his eyes resting on them in meditation, passed finally out of sight. + + * * * + +Here, then, in this lone old Creole cottage, Mary was tarrying, prisoner +of hope, coming out all hours of the day, and scanning the wide view, +first, only her hand to shade her brow, and then with the old +ship's-glass, Alice often standing by and looking up at this +extraordinary toy with unspoken wonder. All that Mary could tell her of +things seeable through it could never persuade the child to risk her own +eye at either end of it. So Mary would look again and see, out in the +prairie, in the morning, the reed birds, the marsh hen, the blackbirds, +the sparrows, the starlings, with their red and yellow epaulets, rising +and fluttering and sinking again among the lilies and mallows, and the +white crane, paler than a ghost, wading in the grassy shallows. She saw +the ravening garfish leap from the bayou, and the mullet in shining +hundreds spatter away to left and right; and the fisherman and the +shrimp-catcher in their canoes come gliding up the glassy stream, riding +down the water-lilies, that rose again behind and shook the drops from +their crowns, like water-sprites. Here and there, farther out, she saw +the little cat-boats of the neighboring village crawling along the edge +of the lake, taking their timid morning cruises. And far away she saw +the titanic clouds; but on the horizon, no sail. + +In the evening she would see mocking-birds coming out of the savanna and +flying into the live-oaks. A summer duck might dart from the cypresses, +speed across the wide green level, and become a swerving, vanishing +speck on the sky. The heron might come round the bayou's bend, and +suddenly take fright and fly back again. The rattling kingfisher might +come up the stream, and the blue crane sail silently through the purple +haze that hung between the swamp and the bayou. She would see the gulls, +gray and white, on the margin of the lake, the sun setting beyond its +western end, and the sky and water turning all beautiful tints; and +every now and then, low down along the cool, wrinkling waters, passed +across the round eye of the glass the broad, downward-curved wing of the +pelican. But when she ventured to lift the glass to the horizon, she +swept it from east to west in vain. No sail. + +"Dawn't I tell you no use look? Peter dawn't comin' in day-time, nohow." + +But on the fifth morning Mary had hardly made her appearance on the +veranda, and had not ventured near the spy-glass yet, when the old man +said:-- + +"She rain back in swamp las' night; can smell." + +"How do you feel this morning?" asked Mary, facing around from her first +glance across the waters. He did not heed. + +"See dat win'?" he asked, lifting one hand a little from the top of his +staff. + +"Yes," responded Mary, eagerly; "why, it's--hasn't it--changed?" + +"Yes, change' las' night 'fo' went to bed." + +The old man's manner betrayed his contempt for one who could be +interested in such a change, and yet not know when it took place. + +"Why, then," began Mary, and started as if to take down the glass. + +"What you doin'?" demanded its owner. "Better let glass 'lone; fool' wid +him enough." + +Mary flushed, and, with a smile of resentful apology, was about to +reply, when he continued:-- + +"What you want glass for? Dare Peter' schooner--right dare in bayou. +What want glass for? Can't see schooner hundred yard' off 'dout glass?" +And he turned away his poor wabbling head in disgust. + +Mary looked an instant at two bare, rakish, yellow poles showing out +against the clump of cypresses, and the trim little white hull and +apple-green deck from which they sprang, then clasped her hands and ran +into the house. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + +A GOLDEN SUNSET. + + +Dr. Sevier came to Richling's room one afternoon, and handed him a +sealed letter. The postmark was blurred, but it was easy still to read +the abbreviation of the State's name,--Kentucky. It had come by way of +New York and the sea. The sick man reached out for it with avidity from +the large bed in which he sat bolstered up. He tore it open with +unsteady fingers, and sought the signature. + +"It's from a lawyer." + +"An old acquaintance?" asked the doctor. + +"Yes," responded Richling, his eyes glancing eagerly along the lines. +"Mary's in the Confederate lines!--Mary and Alice!" The hand that held +the letter dropped to his lap. "It doesn't say a word about how she got +through!" + +"But _where_ did she get through?" asked the physician. "Whereabouts is +she now?" + +"She got through away up to the eastward of Corinth, Mississippi. +Doctor, she may be within fifty miles of us this very minute! Do you +think they'll give her a pass to come in?" + +"They may, Richling; I hope they will." + +"I think I'd get well if she'd come," said the invalid. But his friend +made no answer. + +A day or two afterward--it was drawing to the close of a beautiful +afternoon in early May--Dr. Sevier came into the room and stood at a +window looking out. Madame Zenobie sat by the bedside softly fanning the +patient. Richling, with his eyes, motioned her to retire. She smiled and +nodded approvingly, as if to say that that was just what she was about +to propose, and went out, shutting the door with just sound enough to +announce her departure to Dr. Sevier. + +He came from the window to the bedside and sat down. The sick man looked +at him, with a feeble eye, and said, in little more than a whisper:-- + +"Mary and Alice"-- + +"Yes," said the Doctor. + +"If they don't come to-night they'll be too late." + +"God knows, my dear boy!" + +"Doctor"-- + +"What, Richling?" + +"Did you ever try to guess"-- + +"Guess what, Richling?" + +"_His_ use of my life." + +"Why, yes, my poor boy, I have tried. But I only make out its use to +me." + +The sick man's eye brightened. + +"Has it been?" + +The Doctor nodded. He reached out and took the wasted hand in his. It +tried to answer his pressure. The invalid spoke. + +"I'm glad you told me that before--before it was too late." + +"Are you, my dear boy? Shall I tell you more?" + +"Yes," the sick man huskily replied; "oh, yes." + +"Well, Richling,--you know we're great cowards about saying such things; +it's a part of our poor human weakness and distrust of each other, and +the emptiness of words,--but--lately--only just here, very lately, I've +learned to call the meekest, lovingest One that ever trod our earth, +Master; and it's been your life, my dear fellow, that has taught me." He +pressed the sick man's hand slowly and tremulously, then let it go, but +continued to caress it in a tender, absent way, looking on the floor as +he spoke on. + +"Richling, Nature herself appoints some men to poverty and some to +riches. God throws the poor upon our charge--in mercy to _us_. Couldn't +he take care of them without us if he wished? Are they not his? It's +easy for the poor to feel, when they are helped by us, that the rich are +a godsend to them; but they don't see, and many of their helpers don't +see, that the poor are a godsend to the rich. They're set over against +each other to keep pity and mercy and charity in the human heart. If +every one were entirely able to take care of himself we'd turn to +stone." The speaker ceased. + +"Go on," whispered the listener. + +"That will never be," continued the Doctor. "God Almighty will never let +us find a way to quite abolish poverty. Riches don't always bless the +man they come to, but they bless the world. And so with poverty; and +it's no contemptible commission, Richling, to be appointed by God to +bear that blessing to mankind which keeps its brotherhood universal. +See, now,"--he looked up with a gentle smile,--"from what a distance he +brought our two hearts together. Why, Richling, the man that can make +the rich and poor love each other will make the world happier than it +has ever been since man fell!" + +"Go on," whispered Richling. + +"No," said the Doctor. + +"Well, now, Doctor--_I_ want to say--something." The invalid spoke with +a weak and broken utterance, with many breaks and starts that we may set +aside. + +"For a long time," he said, beginning as if half in soliloquy, "I +couldn't believe I was coming to this early end, simply because I +didn't see why I should. I know that was foolish. I thought my +hardships"-- He ceased entirely, and, when his strength would +allow, resumed:-- + +"I thought they were sent in order that when I should come to fortune I +might take part in correcting some evils that are strangely overlooked." + +The Doctor nodded, and, after a moment of rest, Richling said again:-- + +"But now I see--that is not my work. May be it is Mary's. May be it's my +little girl's." + +"Or mine," murmured the Doctor. + +"Yes, Doctor, I've been lying here to-day thinking of something I never +thought of before, though I dare say you have, often. There could be no +art of healing till the earth was full of graves. It is by shipwreck +that we learn to build ships. All our safety--all our betterment--is +secured by our knowledge of others' disasters that need not have +happened had they only _known_. Will you--finish my mission?" The sick +man's hand softly grasped the hand that lay upon it. And the Doctor +responded:-- + +"How shall I do that, Richling?" + +"Tell my story." + +"But I don't know it all, Richling." + +"I'll tell you all that's behind. You know I'm a native of Kentucky. +My name is not Richling. I belong to one of the proudest, most +distinguished families in that State or in all the land. Until I married +I never knew an ungratified wish. I think my bringing-up, not to be +wicked, was as bad as could be. It was based upon the idea that I was +always to be master, and never servant. I was to go through life with +soft hands. I was educated to know, but not to do. When I left school +my parents let me travel. They would have let me do anything except +work. In the West--in Milwaukee--I met Mary. It was by mere chance. She +was poor, but cultivated and refined; trained--you know--for knowing, +not doing. I loved her and courted her, and she encouraged my suit, +under the idea, you know, again,"--he smiled faintly and sadly,--"that +it was nobody's business but ours. I offered my hand and was accepted. +But, when I came to announce our engagement to my family, they warned me +that if I married her they would disinherit and disown me." + +"What was their reason, Richling?" + +"Nothing." + +"But, Richling, they had a reason of some sort." + +"Nothing in the world but that Mary was a Northern girl. Simple +sectional prejudice. I didn't tell Mary. I didn't think they would do +it; but I knew Mary would refuse to put me to the risk. We married, and +they carried out their threat." + +The Doctor uttered a low exclamation, and both were silent. + +"Doctor," began the sick man once more. + +"Yes, Richling." + +"I suppose you never looked into the case of a man who needed help, but +you were sure to find that some one thing was the key to all his +troubles; did you?" + +The Doctor was silent again. + +"I'll give you the key to mine, Doctor: I took up the gage thrown down +by my family as though it were thrown down by society at large. I said I +would match pride with pride. I said I would go among strangers, take a +new name, and make it as honorable as the old. I saw Mary didn't think +it wise; but she believed whatever I did was best, and"--he smiled and +whispered--"I thought so too. I suppose my troubles have more than one +key; but that's the outside one. Let me rest a little. + +"Doctor, I die nameless. I had a name, a good name, and only too proud a +one. It's mine still. I've never tarnished it--not even in prison. I +will not stain it now by disclosing it. I carry it with me to God's +throne." + +The whisperer ceased, exhausted. The Doctor rested an elbow on a knee +and laid his face in his hand. Presently Richling moved, and he raised a +look of sad inquiry. + +"Bury me here in New Orleans, Doctor, will you?" + +"Why, Richling?" + +"Well--this has been--my--battle-ground. I'd like to be buried on the +field,--like the other soldiers. Not that I've been a good one; but--I +want to lie where you can point to me as you tell my story. If it could +be so, I should like to lie in sight--of that old prison." + +The Doctor brushed his eyes with his handkerchief and wiped his brow. + +"Doctor," said the invalid again, "will you read me just four verses in +the Bible?" + +"Why, yes, my boy, as many as you wish to hear." + +"No, only four." His free hand moved for the book that lay on the bed, +and presently the Doctor read:-- + + "'My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers + temptations; + + "'Knowing this, that the trying of your faith worketh patience. + + "'But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be + perfect and entire, wanting nothing. + + "'If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to + all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given + him.'" + +"There," whispered the sick man, and rested with a peaceful look in all +his face. "It--doesn't mean wisdom in general, Doctor,--such as Solomon +asked for." + +"Doesn't it?" said the other, meekly. + +"No. It means the wisdom necessary to let--patience--have her +perf-- I was a long time--getting any where near that. + +"Doctor--do you remember how fond--Mary was of singing--all kinds +of--little old songs?" + +"Of course I do, my dear boy." + +"Did you ever sing--Doctor?" + +"O my dear fellow! I never did really sing, and I haven't uttered a note +since--for twenty years." + +"Can't you sing--ever so softly--just a verse--of--'I'm a Pilgrim'?" + +"I--I--it's impossible, Richling, old fellow. I don't know either the +words or the tune. I never sing." He smiled at himself through his +tears. + +"Well, all right," whispered Richling. He lay with closed eyes for a +moment, and then, as he opened them, breathed faintly through his parted +lips the words, spoken, not sung, while his hand feebly beat the +imagined cadence:-- + + "'The sun shines bright in my old Kentucky home; + 'Tis summer, the darkies are gay; + The corn-tops are ripe, and the meadows are in bloom, + And the birds make music all the day.'" + +The Doctor hid his face in his hands, and all was still. + +By and by there came a whisper again. The Doctor raised his head. + +"Doctor, there's one thing"-- + +"Yes, I know there is, Richling." + +"Doctor,--I've been a poor stick of a husband." + +"I never knew a good one, Richling." + +"Doctor, you'll be a friend to Mary?" + +The Doctor nodded; his eyes were full. + +The sick man drew from his breast a small ambrotype, pressed it to his +lips, and poised it in his trembling fingers. It was the likeness of the +little Alice. He turned his eyes to his friend. + +"I didn't need Mary's. But this is all I've ever seen of my little girl. +To-morrow, at daybreak,--it will be just at daybreak,--when you see that +I've passed, I want you to lay this here on my breast. Then fold my +hands upon it"-- + +His speech was arrested. He seemed to hearken an instant. + +"Doctor," he said, with excitement in his eye and sudden strength of +voice, "what is that I hear?" + +"I don't know," replied his friend; "one of the servants probably down +in the hall." But he, too, seemed to have been startled. He lifted his +head. There was a sound of some one coming up the stairs in haste. + +"Doctor." The Doctor was rising from his chair. + +"Lie still, Richling." + +But the sick man suddenly sat erect. + +"Doctor--it's--O Doctor, I"-- + +The door flew open; there was a low outcry from the threshold, a moan of +joy from the sick man, a throwing wide of arms, and a rush to the +bedside, and John and Mary Richling--and the little Alice, too-- + +Come, Doctor Sevier; come out and close the door. + + * * * + +"Strangest thing on earth!" I once heard a physician say,--"the +mysterious power that the dying so often have to fix the very hour of +their approaching end!" It was so in John Richling's case. It was as he +said. Had Mary and Alice not come when they did, they would have been +too late. He "tarried but a night;" and at the dawn Mary uttered the +bitter cry of the widow, and Doctor Sevier closed the eyes of the one +who had committed no fault,--against this world, at least,--save that he +had been by nature a pilgrim and a stranger in it. + + + + +CHAPTER LIX. + +AFTERGLOW. + + +Mary, with Alice holding one hand, flowers in the other, was walking one +day down the central avenue of the old Girod Cemetery, breaking the +silence of the place only by the soft grinding of her footsteps on the +shell-walk, and was just entering a transverse alley, when she stopped. + +Just at hand a large, broad woman, very plainly dressed, was drawing +back a single step from the front of a tomb, and dropping her hands from +a coarse vase of flowers that she had that moment placed on the narrow +stone shelf under the tablet. The blossoms touched, without hiding, the +newly cut name. She had hung a little plaster crucifix against it from +above. She must have heard the footfall so near by, and marked its +stoppage; but, with the oblivion common to the practisers of her +religion, she took no outward notice. She crossed herself, sank upon her +knees, and with her eyes upon the shrine she had made remained thus. The +tears ran down Mary's face. It was Madame Zenobie. They went and lived +together. + +The name of the street where their house stood has slipped me, as has +that of the clean, unfrequented, round-stoned way up which one looked +from the small cottage's veranda, and which, running down to their old +arched gate, came there to an end, as if that were a pretty place to +stop at in the shade until evening. Grass grows now, as it did then, +between the round stones; and in the towering sycamores of the reddened +brick sidewalk the long, quavering note of the cicada parts the wide +summer noonday silence. The stillness yields to little else, save now +and then the tinkle of a mule-bell, where in the distance the softly +rumbling street-car invites one to the centre of the town's activities, +or the voice of some fowl that, having laid an egg, is asserting her +right to the credit of it. Some forty feet back, within a mossy brick +wall that stands waist-high, surmounted by a white, open fence, the +green wooden balls on top of whose posts are full eight feet above the +sidewalk, the cottage stands high up among a sweet confusion of pale +purple and pink crape myrtles, oleanders white and red, and the +bristling leaves and plumes of white bells of the Spanish bayonet, +all in the shade of lofty magnolias, and one great pecan. + +"And this is little Alice," said Doctor Sevier with gentle gravity, as, +on his first visit to the place, he shook hands with Mary at the top of +the veranda stairs, and laid his fingers upon the child's forehead. He +smiled into her uplifted face as her eyes examined his, and stroked the +little crown as she turned her glance silently upon her mother, as if to +inquire if this were a trustworthy person. Mary led the way to chairs +at the veranda's end where the south breeze fanned them, and Alice +retreated to her mother's side until her silent question should be +settled. + +It was still May. They spoke the praises of the day whose sun was +just setting. And Mary commended the house, the convenience of its +construction, its salubrity; and also, and especially, the excellence +and goodness of Madame Zenobie. What a complete and satisfactory +arrangement! Was it not? Did not the Doctor think so? + +But the Doctor's affirmative responses were unfrequent, and quite +without enthusiasm; and Mary's face, wearing more cheer than was felt +within, betrayed, moreover, the feeling of one who, having done the best +she knew, falls short of commendation. + +She was once more in deep black. Her face was pale, and some of its +lines had yielded up a part of their excellence. The outward curves of +the rose had given place to the inward curves of the lily--nay, hardly +all that; for as she had never had the full red queenliness of the one, +neither had she now the severe sanctitude of the other; that soft glow +of inquiry, at once so blithe and so self-contained, so modest and so +courageous, humble, yet free, still played about her saddened eyes and +in her tones. Through the glistening sadness of those eyes smiled +resignation; and although the Doctor plainly read care about them and +about the mouth, it was a care that was forbearing to feed upon itself, +or to take its seat on her brow. The brow was the old one; that is, the +young. The joy of life's morning was gone from it forever; but a +chastened hope was there, and one could see peace hovering just above +it, as though it might in time alight. Such were the things that divided +her austere friend's attention as she sat before him, seeking, with +timid smiles and interrogative argument, for this new beginning of life +some heartiness of approval from him. + +"Doctor," she plucked up courage to say at last, with a geniality that +scantily hid the inner distress, "you don't seem pleased." + +"I can't say I am, Mary. You've provided for things in sight; but I see +no provision for unseen contingencies. They're sure to come, you know. +How are you going to meet them?" + +"Well," said Mary, with slow, smiling caution, "there's my two thousand +dollars that you've put at interest for me." + +"Why, no; you've already counted the interest on that as part of your +necessary income." + +"Doctor, 'the Lord will provide,' will he not?" + +"No." + +"Why, Doctor!"-- + +"No, Mary; you've got to provide. He's not going to set aside the laws +of nature to cover our improvidence. That would be to break faith with +all creation for the sake of one or two creatures." + +"No; but still, Doctor, without breaking the laws of nature, he will +provide. It's in his word." + +"Yes, and it ought to be in his word--not in ours. It's for him to say +to us, not for us to say to him. But there's another thing, Mary." + +"Yes, sir." + +"It's this. But first I'll say plainly you've passed through the fires +of poverty, and they haven't hurt you. You have one of those +imperishable natures that fire can't stain or warp." + +"O Doctor, how absurd!" said Mary, with bright genuineness, and a tear +in either eye. She drew Alice closer. + +"Well, then, I do see two ill effects," replied the Doctor. "In the +first place, as I've just tried to show you, you have caught a little of +the _recklessness_ of the poor." + +"I was born with it," exclaimed Mary, with amusement. + +"Maybe so," replied her friend; "at any rate you show it." He was +silent. + +"But what is the other?" asked Mary. + +"Why, as to that, I may mistake; but--you seem inclined to settle down +and be satisfied with poverty." + +"Having food and raiment," said Mary, smiling with some archness, "to be +therewith content." + +"Yes, but"--the physician shook his head--"that doesn't mean to be +satisfied. It's one thing to be content with God's providence, and it's +another to be satisfied with poverty. There's not one in a thousand that +I'd venture to say it to. He wouldn't understand the fine difference. +But you will. I'm sure you do." + +"Yes, I do." + +"I know you do. You know poverty has its temptations, and warping +influences, and debasing effects, just as truly as riches have. See how +it narrows our usefulness. Not always, it is true. Sometimes our best +usefulness keeps us poor. That's poverty with a good excuse. But that's +not poverty satisfying, Mary"-- + +"No, of course not," said Mary, exhibiting a degree of distress that the +Doctor somehow overlooked. + +"It's merely," said he, half-extending his open palm,--"it's merely +poverty accepted, as a good soldier accepts the dust and smut that are a +necessary part of the battle. Now, here's this little girl."--As his +open white hand pointed toward Alice she shrank back; but the Doctor +seemed blind this afternoon and drove on.--"In a few years--it will not +seem like any time at all--she'll be half grown up; she'll have wants +that ought to be supplied." + +"Oh! don't," exclaimed Mary, and burst into a flood of tears; and the +Doctor, while she hid them from her child, sat silently loathing his own +stupidity. + +"Please, don't mind it," said Mary, stanching the flow. "You were not so +badly mistaken. I wasn't satisfied, but I was about to surrender." She +smiled at herself and her warlike figure of speech. + +He looked away, passed his hand across his forehead and must have +muttered audibly his self-reproach: for Mary looked up again with a +faint gleam of the old radiance in her face, saying:-- + +"I'm glad you didn't let me do it. I'll not do it. I'll take up the +struggle again. Indeed, I had already thought of one thing I could do, +but I--I--in fact, Doctor, I thought you might not like it." + +"What was it?" + +"It was teaching in the public schools. They're in the hands of the +military government, I am told. Are they not?" + +"Yes." + +"Still," said Mary, speaking rapidly, "I say I'll keep up the"-- + +But the Doctor lifted his hand. + +"No, no. There's to be no more struggle." + +"No?" Mary tried to look pleasantly incredulous. + +"No; and you're not going to be put upon anybody's bounty, either. No. +What I was going to say about this little girl here was this,--her name +is Alice, is it?" + +"Yes." + +The mother dropped an arm around the child, and both she and Alice +looked timidly at the questioner. + +"Well, by that name, Mary, I claim the care of her." + +The color mounted to Mary's brows, but the Doctor raised a finger. + +"I mean, of course, Mary, only in so far as such care can go without +molesting your perfect motherhood, and all its offices and pleasures." + +Her eyes filled again, and her lips parted; but the Doctor was not going +to let her reply. + +"Don't try to debate it, Mary. You must see you have no case. Nobody's +going to take her from you, nor do any other of the foolish things, I +hope, that are so often done in such cases. But you've called her +Alice, and Alice she must be. I don't propose to take care of her for +you"-- + +"Oh, no; of course not," interjected Mary. + +"No," said the Doctor; "you'll take care of her for me. I intended it +from the first. And that brings up another point. You mustn't teach +school. No. I have something else--something better--to suggest. Mary, +you and John have been a kind of blessing to me"-- + +She would have interrupted with expressions of astonishment and dissent, +but he would not hear them. + +"I think I ought to know best about that," he said. "Your husband taught +me a great deal, I think. I want to put some of it into practice. We had +a--an understanding, you might say--one day toward the--end--that I +should do for him some of the things he had so longed and hoped to +do--for the poor and the unfortunate." + +"I know," said Mary, the tears dropping down her face. + +"He told you?" asked the Doctor. + +She nodded. + +"Well," resumed the Doctor, "those may not be his words precisely, but +it's what they meant to me. And I said I'd do it. But I shall need +assistance. I'm a medical practitioner. I attend the sick. But I see a +great deal of other sorts of sufferers; and I can't stop for them." + +"Certainly not," said Mary, softly. + +"No," said he; "I can't make the inquiries and investigations about them +and study them, and all that kind of thing, as one should if one's help +is going to be help. I can't turn aside for all that. A man must have +one direction, you know. But you could look after those things"-- + +"I?" + +"Certainly. You could do it just as I--just as John--would wish to see +it done. You're just the kind of person to do it right." + +"O Doctor, don't say so! I'm not fitted for it at all." + +"I'm sure you are, Mary. You're fitted by character and outward +disposition, and by experience. You're full of cheer"-- + +She tearfully shook her head. But he insisted. + +"You will be--for _his_ sake, as you once said to me. Don't you +remember?" + +She remembered. She recalled all he wished her to: the prayer she had +made that, whenever death should part her husband and her, he might not +be the one left behind. Yes, she remembered; and the Doctor spoke +again:-- + +"Now, I invite you to make this your principal business. I'll pay you +for it, regularly and well, what I think it's worth; and it's worth no +trifle. There's not one in a thousand that I'd trust to do it, woman +or man; but I know you will do it all, and do it well, without any +nonsense. And if you want to look at it so, Mary, you can just consider +that it's John doing it, all the time; for, in fact, that's just what it +is. It beats sewing, Mary, or teaching school, or making preserves, I +think." + +"Yes," said Mary, looking down on Alice, and stroking her head. + +"You can stay right here where you are, with Madame Zenobie, as you had +planned; but you'll give yourself to this better work. I'll give you a +_carte blanche_. Only one mistake I charge you not to make; don't go and +come from day to day on the assumption that only the poor are poor, and +need counsel and attention." + +"I know that would be a mistake," said Mary. + +"But I mean more than that," continued the Doctor. "You must keep a +hold on the rich and comfortable and happy. You want to be a medium +between the two, identified with both as completely as possible. It's a +hard task, Mary. It will take all your cunning." + +"And more, too," replied she, half-musing. + +"You know," said the Doctor, "I'm not to appear in the matter, of +course; I'm not to be mentioned: that must be one of the conditions." + +Mary smiled at him through her welling eyes. + +"I'm not fit to do it," she said, folding the wet spots of her +handkerchief under. "But still, I'd rather not refuse. If I might try +it, I'd like to do so. If I could do it well, it would be a finer +monument--to _him_"-- + +"Than brass or marble," said Dr. Sevier. "Yes, more to his liking." + +"Well," said Mary again, "if you think I can do it I'll try it." + +"Very well. There's one place you can go to, to begin with, to-morrow +morning, if you choose. I'll give you the number. It's just across here +in Casa Calvo street." + +"Narcisse's aunt?" asked Mary, with a soft gleam of amusement. + +"Yes. Have you been there already?" + +She had; but she only said:-- + +"There's one thing that I'm afraid will go against me, Doctor, almost +everywhere." She lifted a timid look. + +The Doctor looked at her inquiringly, and in his private thought said +that it was certainly not her face or voice. + +"Ah!" he said, as he suddenly recollected. "Yes; I had forgotten. You +mean your being a Union woman." + +"Yes. It seems to me they'll be sure to find it out. Don't you think it +will interfere?" + +The Doctor mused. + +"I forgot that," he repeated and mused again. "You can't blame us, Mary; +we're at white heat"-- + +"Indeed I don't!" said Mary, with eager earnestness. + +He reflected yet again. + +"But--I don't know, either. It may be not as great a drawback as you +think. Here's Madame Zenobie, for instance"-- + +Madame Zenobie was just coming up the front steps from the garden, +pulling herself up upon the veranda wearily by the balustrade. She came +forward, and, with graceful acknowledgment, accepted the physician's +outstretched hand and courtesied. + +"Here's Madame Zenobie, I say; you seem to get along with her." + +Mary smiled again, looked up at the standing quadroon, and replied in a +low voice:-- + +"Madame Zenobie is for the Union herself." + +"Ah! no-o-o!" exclaimed the good woman, with an alarmed face. She lifted +her shoulders and extended what Narcisse would have called the han' of +rep-u-diation; then turned away her face, lifted up her underlip with +disrelish, and asked the surrounding atmosphere,--"What I got to do wid +Union? Nuttin' do wid Union--nuttin' do wid Confederacie!" She moved +away, addressing the garden and the house by turns. "Ah! no!" She went +in by the front door, talking Creole French, until she was beyond +hearing. + +Dr. Sevier reached out toward the child at Mary's knee. Here was one who +was neither for nor against, nor yet a fear-constrained neutral. Mary +pushed her persuasively toward the Doctor, and Alice let herself be +lifted to his lap. + +"I used to be for it myself," he said, little dreaming he would one day +be for it again. As the child sank back into his arm, he noticed a +miniature of her father hanging from her neck. He took it into his +fingers, and all were silent while he looked long upon the face. + +By and by he asked Mary for an account of her wanderings. She gave it. +Many of the experiences, that had been hard and dangerous enough when +she was passing through them, were full of drollery when they came to be +told, and there was much quiet amusement over them. The sunlight faded +out, the cicadas hushed their long-drawn, ear-splitting strains, and the +moon had begun to shine in the shadowy garden when Dr. Sevier at length +let Alice down and rose to take his lonely homeward way, leaving Mary to +Alice's prattle, and, when that was hushed in slumber, to gentle tears +and whispered thanksgivings above the little head. + + + + +CHAPTER LX. + +"YET SHALL HE LIVE." + + +We need not follow Mary through her ministrations. Her office was no +sinecure. It took not only much labor, but, as the Doctor had expected, +it took all her cunning. True, nature and experience had equipped her +for such work; but for all that there was an art to be learned, and time +and again there were cases of mental and moral decrepitude or deformity +that baffled all her skill until her skill grew up to them, which in +some cases it never did. The greatest tax of all was to seem, and to be, +unprofessional; to avoid regarding her work in quantity, and to be +simply, merely, in every case, a personal friend; not to become known as +a benevolent itinerary, but only a kind and thoughtful neighbor. Blessed +word! not benefactor--neighbor! + +She had no schemes for helping the unfortunate by multitude. Possibly on +that account her usefulness was less than it might have been. But I am +not sure; for they say her actual words and deeds were but the seed of +ultimate harvests; and that others, moreover, seeing her light shine so +brightly along this seemingly narrow path, and moved to imitate her, +took that other and broader way, and so both fields were reaped. + +But, I say, we need not follow her steps. They would lead deviously +through ill-smelling military hospitals, and into buildings that had +once been the counting-rooms of Carondelet-street cotton merchants, but +were now become the prisons of soldiers in gray. One of these places, +restored after the war as a cotton factor's counting-room again, had, +until a few years ago, a queer, clumsy patch in the plastering of one +wall, near the base-board. Some one had made a rough inscription on it +with a cotton sampler's marking-brush. It commemorates an incident. Mary +by some means became aware beforehand that this incident was going to +occur; and one of the most trying struggles of conscience she ever had +in her life was that in which she debated with herself one whole night +whether she ought to give her knowledge to others or keep it to herself. +She kept it. In fact, she said nothing until the war was all over and +done, and she never was quite sure whether her silence was right or +wrong. And when she asked Dr. Sevier if he thought she had done wrong, +he asked:-- + +"You knew it was going to take place, and kept silence?" + +"Yes," said Mary. + +"And you want to know whether you did right?" + +"Yes. I'd like to know what you think." + +He sat very straight, and said not a word, nor changed a line of his +face. She got no answer at all. + +The inscription was as follows; I used to see it every work-day of the +week for years--it may be there yet--190 Common street, first flight, +back office: + + [Illustration: + Oct 14 1864 + 17 Confederate + Prisoners escaped + Through this hole] + +But we move too fast. Let us go back into the war for a moment longer. +Mary pursued her calling. The most of it she succeeded in doing in a +very sunshiny way. She carried with her, and left behind her, cheer, +courage, hope. Yet she had a widow's heart, and whenever she took a +widow's hand in hers, and oftentimes, alone or against her sleeping +child's bedside, she had a widow's tears. But this work, or these +works,--she made each particular ministration seem as if it were the +only one,--these works, that she might never have had the opportunity to +perform had her nest-mate never been taken from her, seemed to keep John +near. Almost, sometimes, he seemed to walk at her side in her errands of +mercy, or to spread above her the arms of benediction. And so even the +bitter was sweet, and she came to believe that never before had widow +such blessed commutation. + +One day, a short, slight Confederate prisoner, newly brought in, and +hobbling about the place where he was confined, with a vile bullet-hole +in his foot, came up to her and said:-- + +"Allow me, madam,--did that man call you by your right name, just now?" + +Mary looked at him. She had never seen him before. + +"Yes, sir," she said. + +She could see the gentleman, under much rags and dirt. + +"Are you Mrs. John Richling?" + +A look of dismay came into his face as he asked the grave question. + +"Yes, sir," replied Mary. + +His voice dropped, and he asked, with subdued haste:-- + +"Ith it pothible you're in mourning for him?" + +She nodded. + +It was the little rector. He had somehow got it into his head that +preachers ought to fight, and this was one of the results. Mary went +away quickly, and told Dr. Sevier. The Doctor went to the commanding +general. It was a great humiliation to do so, he thought. There was none +worse, those days, in the eyes of the people. He craved and got the +little man's release on parole. A fortnight later, as Dr. Sevier was +sitting at the breakfast table, with the little rector at its opposite +end, he all at once rose to his full attenuated height, with a frown and +then a smile, and, tumbling the chair backward behind him, exclaimed:-- + +"Why, Laura!"--for it was that one of his two gay young nieces who stood +in the door-way. The banker's wife followed in just behind, and was +presently saying, with the prettiest heartiness, that Dr. Sevier looked +no older than the day they met the Florida general at dinner years +before. She had just come in from the Confederacy, smuggling her son of +eighteen back to the city, to save him from the conscript officers, and +Laura had come with her. And when the clergyman got his crutches into +his armpits and stood on one foot, and he and Laura both blushed as they +shook hands, the Doctor knew that she had come to nurse her wounded +lover. That she might do this without embarrassment, they got married, +and were thereupon as vexed with themselves as they could be under the +circumstances that they had not done it four or five years before. Of +course there was no parade; but Dr. Sevier gave a neat little dinner. +Mary and Laura were its designers; Madame Zenobie was the master-builder +and made the gumbo. One word about the war, whose smoke was over all the +land, would have spoiled the broth. But no such word was spoken. + +It happened that the company was almost the same as that which had sat +down in brighter days to that other dinner, which the banker's wife +recalled with so much pleasure. She and her husband and son were guests; +also that Sister Jane, of whom they had talked, a woman of real goodness +and rather unrelieved sweetness; also her sister and bankrupted +brother-in-law. The brother-in-law mentioned several persons who, he +said, once used to be very cordial to him and his wife, but now did not +remember them; and his wife chid him, with the air of a fellow-martyr; +but they could not spoil the tender gladness of the occasion. + +"Well, Doctor," said the banker's wife, looking quite the old lady now, +"I suppose your lonely days are over, now that Laura and her husband are +to keep house for you." + +"Yes," said the Doctor. + +But the very thought of it made him more lonely than ever. + +"It's a very pleasant and sensible arrangement," said the lady, looking +very practical and confidential; "Laura has told me all about it. It's +just the thing for them and for you." + +"I think so, ma'am," replied Dr. Sevier, and tried to make his statement +good. + +"I'm sure of it," said the lady, very sweetly and gayly, and made a +faint time-to-go beckon with a fan to her husband, to whom, in the +farther drawing-room, Laura and Mary stood talking, each with an arm +about the other's waist. + + + + +CHAPTER LXI + +PEACE. + + +It came with tears. But, ah! it lifted such an awful load from the +hearts even of those who loved the lost cause. Husbands snatched +their wives once more to their bosoms, and the dear, brave, swarthy, +rough-bearded, gray-jacketed boys were caught again in the wild arms +of mothers and sisters. Everywhere there was glad, tearful kissing. +Everywhere? Alas for the silent lips that remained unkissed, and the +arms that remained empty! And alas for those to whom peace came too +suddenly and too soon! Poor Narcisse! + +His salary still continues. So does his aunt. + +The Ristofalos came back all together. How delighted Mrs. Colonel +Ristofalo--I say Mrs. _Colonel_ Ristofalo--was to see Mary! And how +impossible it was, when they sat down together for a long talk, to avoid +every moment coming back to the one subject of "him." + +"Yes, ye see, there bees thim as is _called_ col-o-nels, whin in fact +they bees only _liftinent_ col-o-nels. Yes. But it's not so wid him. And +he's no different from the plain Raphael Ristofalah of eight year +ago--the same perfict gintleman that he was when he sold b'iled eggs!" + +And the colonel's "lady" smiled a gay triumph that gave Mary a new +affection for her. + +Sister Jane bowed to the rod of an inscrutable Providence. She could not +understand how the Confederacy could fail, and justice still be justice; +so, without understanding, she left it all to Heaven, and clung to +her faith. Her brother-in-law never recovered his fortunes nor his +sweetness. He could not bend his neck to the conqueror's yoke; he went +in search of liberty to Brazil--or was it Honduras? Little matter which, +now, for he died there, both he and his wife, just as their faces were +turning again homeward, and it was dawning upon them once more that +there is no land like Dixie in all the wide world over. + +The little rector--thanks, he says, to the skill of Dr. +Sevier!--recovered perfectly the use of his mangled foot, so that he +even loves long walks. I was out walking with him one sunset hour in the +autumn of--if I remember aright--1870, when whom should we spy but our +good Kate Ristofalo, out driving in her family carriage? The cherubs +were beside her,--strong, handsome boys. Mike held the reins; he was but +thirteen, but he looked full three years better than that, and had +evidently employed the best tailor in St. Charles street to fit his +rather noticeable clothes. His mother had changed her mind about his +being a bruiser, though there isn't a doubt he had a Derringer in one or +another of his pockets. No, she was proposing to make him a doctor--"a +surgeon," she said; "and thin, if there bees another war"-- She was +for making every edge cut. + +She did us the honor to stop the carriage, and drive up to the +curb-stone for a little chat. Her spirits were up, for Colonel Ristofalo +had just been made a city councilman by a rousing majority. + +We expressed our regret not to see Raphael himself in the family group +enjoying the exquisite air. + +"Ha, ha! He ride out for pleasure?"--And then, with sudden +gravity,--"Aw, naw, sur! He's too busy. Much use ut is to be married to +a public man! Ah! surs, I'm mighty tired of ut, now I tell ye!" Yet she +laughed again, without betraying much fatigue. "And how's Dr. Sevier?" + +"He's well," said the clergyman. + +"And Mrs. Richling?" + +"She's well, too." + +Kate looked at the little rector out of the corners of her roguish Irish +eyes, a killing look, and said:-- + +"Ye're sure the both o' thim bees well?" + +"Yes, quite well," replied he, ignoring the inane effort at jest. She +nodded a blithe good-day, and rolled on toward the lake, happy as the +harvest weather, and with a kind heart for all the world. We walked on, +and after the walk I dined with the rector. Dr. Sevier's place was +vacant, and we talked of him. The prettiest piece of furniture in the +dining-room was an extremely handsome child's high chair that remained, +unused, against the wall. It was Alice's, and Alice was an almost daily +visitor. It had come in almost simultaneously with Laura's marriage, and +more and more frequently, as time had passed, the waiter had set it up +to the table, at the Doctor's right hand, and lifted Goldenhair into it, +until by and by she had totally outgrown it. But she had not grown out +of the place of favor at the table. In these later days she had become +quite a school-girl, and the Doctor, in his place at the table, would +often sit with a faint, continuous smile on his face that no one could +bring there but her, to hear her prattle about Madame Locquet, and the +various girls at Madame Locquet's school. + + * * * + +"It's actually pathetic," said Laura, as we sat sipping our coffee after +the meal, "to see how he idolizes that child." Alice had just left the +room. + +"Why don't he idolize the child's"--began her husband, in undertone, +and did not have to finish to make us understand. + +"He does," murmured the smiling wife. + +"Then why shouldn't he tell her so?" + +"My dear!" objected the wife, very softly and prettily. + +"I don't mean to speak lightly," responded the husband, "but--they love +each other; they suit each other; they complete each other; they don't +feel their disparity of years; they're both so linked to Alice that it +would break either heart over again to be separated from her. I don't +see why"-- + +Laura shook her head, smiling in the gentle way that only the happy +wives of good men have. + +"It will never be." + + * * * + +What changes! + + "The years creep slowly by"-- + +We seem to hear the old song yet. What changes! Laura has put two more +leaves into her dining-table. Children fill three seats. Alice has +another. It is she, now, not her chair, that is tall--and fair. Mary, +too, has a seat at the same board. This is their home now. Her hair is +turning all to silver. So early? Yes; but she is--she never was--so +beautiful! They all see it--feel it; Dr. Sevier--the gentle, kind, +straight old Doctor--most of all. And oh! when they two, who have never +joined hands on this earth, go to meet John and Alice,--which God grant +may be at one and the same time,--what weeping there will be among God's +poor! + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dr. Sevier, by George W. Cable + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DR. 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