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diff --git a/40114.txt b/40114.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 59838a1..0000000 --- a/40114.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17046 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fashion and Famine, by Ann S. Stephens - -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/license - - -Title: Fashion and Famine - -Author: Ann S. Stephens - -Release Date: July 1, 2012 [EBook #40114] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FASHION AND FAMINE *** - - - - -Produced by Roberta Staehlin, Martin Pettit and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber's note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - -FASHION AND FAMINE. - -BY - -MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS. - - - There is no sorrow for the earnest soul - That looketh up to God in perfect faith. - - -TWENTY-FIFTH THOUSAND. - -New York: - -BUNCE & BROTHER, PUBLISHERS, 134 NASSAU STREET. - -MDCCCLIV. - - -ENTERED according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by -MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS, -In the Clerk's Office of the District Court, -for the Southern District of New York. - -Republished in London by RICHARD BENTLEY, through special arrangement -with the Author - -W. H. TINSON, -STEREOTYPER, -24 Beckman Street. - -TAWS, RUSSELL & CO., Printers, -26 Beekman and 18 Spruce St., N. Y. - - - - -To - -MRS. LYDIA H. SIGOURNEY, - -OF HARTFORD, CONN., - -THE MOST VALUED FRIEND THAT I HAVE, - -AND ONE OF THE BEST WOMEN I EVER KNEW, THIS BOOK - -Is Most Respectfully Dedicated. - -ANN S. STEPHENS. - - - - -Preface. - - -What shall I say in this Preface to my book? Shall I make the usual -half-sincere, half-affected apology of haste and inexperience, with -hints of improvement in future efforts? Indeed I cannot, for though this -volume really is the first novel ever printed in book form under my -name, its imperfections, whatever they are, arise from no inexperience -or undue haste, but from absolute lack of power to accomplish that which -I have undertaken. Nor is it probable that the points in which I have -failed here, would be very greatly improved were the same book to be -written again. - -I have endeavored to make this book a good one. If I have failed it is -because the power has not been granted to me by the Source of all power, -and for deficiency like this, the only admissible apology would be for -having written at all. But excuses are out of place here. The book, with -all its faults, is frankly surrendered to the public judgment, asking -neither favoritism or forbearance, save that favoritism which deals -gently with unintentional error, and that forbearance which no American -ever withholds from a woman. Shall I say that this volume is launched on -the world with fear and trembling? That would express an ungrateful want -of faith in a class of readers who have generously sustained me through -years of literary toil, and have nobly supported not only Peterson's -Ladies' National Magazine now under my charge, but every periodical with -which I have been connected. It would be ungrateful to the press that, -without a single respectable exception, has always dealt generously by -me, and would betray a weakness of character which I am not willing to -acknowledge, for I have lived long enough to tremble at nothing which -results from an honest intention, and to fear nothing but deserved -disgrace--the death of beloved objects--or change in those affections -that no literary fame or misfortune can ever reach. - -But it is not without emotions that I present this book to the public, -grateful and sweet emotions that liberal minds must respect more than a -thousand insincere apologies. The thoughts of an author are the perfume -of her own soul going forth on the winds of heaven to awaken other souls -and renew itself in their kindred sympathies. I am more anxious for the -effect which these thoughts, so long a portion of my own being, will -have upon others, than for the return they may bring to myself. The -American people are, in the mass, just and intelligent judges; always -generous and perhaps over-indulgent to their authors. In writing this -book I have endeavored to deserve their approbation and to cast no -discredit upon a profession that I honor more than any other upon the -broad earth. If I have succeeded, no human being can be more grateful -than I shall be for the public opinion that assures me of it; but, to -satisfy even my humble ambition, it must be an opinion honestly earned -and frankly given. Popularity won without merit, and lost without blame, -would be valueless to me, even while it lasted. - -New York, May 22, 1854. - - - - -Contents. - - -CHAPTER PAGE - - I. The Strawberry Girl and Market Woman 9 - - II. The Old Couple in the Back Basement 26 - - III. The Lone Mansion and its Mistress 43 - - IV. The Astor House--the Ride--the Attic Room 54 - - V. Mistress and Servant in Consultation 72 - - VI. The Tempter and the Tempted--the young heart yields 81 - - VII. The Old Homestead and Home Memories 89 - - VIII. The City Cottage and its Strange Inmate 110 - - IX. Mrs. Gray's Thanksgiving Dinner--Julia and Robert 126 - - X. The Brother's Return--Questions and Answers 141 - - XI. The Mother's Letter and the Son's Commentary 158 - - XII. Strife for an Earl--Mrs. Sykes and Mrs. Nash 163 - - XIII. The Morning Lesson--Doubt--Sympathy--Misery 179 - - XIV. A Wedding Foreshadowed--Sunshine of the Heart 187 - - XV. The Mother's Appeal--the Son's Falsehood 194 - - XVI. The Bridal Wreath--Roses and Cypress 211 - - XVII. An Hour before the Ball--Strides of Destiny 222 - - XVIII. The Forged Check--Uncle and Nephew 228 - - XIX. Night and Morning--Wild Heart Strife 234 - - XX. The Last Interview--Parting--Death 251 - - XXI. The City Prison--Examination for Murder 266 - - XXII. The Imprisoned Witness in the Female Ward 282 - - XXIII. The Three Old Women in Fulton Market 299 - - XXIV. The First Night in Prison--Prayers--Tears--Dreams 311 - - XXV. Little Georgie--his Mother and Julia Warren 319 - - XXVI. Mrs. Gray and the Prison Woman 330 - - XXVII. Struggles and Revels--Unquenched Anguish 338 - - XXVIII. Ada Leicester and Jacob Strong 344 - - XXIX. Ada's Solitary Breakfast--Desolation of Heart 350 - - XXX. The Prison Woman in Ada's Dressing-Room 354 - - XXXI. The Tombs Lawyer and his Client Mrs. Gray 366 - - XXXII. The Lawyer's Visit to his Client 372 - - XXXIII. The Trial for Murder--Opening Scenes 380 - - XXXIV. The Two Witnesses--Recognition too Late 388 - - XXXV. The Verdict--Stillness--Death-Shadows 399 - - XXXVI. The Parents, the Child and Grandchild 405 - - XXXVII. The Dawning of Light--Angelic Missions 412 - -XXXVIII. Gathering for the Execution 414 - - XXXIX. Hearts and Consciences at Rest 422 - - - - -FASHION AND FAMINE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -THE STRAWBERRY GIRL. - - Like wild flowers on the mountain side, - Goodness may be of any soil; - Yet intellect, in all its pride, - And energy, with pain and toil, - Hath never wrought a holier thing - Than Charity in humble birth. - God's brightest angel stoops his wing, - To meet so much of Heaven on earth. - - -The morning had not fully dawned on New York, yet its approach was -visible everywhere amid the fine scenery around the city. The dim -shadows piled above Weehawken, were warming up with purple, streaked -here and there with threads of rosy gold. The waters of the Hudson -heaved and rippled to the glow of yellow and crimson light, that came -and went in flashes on each idle curl of the waves. Long Island lay in -the near distance like a thick, purplish cloud, through which the dim -outline of house, tree, mast and spire loomed mistily, like half-formed -objects on a camera obscura. - -Silence--that strange, dead silence that broods over a scene crowded -with slumbering life--lay upon the city, broken only by the rumble of -vegetable carts and the jar of milk-cans, as they rolled up from the -different ferries; or the half-smothered roar of some steamboat putting -into its dock, freighted with sleeping passengers. - -After a little, symptoms of aroused life became visible about the -wharves. Grocers, carmen, and huckster-women began to swarm around the -provision boats. The markets nearest the water were opened, and soon -became theatres of active bustle. - -The first market opened that day was in Fulton street. As the morning -deepened, piles of vegetables, loads of beef, hampers of fruit, heaps of -luscious butter, cages of poultry, canary birds swarming in their wiry -prisons, forests of green-house plants, horse-radish grinders with their -reeking machines, venders of hot coffee, root beer and dough nuts, all -with men, women and children swarming in, over and among them, like so -many ants, hard at work, filled the spacious arena, but late a range of -silent, naked and gloomy looking stalls. Then carts, laden and groaning -beneath a weight of food, came rolling up to this great mart, crowding -each avenue with fresh supplies. All was life and eagerness. Stout men -and bright-faced women moved through the verdant chaos, arranging, -working, chatting, all full of life and enterprise, while the rattling -of carts outside, and the gradual accumulation of sounds everywhere, -bespoke a great city aroused, like a giant refreshed, from slumber. - -Slowly there arose out of this cheerful confusion, forms of homely -beauty, that an artist or a thinking man might have loved to look upon. -The butchers' stalls, but late a desolate range of gloomy beams, were -reddening with fresh joints, many of them festooned with fragrant -branches and gorgeous garden flowers. The butchers standing, each by his -stall, with snow-white apron, and an eager, joyous look of traffic on -his face, formed a display of comfort and plenty, both picturesque and -pleasant to contemplate. - -The fruit and vegetable stands were now loaded with damp, green -vegetables, each humble root having its own peculiar tint, often -arranged with a singular taste for color, unconsciously possessed by the -woman who exercised no little skill in setting off her stand to -advantage. - -There was one vegetable stand to which we would draw the reader's -particular attention; not exactly as a type of the others, for there was -something so unlike all the rest, both in this stall and its occupant, -that it would have drawn the attention of any person possessed of the -slightest artistical taste. It was like the arrangement of a picture, -that long table heaped with fruit, the freshest vegetables, and the -brightest flowers, ready for the day's traffic. Rich scarlet radishes -glowing up through their foliage of tender green, were contrasted with -young onions swelling out from their long emerald stalks, snowy and -transparent as so many great pearls. Turnips, scarcely larger than a -hen's egg, and nearly as white, just taken fresh and fragrant from the -soil, lay against heads of lettuce, tinged with crisp and greenish gold, -piled against the deep blackish green of spinach and water-cresses, all -moist with dew, or wet with bright water-drops that had supplied its -place, and taking a deeper tint from the golden contrast. These with the -red glow of strawberries in their luscious prime, piled together in -masses, and shaded with fresh grape leaves; bouquets of roses, -hyacinths, violets, and other fragrant blossoms, lent their perfume and -the glow of their rich colors to the coarser children of the soil, and -would have been an object pleasant to look upon, independent of the fine -old woman who sat complacently on her little stool, at one end of the -table, in tranquil expectation of customers that were sure to drop in as -the morning deepened. - -And now the traffic of the day commenced in earnest. Servants, -housekeepers and grocers swarmed into the market. The clink of -money--the sound of sharp, eager banter--the dull noise of the butcher's -cleaver, were heard on every hand. It was a pleasant scene, for every -face looked smiling and happy. The soft morning air seemed to have -brightened all things into cheerfulness. - -With the earliest group that entered Fulton market that morning was a -girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old, but tiny in her form, and -appearing far more juvenile than that. A pretty quilted hood, of -rose-colored calico, was turned back from her face, which seemed -naturally delicate and pale; but the fresh air, and perhaps a shadowy -reflection from her hood, gave the glow of a rose-bud to her cheeks. -Still there was anxiety upon her young face. Her eyes of a dark violet -blue, drooped heavily beneath their black and curling lashes, if any one -from the numerous stalls addressed her; for a small splint basket on her -arm, new and perfectly empty, was a sure indication that the child had -been sent to make purchase; while her timid air--the blush that came and -went on her face--bespoke as plainly that she was altogether -unaccustomed to the scene, and had no regular place at which to make her -humble bargains. The child seemed a waif cast upon the market; and she -was so beautiful, notwithstanding her humble dress of faded and darned -calico, that at almost every stand she was challenged pleasantly to -pause and fill her basket. But she only cast down her eyes and blushed -more deeply, as with her little bare feet she hurried on through the -labyrinth of stalls, toward that portion of the market occupied by the -huckster-women. Here she began to slacken her pace, and to look about -her with no inconsiderable anxiety. - -"What do you want, little girl; anything in my way?" was repeated to her -once or twice, as she moved forward. At each of these challenges she -would pause, look earnestly into the face of the speaker, and then pass -on with a faint wave of the head, that expressed something of sad and -timid disappointment. - -At length the child--for she seemed scarcely more than that--was growing -pale, and her eyes turned with a sort of sharp anxiety from one face to -another, when suddenly they fell upon the buxom old huckster-woman, -whose stall we have described. There was something in the good dame's -appearance that brought an eager and satisfied look to that pale face. -She drew close to the stand, and stood for some seconds, gazing timidly -on the old woman. It was a pleasant face, and a comfortable, portly form -enough, that the timid girl gazed upon. Smooth and comely were the full -and rounded cheeks, with their rich autumn color, dimpled like an -over-ripe apple. Fat and good humored enough to defy wrinkles, the face -looked far too rosy for the thick, gray hair that was shaded, not -concealed, by a cap of clear white muslin, with a broad, deep border, -and tabs that met like a snowy girth to support the firm, double chin. -Never did your eyes dwell upon a chin so full of health and good humor -as that. It sloped with a sleek, smiling grace down from the plump -mouth, and rolled with a soft, white wave into the neck, scarcely -leaving an outline, or the want of one, before it was lost in the white -of that muslin kerchief, folded so neatly beneath the ample bosom of her -gown. Then the broad linen apron of blue and white check, girding her -waist, and flowing over the smooth rotundity of person, was a living -proof of the ripeness and wholesome state of her merchandise.--I tell -you, reader, that woman, take her for all in all, was one to draw the -attention, aye, and the love of a child, who had come forth barefooted -and alone in search of kindness. - -At length the huckster-woman saw the child gazing upon her with a look -so earnest, that she was quite startled by it. She also caught a glance -at the empty basket, and her little brown eyes twinkled at the promise -of a new customer. - -"Well, my dear, what do you want this morning?" she said, smoothing her -apron with a pair of plump, little hands, and casting a well satisfied -look over her stall, and then at the girl, who grew pale at her notice, -and began to tremble visibly--"all sorts of vegetables, you -see--flowers--strawberries--radishes--what will you have, child?" - -The little girl crept round to where the woman stood, and speaking in a -low, frightened voice, said-- - -"Please, ma'm, I want you to trust me!" - -"Trust you!" said the woman, with a soft laugh that shook her double -chin, and dimpled her cheeks. "Why, I don't know you, little one--what -on earth do you want trust for? Lost the market money, hey, and afraid -of a scolding--is that it?" - -"No, no, I haven't lost any money," said the child eagerly; "please -ma'm, just stoop down one minute, while I tell you!" - -The little girl in her earnestness took hold of the woman's apron, and -she, kind soul, sunk back to her stool: it was the most comfortable way -of listening. - -"I--I live with grandfather and grandmother, ma'm; they are old and -poor--you don't know how poor; for he, grandpa, has been sick, and--it -seems strange--I eat as much as any of them. Well, ma'm, I tried to get -something to do, but you see how little I am; nobody will think me -strong enough, even to tend baby; so we have all been without anything -to eat, since day before yesterday." - -"Poor thing!" muttered the huckster-woman, "poor thing!" - -"Well, ma'm, I must do something. I can bear anything better than seeing -them hungry. I did not sleep a wink all last night, but kept thinking -what I should do. I never begged in my life; _they_ never did; and it -made me feel sick to think of it; but I could have done it rather than -see them sit and look at each other another day. Did you ever see an old -man cry for hunger, ma'm?" - -"No, no, God forbid!" answered the dame, brushing a plump hand across -her eyes. - -"I have," said the child, with a sob, "and it was this that made me -think that begging, after all, was not so very, very mean. So, this -morning, I asked them to let me go out; but grandpa said he might go -himself, if he were strong enough; but I never should--never--never!" - -"Nice old man--nice old man!" said the huckster-woman. - -"I did not ask again," resumed the child, "for an idea had come into my -head in the night. I have seen little girls, no older than I am, selling -radishes and strawberries, and things." - -"Yes--yes, I understand!" said the old woman, and her eyes began to -twinkle the more brightly that they were wet before. - -"But I had no strawberries to sell, nor a cent of money to buy them -with!" - -"Well! well!" - -"Not even a basket!" - -"Poor thing!" - -"But I was determined to do something. So I went to a grocery, where -grandpa used to buy things when he had money, and they trusted me with -this basket." - -"That was very kind of them!" - -"Wasn't it very kind?" said the child, her eyes brightening, "especially -as I told them it was all myself--that grandpa knew nothing about it. -See what a nice new basket it is--you can't think how much courage it -gave me. When I came into the market it seemed as if I shouldn't be -afraid to ask anybody about trusting me a little." - -"And yet you came clear to this side without stopping to ask anybody?" - -"I was looking into their faces to see if it would do," answered the -child, with meek simplicity, "but there was something in every face that -sent the words back into my throat again." - -"So you stopped here because it was almost the last stand." - -"No, no, I did not think of that," said the child eagerly. "I stopped -because something seemed to tell me that this was the place. I thought -if you would not trust me, you would, any way, be patient and listen." - -The old huckster-woman laughed--a low, soft laugh--and the little girl -began to smile through her tears. There was something mellow and -comfortable in that chuckle, that warmed her to the heart. - -"So you were sure that I would trust you--hey, quite sure?" - -"I thought if you wouldn't, there was no chance for me anywhere else," -replied the child, lifting her soft eyes to the face of the matron. - -Again the old woman laughed. - -"Well, well, let us see how many strawberries will set you up in -business for the day. Six, ten--a dozen baskets--your little arms will -break down with more than that. I will let you have them at cost, only -be sure to come back at night with the money. I would not for fifty -dollars have you fail." - -"But I may not sell them all!" said the child, anxiously. - -"I should not wonder, poor thing. That sweet voice of yours will hardly -make itself heard at first; but never mind, run down into the areas and -look through the windows--people can't help but look at your face, God -bless it!" - -As the good woman spoke, she was busy selecting the best and most -tempting strawberries from the pile of little baskets that stood at her -elbow. These she arranged in the orphan's basket, first sprinkling a -layer of damp, fresh grass in the bottom, and interspersing the whole -with young grape leaves, intended both as an embellishment, and to keep -the fruit fresh and cool. When all was arranged to her satisfaction, she -laid a bouquet of white and crimson moss rose-buds at each end of the -basket, and interspersed little tufts of violets along the side, till -the crimson berries were wreathed in with flowers. - -"There," said the old woman, lifting up the basket with a sigh of -satisfaction, "between the fruit and flowers you must make out. Sell the -berries for sixpence a basket, and the roses for all you can get. People -who love flowers well enough to buy them, never cavil about the price; -just let them pay what they like." - -The little girl took the basket on her arm; her pretty mouth grew -tremulous and bright as the moss rose-bud that blushed against her hand; -her eyes filled with tears. - -"Oh, ma'm, I want to thank you so much, only I don't know how," she -said, in a voice that went to the good woman's heart. - -"There, there!--never mind--be punctual, that's a good girl. Now, my -dear, what is your name?" - -"Julia--Julia Warren, ma'm!" - -"A pretty name--very well--stop a moment, I had forgotten." - -The child sat her basket down upon the stool which the huckster-woman -hastily vacated, and waited patiently while the good dame disappeared in -some unknown region of the market, eager to accomplish an object that -had just presented itself to her mind. - -"Here," she said, coming back with her face all in a glow, a small tin -pail in one hand, and her apron gathered up in the other. "Just leave -the strawberries, and run home with these. It will be a long time for -the old folks to wait, and you will go about the day's work with a -lighter heart, when you know that they have had a breakfast, to say -nothing of yourself, poor thing! There, run along, and be back in no -time." - -Julia took the little tin pail and the rolls that her kind friend -hastily twisted up in a sheet of brown paper. - -"Oh! they will be _so_ glad," broke from her, and with a sob of joy she -sprang away with her precious burden. - -"Well now, Mrs. Gray, you are a strange creature, trusting people like -that, and absolutely laying out money too; I only wonder how you ever -got along at all!" said a little, shrewish woman from a neighboring -stand, who had been watching this scene from behind a heap of -vegetables. - -"Poh! it's my way; and I can afford it," answered the huckster-woman, -rubbing her plump palms together, and twinkling her eyelashes to -disperse the moisture that had gathered under them. "I haven't sat in -this market fourteen years for nothing. The child is a good child, I'll -stake my life on it!" - -"I hope you may never see the pail again, that's all," was the terse -reply. - -"Well, well, I may be wrong--maybe I am--we shall know soon. At any rate -I can afford to lose half a dozen pails, that's one comfort." - -"Always chuckling over the money she has saved up," muttered the little -woman, with a sneer; "for my part I don't believe that she is half as -well off as she pretends to be." - -The conversation was here cut short by several customers, who crowded up -to make their morning purchases. During the next half hour good Mrs. -Gray was so fully occupied, that she had no opportunity for thought of -her protege; but just as she obtained a moment's breathing time, up came -the little girl panting for breath; her cheeks glowing like June roses; -and her eyes sparkling with delight. - -"They have had their breakfast; I told them all about it!" she said, in -a panting whisper, drawing close up to the huckster-woman, and handing -back the empty pail. "I wish you could have seen grandpa when I took off -the cover, and let the hot coffee steam into the room. I only wish you -could have seen him!" - -"And he liked it, did he?" - -"Liked it! Oh! if you had been there to see!" - -The child's eyes were brimful of tears, and yet they sparkled like -diamonds. - -Mrs. Gray looked over her stall to see if there was anything else that -could be added to the basket. That pretty, grateful look expanded her -warm heart so pleasantly, that she felt quite like heaping everything at -hand upon the little girl. But the basket was already quite heavy enough -for that slender arm, and the addition of a single handful of fruit or -tuft of flowers, would have destroyed the symmetry of its arrangement. -So with a sigh, half of disappointment, half of that exquisite -satisfaction that follows a kind act, she patted little Julia on the -head, lifted the basket from the stool, and kindly bade her begone to -her day's work. - -The child departed with a light tread and a lighter heart, smiling upon -every one she met, and looking back, as if she longed to point out her -benefactress to the whole world. - -Mrs. Gray followed her with moist and sunny eyes; then shaking the empty -pail at her cynical neighbor, in the good-humored triumph of her -benevolence, she carried it back to the coffee-stand whence it had been -borrowed. - -"Strawberries!--strawberries!" - -Julia Warren turned pale, and looked around like a frightened bird, when -this sweet cry first broke from her lips in the open street. Nobody -seemed to hear--that was one comfort; so she hurried round a corner, and -creeping into the shadow of a house, leaned, all in a tremor, against an -iron railing, quite confident, for the moment, that she should never -find courage to open her mouth again. But a little reflection gave her -strength. Mrs. Gray had told her that the morning was her harvest hour. -She could not stand there trembling beneath the weight of her basket. -The fruity scent--the fragrant breath of the violets that floated up -from it, seemed to reproach her. - -"Strawberries!--strawberries!" - -The sound rose from those red lips more cheerily now. There was ripeness -in the very tones that put you in mind of the fruit itself. The cry was -neither loud nor shrill, but somehow people were struck by it, and -turned unconsciously to look upon the girl. This gave her fresh courage, -for the glances were all kind, and as she became accustomed to her own -voice, the novelty of her position began to lose its terror. A woman -called to her from the area of a house, and purchased two baskets of the -strawberries, without asking any reduction in the price. Poor child, how -her heart leaped when the shilling was placed in her hand! How important -the whole transaction seemed to her; yet with what indifference the -woman paid for the strawberries, and turned to carry them into the -basement. - -Julia looked through the railings and thanked this important customer. -She could not help it; her little heart was full. A muttered reply that -she was "welcome," came back; that was all. Notwithstanding the gruff -answer, Julia took up her basket with a radiant face. - -"Strawberries!--strawberries!" - -Now the words came forth from red and smiling lips--nay, once or twice -the little girl broke into a laugh, as she went along, for the bright -shilling lay in the bottom of her basket. She wandered on unacquainted -with the streets, but quite content; for though she found herself down -among warehouses only, and in narrow, crowded streets, the gentlemen who -hurried by would now and then turn for a bunch of violets, and she kept -on bewildered, but happy as a bird. - -All at once the strawberry girl found herself among the shipping; and a -little terrified at the coarse and barren appearance of the wharves, she -paused close by the water, irresolute what direction to pursue. It was -now somewhat deep in the morning, and everything was life and bustle in -that commercial district; for the child was but a few streets above the -Battery, and could detect the cool wave of its trees through a vista in -the buildings. The harbor, glowing with sunshine and covered with every -species of water craft, lay spread before her gaze. Brooklyn Heights, -Jersey City, and the leafy shores of Hoboken, half veiled in the golden -haze of a bright June morning, rose before her like soft glimpses of the -fairy land she had loved to read about. Never in her life had she been -in that portion of the city before; and she forgot everything in the -strange beauty of the scene, which few ever looked upon unmoved. The -steamboats ploughing the silvery foam of the waters, curving around the -Battery, darting in and out from every angle of the shore; the fine -national vessels sleeping upon the waters, with their masts pencilled -against the sky, and their great, black hulls, so imposing in their -motionless strength; the ferry-boats, the pretty barges and smaller kind -of water craft shooting with arrowy speed across the waves--all these -things had a strange and absorbing effect on the girl. - -As she stood gazing upon the scene, there came looming up in the distant -horizon, an ocean steamer, riding majestically on the waters, that -seemed to have suddenly heaved the monster up into the bright June -atmosphere. At first, the vast proportions of this sea monarch were lost -in the distance; but it came up with the force and swiftness of some -wild steed of the desert, and each moment its vast size became more -visible. Up it came, black, swift, and full of majestic strength, -ploughing the waters with a sort of haughty power, as if spurning the -element which had become its slave. Its great pipes poured forth a -whirlwind of black, fleecy smoke, now and then flaked and lurid with -fire, that whirled and whirled in the curling vapor, till all its glow -went out, rendering the thick volumes of smoke that streamed over the -water still more dense and murky. - -At first the child gazed upon this imposing object with a sensation of -affright. Her large eyes dilated; her cheek grew pale with excitement; -she felt a disposition to snatch up her basket, and flee from the -water's edge. But curiosity, and something akin to superstitious dread -kept her motionless. She had heard of these great steamships, and knew -that this must be one; yet it seemed to her like some dangerous monster -tortured with black, fiery venom. She turned to an old sailor that stood -near, his countenance glowing with enthusiasm, and muttering eagerly to -himself-- - -"Oh! sir, it is only a ship--you are sure of that!" she said, for her -childish dread of strangers was lost in wonder at a sight so new and -majestic. - -The man turned and gave one glance at the mild, blue eyes and earnest -face of the child. - -"Why, bless your heart, what else should it be? A ship, to be sure it -is--or at any rate, a sort of one, going by wind and fire both together; -but arter all, a clean rigged taut merchantman for me--that's the sort -of craft for an old salt that's been brought up to study wind and water, -not fire and smoke! But take care of your traps, little one, she'll be -up to her berth in no time." - -The child snatched up her basket and gave a hurried glance around, -seeking for some means of egress from the wharf; but while she was -occupied by the steamer, a crowd had gathered down to the water's edge, -and she shrunk from attempting a passage through the mass of carts, -carriages and people that blocked up her way to the city. - -"Poh! there's nothing to be afeared of!" said the good-natured tar, -observing her terrified look; "only take care of your traps, and it's -worth while waiting." - -By this time the steamer was opposite Governor's Island. She made a bold -curve around the Battery, and came up to her berth with a slow and -measured beat of the engine, blowing off steam at intervals, like a -racer drawing breath after sweeping his course. - -The deck of the steamer was alive with passengers, an eager crowd full -of cheerfulness and expectation. Most of them were evidently from the -higher classes of society; for their rich attire and a certain air of -refined indifference was manifest, even in the excitement of an arrival. - -Among the rest, Julia saw two persons that fascinated her attention in -a most singular degree, drawing it from the whole scene, till she heeded -nothing else. - -One of these was a woman somewhat above the common size, and of superb -proportions, who leaned against the railing of the steamer with a heavy, -drooping bend, as if occupied with some deep and painful feeling. One -glove was off, and her eager grasp upon the black wood-work seemed to -start the blue veins up to the snowy surface of a hand, whose symmetry -was visible, even from the shore. Julia could not remove her eyes from -the strange and beautiful face of this woman. Deep, but subdued agony -was at work in every lineament. There was wildness in her very motion, -as she lifted her superb form from the railing, and drew the folds of a -cashmere shawl over her bosom, pressing her hand hard upon the rich -fabric, as if to relieve some painful feeling that it covered. - -The steamer now lay close in her berth. A sort of movable staircase was -flung from the side of the wharf, and down this staircase came the -passengers, eager to touch the firm earth once more. Among the foremost -was the woman who had so riveted the attention of Julia Warren; and, -behind her, bearing a silver dressing-case and a small embroidered -satchel, came a tall and singular looking man. Though his form was -upright enough in itself, he bent forward in his walk; and his arms, -long and awkward, seemed like the members of some other body, that had, -by mistake, been given up to his ungainly use. His dress was fine in -material, but carelessly put on, ill-fitting and badly arranged in all -its tints. A hat of fine beaver and foreign make, seemed flung on the -back of his head, and settled tightly there by a blow on the crown; his -great hands were gloveless; and his boots appeared at least a size too -large for the feet they encased. - -This man would now and then cast a glance from his small, gray eyes on -the superb woman who preceded him; and it was easy to see by his -countenance, that he observed, and after his fashion shared the anguish -visible in her features. His own face deepened in its expression of -awkward sadness with every glance; and he hugged the dressing case to -his side with unconscious violence, which threatened to crush the -delicate frost-work that enriched it. - -With a wild and dry brightness in her large, blue eyes, the lady -descended to the wharf, a few paces from the spot occupied by the -strawberry girl. As her foot touched the earth, Julia saw that the white -hand dropped from its hold on the shawl, and the costly garment half -fell from her shoulders, trailing the dirty wharf with its embroidery. -In the whole crowd there was no object but this woman to the girl. With -a pale cheek and suspended breath she watched every look and motion. -There was something almost supernatural in the concentration of her -whole being on this one person. An intense desire to address the -stranger--to meet the glance of her eyes--to hear her voice, seized upon -the child. She sprang forward, obeying this strange impulse, and lifting -the soiled drapery of the shawl, held it up grasped in her trembling -hands. - -"Lady, your shawl!" - -The child could utter no more. Those large, blue eyes were bent upon her -face. Her own seemed fascinated by the gaze. Slowly, sadly they filled -with tears, drop by drop, and the eyes of that strange, beautiful woman -filled also. Still she gazed upon the child--her clean, poverty-stricken -dress--her meek face, and the basket of fruit and flowers upon her arm; -and as she gazed, a faint smile crept around her mouth. - -"This sweet voice--the flowers--is it not a beautiful welcome?" she -said, glancing through her tears upon the man who stood close by her -side; but the uncouth friend, or servant, whatever he might be, did not -answer. His eyes were riveted on the child, and some strange feeling -seemed to possess him. - -"Give me," said the lady, passing her hand over Julia's head with a -caressing motion--"give me some of these roses; it is a long time since -I have touched a flower grown in home soil!" - -Julia selected her freshest bouquet and held it up. The lady's hand -trembled as she drew forth her purse, and dropping a bright coin into -the basket, received the flowers. - -"Take a few of the strawberries, lady, they are so ripe and cool!" said -the little girl, lifting one of the baskets from its leafy nest. - -Again the lady smiled through her tears, and taking the little basket, -poured a few of the strawberries into her ungloved hand. - -"Would not he like some?" questioned the child, offering the basket with -its scarcely diminished contents to the man, who still kept his eyes -fixed on her face. - -"No, not them--but give me a bunch of the blue flowers--they grew around -the rock-spring at the old homestead, thousands and thousands on 'em!" -cried the man, with a strong Down East pronunciation, and securing a -tuft of the violets he turned aside, as if ashamed of the emotion he had -betrayed. - -The lady turned away. Something in his words seemed to have disturbed -her greatly. She gathered the shawl about her, and moved towards a -carriage that had drawn close up to the wharf. - -Julia's heart beat quick; she could not bear to see that strange, -beautiful woman depart without speaking to her again. - -"Lady, will you take this one little bunch?--some people love violets -better than anything!" - -"No, no, I cannot--I----" The lady paused, tears seemed choking her. She -drew down the folds of a rich blonde veil over her face, and moved on. - -Julia laid the violets back into her basket with a sigh. Feelings of -vague disappointment were saddening her heart. When she looked up again, -the lady had taken her seat in the carriage, and leaning out was -beckoning to her. - -"I will take the violets!" she said, reaching forth her hand, that -trembled as the simple blossoms were placed in it.--"Heaven forbid that -I should cast the sweet omen from me. Thank you child--thank you." - -The lady drew back into the carriage. Her face was clouded by the veil, -but tears trembled in her voice, and that voice lingered upon Julia -Warren's ear many a long month afterward. It had unlocked the deepest -well-spring of her life. - -The strawberry girl stood upon the wharf motionless and lost in thought -minutes after the carriage drove away. She had forgotten the basket on -her arm, everything in the strange regret that lay upon her young heart. -Never, never would she meet that beautiful woman again. The thought -filled her soul with unutterable loneliness. She was unconscious that -another carriage had driven up, and that a Southern vessel, arrived that -morning, was pouring forth luggage and passengers on the opposite side -of the pier. She took no heed of anything that was passing around her, -till a sweet, low voice close by, exclaimed-- - -"Oh! see those flowers--those beautiful, beautiful moss rose-buds!" - -Julia looked up. A young girl with soft, dark eyes, and lips dewy and -red as the buds she coveted, stood a few paces off, with her hand -grasped by a tall and stately looking man, approaching middle age, if -not a year or two on the other side, who seemed anxious to hurry his -companion into the carriage. - -"Step in, Florence, the girl can come to us!" said the man, restraining -the eager girl, who had withdrawn her foot from the carriage steps. -"Come, come, lady-bird, this is no place for us: see, half the crowd are -looking this way." - -The young lady blushed and entered the carriage, followed by her -impatient companion, who beckoned Julia towards him. - -"Here," he said, tossing a silver coin into her basket, "give me those -buds, quick, and then get out of the way, or you will be trampled down." - -Julia held up her basket, half terrified by the impatience that broke -from the dark eyes bent upon her. - -"There, sweet one, these might have ripened on your own smile: kiss them -for my sake!" said the man, gently bending with his fragrant gift toward -his lovely companion. - -His voice, soft, sweet and harmonious, fell upon the child's heart -also; and while the tones melted into her memory, she shuddered as the -flower may be supposed to shrink when a serpent creeps by. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -THE OLD COUPLE. - - There is no spot so dark on earth, - But love can shed bright glimmers there, - Nor anguish known, of human birth, - That yieldeth not to faith and prayer. - - -In the basement of a rear building in one of those cross streets that -grow more and more squalid as they stretch down to the water's edge, sat -an aged couple, at nightfall, on the day when our humble heroine was -presented to the reader. The room was damp, low and dark; a couple of -rude chairs, a deal table, and a long wooden chest were all the -furniture it contained. A rough shelf ran over the mantel-piece, on -which were arranged a half dozen unmatched cups and saucers, and a -broken plate or two, and a teapot, minus half its spout, all -scrupulously washed, and piled together with some appearance of -ostentation. - -A brown platter, which stood on the table, contained the only approach -to food that the humble dwelling afforded. A bone of bacon thrice -picked, and preserved probably from a wretched desire to possess -something in the shape of food, though that something was but a mockery, -this and a fragment of bread lay upon the platter, covered with a neat -crash towel. - -A straw bed made up on one corner of the floor partook of the general -neatness everywhere visible in the wretched dwelling; the sheets were of -homespun linen, such as our Down East house-wives loved to manufacture -years ago, and the covering a patch-work quilt, formed of rich, -old-fashioned chintz, was neatly turned under the edges. One might have -known how more than precious was that fine old quilt, by the great care -taken to preserve it. The whole apartment bespoke extreme poverty in its -most respectable form. Perfect destitution and scrupulous neatness were -so blended, that it made the heart ache with compassion. - -The old couple drew their seats closer together on the hearth-stone, and -looked wistfully in each other's faces as the darkness of coming night -gathered around them. The bright morning had been succeeded by a chill, -uncomfortable rain, and this increased tenfold the gloomy and dark -atmosphere of the basement. Thus they sat gazing at each other, and -listening moodily to the rain as it beat heavier and heavier upon the -sidewalks. - -"Come, come!" said the old woman, with a smile that she intended to be -cheerful, but which was only a wan reflection of what she wished. "This -is all very wrong; once to-day the Lord has sent us food, and here we -are desponding again. Julia will be cold and wet, poor thing; don't let -her find us looking so hungry when she comes in." - -"I was thinking of her," muttered the old man, in a sad voice. "Yes, the -poor thing will be cold and wet and wretched enough, but that is nothing -to the disappointment; she had built up such hopes this morning." - -"Well, who knows after all; something may have happened!" said the old -woman, with an effort at hopefulness. - -"No, no," replied the man, in a voice of touching despondency, "if she -had done anything, the child would have been home long ago. She has no -heart to come back." - -The old man passed his hand over his eyes, and then flung a handful of -chips and shavings on the fire from a scant pile that lay in a corner. -The blaze flamed up, revealing the desolate room for a moment, and then -died away, flashing over the pale and haggard faces that bent over it, -with a wan brilliancy that made them look absolutely corpse-like. - -Those two wrinkled faces were meagre and wrinkled from lack of -sustenance; still, in the faded lineaments there was nothing to revolt -the heart. Patience, sweet and troubled affection, were blended with -every grief-written line. But the wants of the body had stamped -themselves sharply there. The thin lips were pale and fixed in an -expression of habitual endurance. Their eyes were sharp and eager, dark -arches lay around them, and these were broken by wrinkles that were not -all of age. - -As the flame blazed up, the old man turned and looked earnestly on his -wife, a look of keen want, of newly whetted hunger broke from her eyes, -naturally so meek and tranquil, and the poor old man turned his glance -another way with a faint groan. It was a picture of terrible famine. Yet -patience and affection flung a thrilling beauty over it. - -One more furtive glance that old man cast on his wife, as the flame went -down, and then he clasped his withered fingers, wringing them together. - -"You are starving--you are more hungry than ever," he said, "and I have -nothing to give you." - -The poor woman lifted up her head and tried to smile, but the effort was -heart-rending. - -"It is strange," she said, "but the food we had this morning only seems -to make me more hungry. Is it so with you, Benjamin? I keep thinking of -it all the time. The rain as it plashes on the pavement seems like that -warm coffee boiling over on the hearth; those shavings as they lie in -the corner are constantly shifting before my eyes, and seem like rolls -and twists of bread, which I have only to stoop forward and take." - -The old man smiled wanly, and a tear started to his eyes, gliding down -his cheek in the dim light. - -"Let us try the bone once more," he said, after a brief silence, "there -may be a morsel left yet." - -"Yes, the bone! there may be something on the bone yet! In our good -fortune this morning we must have forgotten to scrape it quite clean!" -cried the old woman, starting up with eager haste, and bringing the -platter from the table. - -The husband took it from her hands, and setting it down before the -fire, knelt on one knee, and began to scrape the bone eagerly with a -knife. "See, see!" he said, with a painful effort at cheerfulness, as -some strips and fragments fell on the platter, leaving the bone white -and glistening like ivory. "This is better than I expected! With a crust -and a cup of clear cold water, it will go a good way." - -"No, no," said the woman, turning her eyes resolutely away, "we had -forgotten Julia. She scarcely ate a mouthful this morning!" - -"I know," said the old man, dropping his knife with a sigh. - -"Put it aside, and let us try and look as if we had been eating all day. -She would not touch it if--if----" Here the good old woman's eyes fell -upon the little heap of food--those precious fragments which her husband -had scraped together with his knife. The animal grew strong within her -at the sight; she drew a long breath, and reaching forth her bony hand, -clutched them like a bird of prey; her thin lips quivered and worked -with a sort of ferocious joy, as she devoured the little morsel, then, -as if ashamed of her voracity, she lifted her glowing eyes to her -husband, and cast the fragment of food still between her fingers back -upon the platter. - -"I could not help it! Oh, Benjamin, I could _not_ help it!" Big tears -started in her eyes, and rolled penitently down her cheek. "Take it -away! take it away!" she said, covering her face with both hands. "You -see how ravenous the taste of food makes me!" - -"Take it!" said the old man, thrusting the platter into her lap. - -"No! no! You haven't had a taste; you--you--I am better now, much -better!" - -For one instant the old man's fingers quivered over the morsel still -left upon the platter, for he was famished and craving more food, even -as his wife had been; but his better nature prevailed, and dashing his -hand away, he thrust the plate more decidedly into her lap. - -"Eat!" he said. "Eat! I can wait, and God will take care of the child!" - -But the poor woman waved the food away, still keeping one hand -resolutely over her eyes. "No--no!" she said faintly, "no--no!" - -Her husband lifted the plate softly from her lap: she started, looked -eagerly around, and sunk back in her chair with a hysterical laugh. - -"The strawberries! the strawberries, Benjamin! Only think, if Julia -could not sell the strawberries she will eat them, you know, all--all. -Only think what a feast the child will have when she has all those -strawberries! Bring back the meat; what will she care for that?" - -The old man brought back the plate, but with a sorrowful look. He -remembered that the strawberries entrusted to his grandchild were the -property of another; but he could not find the heart to suggest this to -the poor famished creature before him, and he rejoiced at the brief -delusion that would induce her to eat the little that was left. With -martyr-like stoicism he stifled his own craving hunger, and sat by while -his wife devoured the remainder of the precious store. - -"And you have had none," she said, with a piteous look of self-reproach, -when her own sharp want was somewhat appeased. - -"Oh, I can wait for Julia and the strawberries." - -"And if that should fail," answered the poor wife, filled with remorse -at her selfishness, or what she began to condemn as such, "if anything -should have happened, you may pawn or sell the quilt to-morrow--I will -say nothing against it--not a word. It was used for the first time -when--when _she_ was a baby, and--" - -"And we have starved and suffered rather than part with it!" cried the -old man, moving gloomily up and down the room, "while she--" - -"Is dead and buried, I am afraid," said the woman, interrupting him. - -"No," answered the old man, solemnly, "or we should not have been left -behind. It is not for nothing, wife, that you and I, and her child too, -have starved and pined, and prayed in this cellar. God has an end to -accomplish, and we are His instruments; how, I cannot tell. It is dark, -as yet; but all in His good time, His work will be done. Let us be -patient." - -"Patient!" said the old woman, dolefully; "I haven't strength to be -anything but patient." - -"She will yet return to us--our beautiful prodigal--our lost child," -continued the old man, lifting his meek eyes heavenward. "We have waited -long; but the time will come." - -"If I could only think so," said the woman, shaking her head -drearily--"If I could but think so!" - -"I know it," said the old man, lifting his clasped hands upward, while -his face glowed with the holy faith that was in him; "God has filled my -soul with this belief. It has given me life when food was wanting. It -grows stronger with each breath that I draw. The time will come when I -shall be called to redeem our child, even to the laying down of life, it -may be. I sometimes had a thought, wife, that her regeneration will be -thus accomplished." - -"How? What do you mean to say, husband?" - -"How, I cannot tell that; but the God of heaven will, in His own good -time. Let us wait and watch." - -"Oh! if she comes at last, I could be so patient! But think of the years -that are gone, and no news, not a word. While we have suffered so much, -every month, more and more--ah, husband, how can I be patient?" - -"Wait," said the old man, solemnly; "keep still while God does his work. -We know that our child has committed a great sin; but she was good once, -and--" - -"Oh, how kind, how good she was! I think she was more like an angel than -any thing on earth, till _he_ came." - -"Hush! When he is mentioned, bitter wrath rises in my bosom; I cannot -crush it out--I cannot pray it out. God help me! Oh, my God, help me to -hear this one name with charity." - -"Benjamin--my husband!" cried the old woman, regarding the strong -anguish in his face with affright, as his uplifted hands shook in their -tight grip on each other, and his whole frame began to tremble. - -He did not heed her pathetic cry, but sat down again by the hearth, and -with a thin hand pressed hard upon each knee, bent forward, gazing into -the smouldering fire, gloomy and silent. The old woman stole one hand -over his and pressed it gently. It returned no answering token of her -sympathy, but still rigidly held its grasp on his knee. - -Again she touched his hand, and the loved name, that had been so sweet -to her in youth, filled his ear with pathetic tenderness. - -"Benjamin!" - -He lifted his head, looked earnestly in her face, and then sunk slowly -to his knees. With his locked hands pressed down upon the hearth, and -his head bent low like one preparing to cast off a heavy weight, he -broke forth in a prayer of such stern, passionate entreaty, that the -very storm seemed to pause and listen to the outbreak of a soul more -impetuous than itself. Never in God's holiest temple has the altar been -sanctified by a prayer, more full of majestic eloquence, than that which -rose from the hearth of the miserable cellar that night. The old man -truly wrestled with the angels, and called for help against his own -rebellious nature, till his forehead was beaded with drops of anguish, -and every word seemed to burn and quiver like fire upon his meagre lips. - -She, in her weaker and more timid nature, fell down by his side, pouring -faint ejaculations and low moans into the current of his eloquence. But -while he prayed for strength to endure, for divine light by which he -could tread on beneath the burden of life, she now and then broke forth -into a moaning cry, which was, - -"Bread! bread! oh God, give us this day our daily bread!" - -All at once, in the midst of his pleading, the old man's voice broke; a -glorious smile spread over his features, and dropping his forehead -between both hands, he murmured in the fulness of a heart suddenly -deluged with love, - -"Oh, my God, I thank thee, thou hast indeed rendered me worthy to redeem -our child!" - -Then he arose feebly from his knees, and sat down with her withered hand -in his, and gazed tranquilly on the sparks of fire that shot, at -intervals, through the black shaving ashes. - -"Wife," he said, and his voice was so changed from its sharp accents, -that she lifted her eyes to his in wonder; "wife, you may speak of him -now, God has given me strength; I can hear it without a vengeful wish." - -"But I don't want to mention his name, I didn't mean to do it, then," -answered the wife with a shudder. - -"You see," rejoined Father Warren, with a grave, sweet smile, "You see, -wife, how long the Lord has been chastening us before he would drive the -fiend from my heart. How could I expect God to make me the instrument to -save our child while this hate of her husband lay coiled up like a viper -in my bosom?" - -"And did you hate him so terribly?" she asked, not able to comprehend -the strength of a nature like his. - -"Hate!" exclaimed the old man, "did you not see how I toiled and -wrestled to cast that hate out from my soul?" - -"Yes, I saw," answered the wife, timidly, and they sunk into silence. -Thus minutes stole on; the rain came down more furiously; the winds -shook the loose window panes, and the fire grew fainter and fainter, -only shedding a smoky gloom over those two pale faces. - -All at once there came a faint noise in the area--the moist plash of a -footstep mingled with the sound of falling rain. Then the outer door -opened, admitting a gush of damp wind into the hall that forced back the -door of the basement, and there stood little Julia Warren, panting for -breath, but full of wild and beautiful animation. The rain was dripping -from her hood, and down the heavy braids of her hair, and her little -feet left a wet print on the floor at every step. - -The old man started up, and flung some fresh fuel on the fire, which -instantly filled the basement with a brilliant but transitory light. -There she stood, that brave little girl, dripping with wet, and deluged -with sudden light. Her cheeks were all in a glow, warm and wet, like -roses in a storm. Her eyes were absolutely star-like in their -brilliancy, and her voice broke through the room in a joyful gush that -made everything cheerful again. - -"Did you think I was lost, grandpa, or drowned in the rain--don't it -pour, though? Here, grandma, come help me with the basket. Stop, till I -light a candle, though." - -The child knelt down in her dripping garments to ignite the candle, -which she had taken somewhere from the depths of her basket. But her -little hands shook, and the flame seemed to dance before her; she really -could not hold the candle still enough for her purpose, that little form -thrilled and shook so with her innocent joy. - -"Here, grandpa, you try," she said, surrendering the candle, while her -laugh filled the room like the carol of birds, when all the trees are in -blossom, "I never shall make it out; but don't think, now, that I am -shivering with the wet, or tired out--don't think anything till I have -told you all about it. There, now, we have a light; come, come!" - -The little girl dragged her basket to the hearth, and no fairy, telling -down gold and rubies to a favorite, ever looked more lovely. Down by the -basket the old grandparents fell upon their knees--one holding the -light--the other crying like a child. - -"See, grandpa, see; a beef-steak--a great, thick beef-steak, and -pickles, and bread, and--and--do look, grandmother, this paper--what do -you think is in it? oh! ha! I thought you would brighten up! tea, green -tea, and sugar, and--why grandfather, is that you crying so? Dear, dear, -how can you? Don't you see how happy I am? Why, as true as I live, if I -ain't crying myself all the time! Now, ain't it strange; every one of us -crying, and all for what? I--I believe I shall die, I'm so happy!" - -The excited little creature dropped the paper of tea from her hands, as -she uttered these broken words, and flinging herself on the old woman's -bosom, clung to her, bathed in tears, and shaking like an aspen leaf, -literally strengthless with the joy that her coming had brought to that -desolate place. - -While her arms were around the poor woman's neck, the grandmother kept -her eyes fixed upon the basket, and she contrived to break a fragment -from one of the loaves it contained, and greedily devour it amid those -warm caresses. - -Joy is often more restless than grief; Julia was soon on her feet again. - -"There, there, grandmother! just let the bread alone, what is that to -the supper we will have by-and-bye. I'll get three cents' worth of -charcoal, and borrow a gridiron, and--and--now don't eat any more till I -come back, because of the supper!" - -The little girl darted out of the room as she uttered this last -injunction, and her step was heard like the leap of a fawn, as she -bounded through the passage. When she returned, the larger portion of a -loaf had disappeared, and the old couple were in each other's arms, -while fragments of prayer and thanksgiving fell from their lips. It was -a beautiful picture of the human heart, when its holiest and deepest -feelings are aroused. Gratitude to God and to his creatures shed a -touching loveliness over it all. - -Julia, with her bright eyes and eager little hands, bustled about, quite -too happy for a thought of the fatigue she had endured all the day. She -drew forth the little table. She furbished and brightened up the cups -and saucers, and gave an extra rub to the iron candlestick, which was, -for the first time in many a day, warmed up by a tall and snowy candle. -The scent of the beef-steak as it felt the heat, the warm hiss of the -tea-kettle, the crackling of the fire, made a cheerful accompaniment to -her quick and joyous movements. The cold rain pattering without--the -light gusts of wind that shook the windows, only served to render the -comfort within more delightful. - -"There now," said Julia, wiping the bottom of her broken-spouted -tea-pot, and placing it upon the table, "there now, all is ready! I'm to -pour out the tea, grandpa must cut the steak, and you, grandma--oh, you -are company to-night. Come, every thing is warm and nice." - -The old people drew up to the humble board. A moment their gray heads -were bent, while the girl bowed her forehead gently downward, and veiled -her eyes with their silken lashes, as if the joy sparkling there were -suddenly clouded by a thought of her own forgetfulness in taking a seat -before the half-breathed blessing was asked. - -But her heart was only subdued for a moment. Directly her hands began to -flutter about the tea-pot, like a pair of humming birds, busy with some -great, uncouth flower. She poured the rich amber stream forth with a -dash, and as each lump of sugar fell into the cups, her mouth dimpled -into fresh smiles. It was quite like a fairy feast to her. Too happy for -thoughts of her own hunger, she was constantly dropping her knife and -fork to push the bread to her grandfather, or heap the old grandma's -plate afresh, and it seemed as if the broken tea-pot was perfectly -inexhaustible, so constantly did she keep it circulating around the -table. - -"Isn't it nice, grandma, green tea, and such sugar. What, grandpa! you -haven't got through yet?" she was constantly saying, if either of the -old people paused in the enjoyment of their meal, for it seemed to her -as if such unusual happiness ought to last a long, long time. - -"Yes," said the old man at length, pushing back his plate with a -pleasant sigh, and more pleasant smile; "yes, Julia; now let us see you -eat something, then tell us how all these things came about. You must -have been very lucky to have earned a meal like this with one day's -work." - -"A meal!" cried the child; "oh, the supper. You relished the supper, -grandpa?" - -"Yes; you couldn't have guessed how hungry we were, or how keenly we -should have relished anything." - -"But--but, you are wondering where the next will come from. You think -me like a child in having spent so much in this one famous supper." - -"Yes, like a child, a good, warm-hearted child--who could blame you?" - -"Blame!" cried the grandmother, with tears in her eyes;--"blame! God -bless her!" - -"But then," said the child, shaking her head and forcing back a tear -that broke through the sunshine in her eyes, "one should not spend -everything at once; grandpa means that, I suppose?" - -"No, no!" answered the old woman, eagerly, "he does not mean to find the -least fault. How should he?" - -"It would have been childish, though; but perhaps I should have done it, -who knows?--one don't stop to think with a bright half dollar in one's -hand, and a poor old grandfather and grandmother, hungry at home. But -then look here!" - -The child drew a coin from her bosom, and held it up in the -candle-light. - -"Gold!" cried the astonished grandfather, absolutely turning pale with -surprise. - -"A half eagle, a genuine half eagle, as I am alive!" exclaimed the old -woman, taking the coin between her fingers and examining it eagerly. - -"Yes, gold--a half eagle," said the exulting child, clasping her small -hands on the table, "worth five dollars--the old woman in the market -told me so!--five dollars! only think of that!" - -"But you did not earn it," said the old man, gravely. - -"Earn it--oh, no," answered the little girl with a joyous laugh, "who -ever thought of a little girl like me earning five dollars in a day? -Still I don't know. That good woman at the market told me to let every -one give what he liked for the flowers, and so I did. The most beautiful -lady you ever set eyes on, took a bunch of rose-buds from my basket, and -flung that money in its place." - -"But who was this lady? There may be some mistake. She might not have -known that it was gold!" said the old man, reaching over, and taking the -half eagle from his wife. - -"I think she knew; indeed I am quite sure she did," answered the child, -"for she looked at the piece as she took it from her purse. She knew -what it was worth, but I didn't." - -"Well, that we may know what to think, tell us more about this wonderful -day," said the old man, still examining the gold with an anxious -expression of countenance. "Your grandmother has finished her tea, and -will listen now." - -Julia was somewhat subdued by her grandfather's grave air; but spite of -this, tears and smiles struggled in her eyes, and her mouth, now -tremulous, now dimpling, could hardly be trained into anything like -serious narrative. - -"Well," she said, shaking back the braids of her hair, and resolutely -folding both hands in her lap. "Very well; please don't ask any -questions till I have got through, and I'll do my best to tell -everything just as it happened. You know how I went out this morning, -about the basket that I got trusted for at the grocery, and all that. -Well, I went off with the new basket on my arm, making believe to myself -as bold as a lion. Still I couldn't but just keep from -crying--everything felt so strange, and I was frightened too--you don't -know how frightened! - -"Grandma, I think the babes in the woods must have felt as I did, only I -had no brother with me, and it is a great deal more lonesome to wander -through lots of cold looking men and women that you never saw before, -than to be lost among the green woods, where flowers lie everywhere in -the moss, and the trees are all sorts of colors, with birds hopping and -singing about--dear little birds, such as covered the poor babes with -leaves, and--and--finally grandmother, as I was saying, I felt more -lonesome and down-hearted than these children could have done, for they -had plenty of blackberries, you know, but I was dreadful hungry--I was -indeed, though I would not own it to you; and then all the windows were -full of nice tarts and candies, just as if the people had put them -there to see how bad they could make me feel. Well, I have told you -about going into the market, and how my heart seemed to get colder and -colder, till I saw that good woman--that dear, blessed woman----" - -"God bless her, for that one kind act!" exclaimed the old man, -fervently. - -"He _will_ bless her; be sure of that," chimed in the good grandame. - -"I wish you could have seen her--I only wish you could!" cried the -child, in her sweet, eager gratitude, "perhaps you will some day, who -knows?" - -And in the same sweet, disjointed language, the child went on relating -her adventures along the streets, and on the wharf, where for the first -time she had seen an ocean steamer. - -When she spoke of the lady and her strange attendant, the old people -seemed to listen with more absorbing interest. They were keenly excited -by the ardent admiration expressed by the child, yet to themselves even -this feeling was altogether unaccountable. When the little girl spoke of -the strange man whom she had met on the wharf also, her voice become -subdued, and there was a half terrified look in her eyes. The singular -impression which that man had left upon her young spirit seemed to haunt -it like a fear; she spoke almost in whispers, and looked furtively -toward the door, as if afraid of being overheard; but the moment she -related how he drove away with his beautiful companion, her courage -seemed to return, she glanced brightly around, and went on with her -narrative with renewed spirit. - -"He had just gone," she said, "and I was beginning to look around for -some way to leave the wharf, when I saw a handkerchief lying at my feet. -The carriage wheel had run over it, and it was crushed down in the mud. -I picked it up, and run after the carriage, for the handkerchief was -fine as a cobweb, and worth ever so much, I dare say. In and out, -through the carts, and trunks, and people, I ran with my basket on my -arm, and the muddy handkerchief in one hand. Twice I saw the carriage, -but it was too far ahead, and at last I turned a corner--I lost it -there, and stood thinking what I should do, when the very carriage which -I had seen go off with the lady in it, passed by; the lady had stopped -for something, I suppose, and that kept her back. She was looking from -the window that minute. I thought perhaps the handkerchief was hers, -after all; so I ran off the sidewalk and shook it, that she might take -notice. The carriage stopped; down came the driver and opened the door, -and then the lady leaned out, and smiling with a sort of mournful smile, -said-- - -"'Well, my girl, what do you want now?'" - -"I held up the handkerchief, but was quite out of breath, and could only -say, 'this--this--is it yours, ma'am?' - -"She took the handkerchief, and turned to a corner where a name was -marked. Then her cheek turned pale as death, and her mouth, so full, so -red, grew white. I should have thought that she was dying, she fixed her -eyes on me so wildly. - -"'Come in, come in, this instant,' she said, and before I could speak, -she caught hold of my arm, and drew me--basket and all--into the -carriage. The door was shut, and in my fright I heard her tell the man -to drive fast. I did not speak; it seemed like dreaming. There sat the -lady, so pale, so altered, with the handkerchief, all muddy as it was, -crushed hard in her white hand--sometimes looking with a sort of wild -look at me, sometimes seeming to think of nothing on earth. The carriage -went faster and faster; I was frightened and began to cry. She looked at -me very kindly then, and said-- - -"'Hush, child, hush! no one will harm you.' Still I could not keep from -sobbing, for it all seemed very wild and strange. - -"Then the carriage stopped before a great stone house, with so many long -windows, and iron-work fence all before it. A good many trees stood -around it, and a row of stone steps went up half way from the gate to -the front door. The windows of the house were painted all sorts of -colors, and at one corner was a kind of steeple, square at the top and -full of narrow windows, and half covered with a green vine that crept -close to the stone-work almost to the top. - -"No one came to the door. The strange man who rode with the driver let -us in with a key that he had, and everything was as still as a -meeting-house. When we got inside, the lady took my hand and led me into -a great square entry-way, with a marble floor checked black and white; -then she led me up a great high stair-case, covered from top to bottom -with a carpet that seemed made of roses and wood-moss. Everything was -still and half dark, for all the windows were covered deep with silk -curtains, and it had begun to cloud up out of doors. - -"The lady opened a door, and led me into a room more beautiful that -anything I ever set my eyes on. But this was dark and dim like the rest. -My feet sunk into the carpet, and everything I touched seemed made of -flowers, the seats were so silken and downy. - -"The lady flung off her shawl, and sat down upon a little sofa covered -with blue silk. She drew me close to her, and tried to smile. - -"'Now,' she said, 'you must tell me, little girl, exactly where you got -the handkerchief!' - -"'I found it--indeed I found it on the wharf,' I said, as well as I -could, for crying. 'At first I thought it must belong to the tall -gentleman, but he drove away so fast; then I saw your carriage, and -thought----' - -"She stopped me before I could say the rest--her eyes were as bright as -diamonds, and her cheeks grew red again. - -"'The tall gentleman! What tall gentleman?' she said. - -"I told her about the man with the beautiful lady. Before I had done, -she let go of my hand and fell back on the sofa; her eyes were shut, but -down through the black lashes the great tears kept rolling till the silk -cushion under her head was wet with them. I felt sorry to see her so -troubled, and took the handkerchief from the floor--for it fell from her -hand as she sunk down. With one corner that the wheel had not touched, I -tried to wipe away the tears from her face, but she started up, all in -a tremble, and pushed me away; but not as if she were angry with me; -only as if she hated the handkerchief to touch her face. - -"She walked about the room a few times, and then seemed to get quite -natural again. By-and-bye the queer looking man came up with a satchel -and a silver box, under his arm; and she talked with him in a low voice. -He seemed not to like what she said; but she grew positive, and he went -out. Then she lay down on the sofa again, as if I had not been by; her -two hands were clasped under her head; she breathed very hard, and the -tears now and then came in drops down her cheeks. - -"It was getting dark, and I could hear the rain pattering outside. I -spoke softly, and said that I must go; she did not seem to hear; so I -waited and spoke again. Still she took no notice. Then I took up my -basket and went out. Nobody saw me. The great house seemed -empty--everything was grand, but so still that it made me afraid. -Nothing but the rain dripping from the trees made the least noise. All -around was a garden, and the house stood mostly alone, among the trees -on the top of a hill and lifted up from the street. I had no idea where -I was, for it seemed almost like the country, trees all around, and -green grass and rose bushes growing all about the house! - -"A long wide street stretched down the hill toward the city. I noticed -the street lamp posts standing in a line each side, and just followed -them till I got into the thick of the houses once more. After this I -went up one street and down another, inquiring the way, till after a -long, long walk, I got back to the market, quite tired out and anxious. - -"The good market woman was _so_ pleased to see me again. I gave her all -my money, and she counted it, and took out pay for the flowers and -strawberries. There was enough without the gold piece; she would not let -me change that, but filled the basket with nice things, just to -encourage me to work hard next week. There, now, grandfather, I have -told you all about this wonderful day. Isn't it quite like a fairy -tale?" - -The old man sat gazing on the sweet and animated face of his -grandchild; his hands were clasped upon the table, and his aged face -grew luminous with Christian gratitude. Slowly his forehead bent -downward, and he answered her in the solemn and beautiful words of -Scripture, "I have been young, and now I am old; yet I have never seen -the righteous forsaken, or his seed begging bread." There was pathos and -fervency in the old man's voice, solemn even as the words it syllabled. -The little strawberry girl bowed her head with gentle feeling, and the -grandmother whispered a meek "Amen." - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE LONE MANSION. - - There are some feelings all too deep, - For grief to shake, or torture numb, - Sorrows that strengthen as they sleep, - And struggle though the heart is dumb. - - -Little Julia Warren had given a very correct description of the house to -which she had been so strangely conveyed. Grand, imposing, and -unsurpassed for magnificence by anything known in our city, it was -nevertheless filled with a sort of gorgeous gloom that fell like a -weight upon the beholder. Most of the shutters were closed, and where -the glass was not painted, rich draperies muffled and tinted the light -wherever it penetrated a crevice, or struggled through the reversed fold -of a blind. - -As you passed through those sumptuous rooms, so vast, so still, it -seemed like traversing a flower-garden by the faintest starlight; you -knew that beautiful objects lay around you on every side, without the -power of distinguishing them, save in shadowy masses. All this -indistinctness took a strong hold on the imagination, rendered more -powerful, perhaps, by the profound stillness that reigned in the -dwelling. - -Since the great front door had fallen softly to its latch after the -little girl left the building, no sound had broken the intense hush that -surrounded it. Still the lady, who had so marvelously impressed herself -upon the heart of that child, lay prone upon the couch in her boudoir in -the second story. She was the only living being in that whole dwelling, -and but for the quick breath that now and then disturbed her bosom, she -appeared lifeless as the marble Flora that seemed scattering lilies over -the cushion where she rested. - -After a time the stillness seemed to startle her. She lifted her head -and looked around the room. - -"Gone!" she said, in a tone of disappointment, which had something of -impatience in it--"gone!" - -The lady started up, pale and with an imperious motion, as one whose -faintest wish had seldom been opposed. She approached a window, and -flinging back the curtains of azure damask, cast another searching look -over the room. But the pale, sweet features of the Flora smiling down -upon her lilies, was the only semblance to a human being that met her -eye. She dropped the curtain impatiently. The statue seemed mocking her -with its cold, classic smile. It suited her better when the wind came -with a sweep, dashing the rain-drops fiercely against the window. - -The irritation which this sound produced on her nerves seemed to animate -her with a keen wish to find the child who had disappeared so -noiselessly. She went to the door, traversed the hall and the great -stair-case; and her look grew almost wild when she found no signs of the -little girl! Two or three times she parted her lips, as if to call out; -but the name that she would have uttered clung to her heart, and the -parted lips gave forth no sound. - -It was strange that a name, buried in her bosom for years, unuttered, -hidden as the miser hides his gold, at once the joy, and agony of his -life, should have sprung to her memory there and then; but so it was, -and the very attempt to syllable that name seemed to freeze up the -animation in her face. She grew much paler after that, and her white -fingers clung to the silver knob like ice as she opened the great -hall-door and looked into the street. - -The entrance to the mansion was sheltered, and though the rain was -falling, it had not yet penetrated to the threshold. Up and down the -broad street no object resembling the strawberry girl could be seen; and -with an air of disappointment, the lady was about to close the door, -when she saw upon the threshold a broken rose-bud, which had evidently -fallen from the child's basket, and beside it the prints of a little, -naked foot left in damp tracery on the granite. These foot-prints -descended the steps, and with a sigh the lady drew back, closing the -door after her gently as she had opened it. - -She stood awhile musing in the vestibule, then slowly mounting the -stairs, entered the boudoir again. She sat down, but it was only for a -minute; the solitude of the great house might have shaken the nerves of -a less delicate woman, now that the rain was beating against the -windows, and the gloom thickening around her, but she seemed quite -unconscious of this. Some new idea had taken possession of her mind, and -it had power to arouse her whole being. She paced the room, at first -gently, then with rapid footsteps, becoming more and more excited each -moment; though this was only manifested by the brilliancy of her eyes, -and the breathless eagerness with which she listened from time to time. -No sound came to her ears, however--nothing but the rain beating, -beating, beating against the plate-glass. - -The lady took out her watch, and a faint, mocking smile stole over her -lips. It seemed as if she had been expecting the return of her servant -for hours; and lo! only half an hour had passed since he went forth. - -"And this," she said, with a gesture and look of self-reproach--"this is -the patience--this the stoicism which I have attained--Heaven help me!" -She walked slower then, and at length sunk upon the couch with her eyes -closed resolutely, as one who forced herself to wait and be still. Thus -she remained, perhaps fifteen minutes, and the marble statue smiled -upon her through its chill, white flowers. - -She had wrestled with herself and conquered. So much time! Only fifteen -minutes, but it seemed an hour. She opened her eyes, and there was that -smiling face of marble peering down into hers; it seemed as if something -human were scanning her heart. The fancy troubled her, and she began to -walk about again. - -As the lady was pacing to and fro in her boudoir, her foot became -entangled in the handkerchief which she had so passionately wrested from -the strawberry-girl, when in her gentle sympathy the child would have -wiped the tears from her eyes. She took the cambric in her hand, not -without a shudder; it might be of pain; it might be that some hidden joy -blended itself with the emotion; but with an effort at self-control she -turned to a corner of the handkerchief, and examined a name written -there with attention. - -Again some powerful change of feeling seemed to sweep over her; she -folded the handkerchief with care, and went out of the room, still -grasping it in her hand. Slowly, and as if impelled against her wishes, -this singular woman mounted a flight of serpentine stairs, which wound -up the tower that Julia had described as a steeple, and entered a remote -room of the dwelling. Even here the same silent splendor, the same -magnificent gloom that pervaded the whole dwelling, was darkly visible. -Though perfectly alone, carpets thick as forest moss muffled her -foot-steps, till they gave forth no echo to betray her presence. Like a -spirit she glided on, and but for her breathing she might have been -taken for something truly supernatural, so singular was her pale beauty, -so strangely motionless were her eyes. - -For a moment the lady paused, as if calling up the locality of some -object in her mind, then she opened the door of a small room and -entered. - -A wonderful contrast did that little chamber present to the splendor -through which she had just passed. No half twilight reigned there; no -gleams of rich coloring awoke the imagination; everything was chaste and -almost severe in its simplicity. Half a shutter had been left open, and -thus a cold light was admitted to the chamber, revealing every object -with chilling distinctness:--the white walls; the faded carpet on the -floor; and the bed piled high with feathers, and covered with a -patch-work quilt pieced from many gorgeously colored prints, now -somewhat faded and mellowed by age. Half a dozen stiff maple chairs -stood in the room. In one corner was a round mahogany stand, polished -with age, and between the windows hung a looking-glass framed in curled -maple. No one of these articles bore the slightest appearance of recent -use, and common-place as they would have seemed in another dwelling, in -that house they looked mysteriously out of keeping. - -The lady looked around as she entered the room, and her face expressed -some new and strong emotion; but she had evidently schooled her -feelings, and a strong will was there to second every mental effort. -After one quick survey her eyes fell upon the carpet. It was an humble -fabric, such as the New England housewives manufacture with their own -looms and spinning wheels; stripes of hard, positive colors contrasted -harshly together, and even time had failed to mellow them into harmony; -though faded and dim, they still spread away from the feet harsh and -disagreeable. No indifferent person would have looked upon that -cheerless object twice; but it seemed to fascinate the gaze of the -singular woman, as no artistic combination of colors could have done. -Her eyes grew dim as she gazed; her step faltered as she moved across -the faded stripes; and reaching a chair near the bed, she sunk upon it -pale and trembling. The tremor went off after a few minutes, but her -face retained its painful whiteness, and she fell into thought so deep -that her attitude took the repose of a statue. - -Thus an hour went by. The storm had increased, and through the window -which opened upon a garden, might be seen the dark sway of branches -tossed by the roaring wind, and blackened with the gathering night. The -rain poured down in sheets, and beat upon the spacious roof like the -rattle of artillery. Gloom and commotion reigned around. The very -elements seemed vexed with new troubles as that beautiful woman entered -the room whose humble simplicity seemed so unsuited to her. - -Ada saw nothing of the storm, or if she did, the wildness and gloom -seemed but a portion of the tumult in her own heart. Yet how still and -calm she was--that strange being! At length the chain of iron thought -seemed broken; she turned toward the bed, laid her hand gently down upon -the quilt, and gazed at the faded colors till some string in her proud -heart gave way, and sinking down with her face buried in the scant -pillows, she wept like a child. Every limb in her body began to tremble. -The bed shook under her, and notwithstanding the stormy elements, the -noise of her bitter sobs filled the room. The voice of her grief was -soon broken by another sound--the sound of passionate kisses lavished -upon the pillows, the quilt, and the homespun linen upon the bed. She -looked at them through her tears; she smoothed them out with her -trembling hands; she laid her cheek against them lovingly, as a punished -child will sometimes caress the very garments of a mother whose -forgiveness it craves; yet in all this you saw that this strange, almost -insane excitement was not usual to the woman--that she was not one to -yield her strength to a light passion; and this made her grief the more -touching. You felt that if such storms often swept across her track of -life, she did not bow herself to them without a fierce struggle. - -She lay upon the bed weeping and faint with exhausted emotion, when the -sound of a closing door rang through the building. This was followed by -stumbling footsteps so heavy that even the turf-like carpets could not -muffle them. The lady started up, listened an instant, and then hurried -from the room, closing the door carefully after her. It was now almost -dark, and but for the angular figure and ungainly attitude of the person -she found in her boudoir, she might not have recognized her own servant, -who stood waiting her approach. - -"Jacob, you have come--well!" said the lady in a low voice. - -"Yes, and a pretty time I have had of it," said the man, drawing back -from the hand which she had almost placed upon his arm, and shaking -himself with much of the surliness, and all the indifference of a -mastiff, till the rain fell in showers from his coat. "I am soaking wet, -ma'm, and dangerous to come near--it might give you a cold." - -"It is raining then?" said the lady, subduing her impatience. - -"Raining! I should think it was, and blowing too. Why, don't you hear -the wind yelling and tusseling with the trees back of the house?" - -"I have not noticed," answered the lady, mournfully; "I was thinking of -other things." - -"Of _him_, I suppose!" There was something husky in the man's voice as -he spoke, the more remarkable that his strong Down East pronunciation -was usually prompt, and clear from any signs of feeling. - -"Yes, of him and of them! Jacob, this has been a terrible day to me." - -"And to me, gracious knows!" muttered the man, giving his coat another -rough shake. - -"Yes, you have been upon your feet all day--you are wet through, my kind -friend, and all to serve me--I know that it is hard!" - -"Nothing of the sort!--nothing of the sort! Who on earth complained, I -should like to know? A little rain, poh!" exclaimed the man, evidently -annoyed that his vexation, uttered in an under tone, should have reached -the lady's ear. - -"No, you never do complain, Jacob; and yet you have often found me an -exacting mistress--or friend, I should rather say--for it is long since -I have considered you as anything else. I have often taxed your strength -and patience too far!" - -"There it is again!" answered the man, with a sort of rough impatience, -which, however, had nothing unkind or disrespectful in it--"jist as if I -was complaining or discontented--jist as if I wasn't your hired -man--no, servant, that is the word--to serve, wait, tend on you; and -hadn't been ever since the day--but no matter about that--jist now I've -been down town as you ordered." - -"Well!" - -Oh! how much of exquisite self-control was betrayed by the low, steady -tone in which that little word was uttered. - -"Of course," said the man, "I could do nothing without help. The little -girl's story was enough to prove that--that he was in town, but it only -went so far. She neither knew which way he drove, or how the coach was -numbered; so it seemed very much like searching for a needle in a -hay-mow. But you wanted to know where he was, and I determined to find -out. Wal, this morning, as we left the steamer, I saw a man in the crowd -with a great, gilt star on his breast, and as the thing looked rather -odd for a republican, I asked what it meant. It was a policeman; they -have got up a new system here in the city, it seems, and from what was -said on the wharf, I thought it no bad idea to get some of these men to -help me to search for Mr. Leicester." - -"Hush, hush; don't speak so loud," said the lady, starting as a name her -lips had not uttered for years was thus suddenly pronounced. - -"I inquired the way, and went to the police office at once: it is in the -Park, ma'm, under the City Hall. Wal, there I found the chief, a smart, -active fellow as I ever set eyes on; I told him what brought me there, -and who I wanted to find. He called a young man from the out room; wrote -on a slip of paper; gave it to the man, and asked me to sit down. Wal, I -sat down, and we began to talk about my travels, and things in gineral, -like old acquaintances, till by-and-bye in came the very policeman that -I had seen on the wharf. - -"'Mr. Johnson,' says the chief, 'a Southern vessel arrived to-day at the -same wharf where the steamer lies. Did you observe a tall gentlemen with -a young lady on his arm, leave that vessel?' - -"'Dark hair; large eyes; a black coat?' says the man, looking at me. - -"'Exactly,' says I. - -"'The lady beautiful; eyes you could hardly tell the color of; lashes -always down; black silk dress; cashmere scarf; cottage-bonnet!' says he, -again. - -"'Jist so!' says I. - -"'Yes,' says he to the chief, 'I saw them.' - -"'Where did they go?' questions the chief. - -"'Hack No. 117 took three fares from the vessel and steamer, one to the -City Hall, one to the New York, one to the Astor. This was the second, -he went to the Astor.'" - -"And the young girl--did she go with him?" cried the lady, striving in -vain to conceal the keen interest which prompted the question. - -"That was just what the chief asked," was the reply. - -"And the answer--was she with him?" - -"Wal, the chief put that question, only a little steadier; and the man -answered that the young lady----" - -"Well." - -"That the coachman first took the young lady to a house in--I believe it -was Ninth street, or Tenth, or----" - -"No matter, so she was not with him," answered the lady, drawing a deep -breath, while an expression of exquisite relief, came to her features; -"and he is there alone at the Astor House. And I in the same city! Does -nothing tell him?--has his heart no voice that clamors as mine does? The -Astor House! Jacob, how far is the Astor House from this?" - -"More than a mile--two miles. I don't exactly know how far it is." - -"A mile, perhaps two, and that is all that divides us. Oh! God, would -that it were all!" she cried, suddenly clasping her hands with a burst -of wild agony. - -The servant man recoiled as he witnessed this burst of passion, -wherefore it were difficult to say; for he remained silent, and the -twilight had gathered fast and deep in the room. For several minutes no -word was spoken between the two persons so unlike in looks, in mind, in -station, and yet linked together by a bond of sympathy strong enough to -sweep off these inequalities into the dust. At length the lady lifted -her head, and looked at the man almost beseechingly through the -twilight. - -The storm was still fierce. The wind shook and tore through the foliage -of the trees; and the rain swept by in sheets, now and then torn with -lightning, and shaken with loud bursts of thunder. - -"The weather is terrible!" said the lady, with a sad, winning smile, and -with her beautiful eyes bent upon the man. - -He thought that she was terrified by the lightning, and this brought his -kind nature back again. - -"This--oh! this is nothing, madam. Think of the storms we used to have -in the Alps, and at sea." - -A beautiful brilliancy came into the lady's eyes. - -"True, this is nothing compared to them: and the evening, it is not yet -entirely dark!" - -"The storm makes it dark--that is all. It isn't far off from sun-down by -the time!" answered Jacob, taking out an old silver watch, and examining -it by the window. - -"Jacob, are you very tired?" - -"Tired, ma'm! What on earth should make me tired? One would think I had -been hoeing all day, to hear such questions!" - -The lady hesitated. She seemed ashamed to speak again, and her voice -faltered as she at length forced herself to say-- - -"Then, Jacob, as you are not quite worn out--perhaps you will get me a -carriage--there must be stables in the neighborhood." - -"A carriage!" answered the man, evidently overwhelmed with surprise: "a -carriage, madam, to-night, in all this rain!" - -"Jacob--Jacob, I must see him--I must see him now, to-night--this hour! -The thought of delay suffocates me--I am not myself--do you not see it? -All power over myself is gone. Jacob, I must see him now, or die!" - -"But the storm, madam," urged poor Jacob, from some cause almost as pale -as his mistress. - -"The better--all the better. It gives me courage. How can we two meet, -save in storm and strife? I tell you the tempest will give me strength." - -"I beg of you, I--I----" - -"Jacob, be kind--get me the carriage!" pleaded the lady, gently -interrupting him: "urge nothing more, I entreat you; but instead of -opposing, help me. Heaven knows, but for you I am helpless enough!" - -There was no resisting that voice, the pleading eloquence of those eyes. -A deep sigh was smothered in that faithful breast, and then he went -forth perfectly heedless of the rain; which, to do him justice, had -never been considered in connection with his own personal comfort. - -He returned after a brief absence; and a dark object before the iron -gate, over which the rain was dripping in streams, bespoke the success -of his errand. The lady had meantime changed her dress to one of black -silk, perfectly plain, and giving no evidence of position, by which a -stranger might judge to what class of society she belonged; a neat straw -bonnet and a shawl completed her modest costume. - -"I am ready, waiting!" she cried, as Jacob presented himself at the -door, and drawing down her veil that he might not see all that was -written in her face, she passed him and went forth. - -But Jacob caught one glance of that countenance with all its eloquent -feeling, for a small lamp had been lighted in the boudoir during his -absence; and that look was enough. He followed her in silence. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE ASTOR HOUSE AND THE ATTIC ROOM. - - When woman sinneth with her heart, - Some trace of heaven still lingers there; - The angels may not all depart - And yield her up to dark despair. - - But man--alas, when thought and brain - Can sin, and leave the soul at ease: - Can sneer at truth and scoff at pain!-- - God's angels shrink from sins like these! - - -Alone in one of the most sumptuous chambers of the Astor House, sat the -man who had made an impression so powerful upon little Julia Warren that -morning. Though the chill of that stormy night penetrated even the -massive walls of the hotel, it had no power to throw a shadow upon the -comforts with which this man had found means to surround himself. A fire -blazed in the grate, shedding a glow upon the rug where his feet were -planted, till the embroidered slippers that encased them seemed buried -in a bed of forest moss. - -The curtains were drawn close, and the whole room had an air of snugness -and seclusion seldom found at a hotel. Here stood an open dressing-case -of ebony, with its gold mounted and glittering equipments exposed; there -was a travelling desk of ebony, inlaid with mother-of-pearl, opal-tinted -and glittering like gems in the uncertain light. Upon the mantel-piece -stood a small picture-frame, carved to a perfect net-work, and -apparently of pure gold, circling the miniature of a female, so -exquisitely painted, so beautiful in itself, that the heart warmed to a -glow while gazing upon it. It was a portrait of the very girl whom Julia -had seen supported by that man's arm in the morning--new and fresh was -every tint upon the ivory. Alas! no female face ever had time to grow -shadowy and mellow in that little frame; with almost every change of the -moon some new head was circled by the glittering net-work--and this -spoke eloquently of one dark trait in the character of the man. - -He sat before the fire, leaning back in his cushioned easy-chair, now -glancing with an indolent smile at the picture--now leaning toward a -small table at his elbow, and helping himself to the fragments of some -tiny game-birds from a plate where several were lying, all somewhat -mutilated, as if he had tried each without perfectly satisfying his -fastidious appetite. Various foreign condiments, and several flasks of -wine stood on the table, with rich china and glasses of unequal shape -and variously tinted. For at the hotel this man was known to be as -fastidious in his taste as in his appetite; with him the appointments of -a meal were equally important with the viands. - -No lights were in the room, save two wax tapers in small candle-sticks -of frosted silver, which, with various articles of plate upon the table, -composed a portion of his travelling luxuries. If we have dwelt long -upon these small objects, it is because they bespoke the character of -the man better than any philosophical analysis of which we are capable, -and from a feeling of reluctance to come in contact with the hard and -selfish, even in imagination. - -Oh! if the pen were only called upon to describe the pure and the good, -what a pleasant task might be this of authorship; but while human life -is made up of the evil and the good, in order to be true, there must be -many dark shadows in every picture of life as it exists now, and has -existed from the beginning of the world. In humanity, as in nature -herself, there is midnight darkness contrasting with the bright and pure -sunshine. - -There was nothing about the person of Leicester that should make the -task of describing him an unpleasant one. He had reached the middle age, -at least was fast approaching it: and on a close scrutiny, his features -gave indication of more advanced years than the truth would justify; for -his life had been one that seldom leaves the brow smooth, or the mouth -perfectly flexible. Still to a casual observer, Leicester was a -noble-looking and elegant man. The dark gloss and luxuriance of his -hair was in nothing impaired by the few threads of silver that begun to -make themselves visible; his forehead was high, broad and white; his -teeth perfect, and though the lips were somewhat heavy, the smile that -at rare intervals stole over them was full of wily fascination, wicked, -but indescribably alluring. That smile had won many a new face to the -little frame from which poor Florence Craft seemed to gaze upon him with -mournful tenderness. - -As he looked upward it deepened, spread and quivered about his mouth, -that subtle and infatuating smile. There was something of tenderness, -something of indolent scorn blended with it then, for his eyes were -lifted to that beautiful face gazing upon him so immovably from the -ivory. He caught the mournful expression, cast, perhaps, by the position -of the candles, and it was this that gave a new character to his smile. -He stretched himself languidly back in his chair, clasped both hands -behind his head, and still gazed upward with half closed eyes. - -This change of position loosened the heavy cord of silk with which a -dressing-gown, lined with crimson velvet, and of a rich cashmere -pattern, had been girded to his waist, thus exposing the majestic -proportions of a person strong, sinewy and full of flexible vigor. His -vest was off, and the play of his heart might have been counted through -the fine and plaited linen that covered his bosom. Something more than -the rise and fall of a base heart, had that loosened cord exposed. -Protruding from an inner pocket of his dressing-gown the inlaid butt of -a revolver was just visible. - -Thus surrounded by luxuries, with a weapon of death close to his heart, -William Leicester sat gazing with half-shut eyes upon the mute shadow -that returned his look with such mournful intensity. At length the smile -upon his lip gave place to words full of meaning, treacherous and more -carelessly cruel than the smile had foreshadowed. - -"Oh! Flor, Flor," he said, "your time will soon come. This excessive -devotion--this wild love--it tires me, child--you are unskilful, Flor--a -little spice of the evil-one--a storm of anger--now a dash of -indifference--anything but this eternal tenderness. It gets to be a bore -at last, Flor, indeed it does." - -And Leicester waved his head at the picture, smiling gently all the -time. Then he unsealed one of the wine-flasks, filled a glass and lifted -it to his mouth. After tasting the wine with a soft, oily smack of the -lips, and allowing a few drops to flow down his throat, he put aside the -glass with a look of disgust, and leaning forward, rang the bell. - -Before his hand left the bell-tassel, a servant was at the door, not in -answer to his summons, but with information that a carriage had stopped -at the private entrance, and that some one within wished to speak with -him. - -Leicester seemed annoyed. He drew the cords of his dressing-gown, and -stood up. - -"Who is in the carriage? What does he seem like, John?" - -The mulatto smiled till his teeth glistened in the candle-light. - -"Why don't you speak, fellow?" - -The waiter cast a shy glance toward the picture on the mantel-piece, and -his teeth shone again. - -"The night is dark as pitch, sir; I couldn't see a yard from the door; -but I heard a voice. It wasn't a man's voice." - -"A woman!--in all this storm too. Surely _she_ cannot have been so -wild," cried Leicester, casting aside his dressing-gown, and hurriedly -replacing it with garments more befitting the night, "Go, John, and say -that I will be down presently, and listen as you give the message; try -and get a glimpse of the lady." - -John disappeared, and threaded his way to the entrance with wonderful -alacrity. A man stood upon the steps, apparently indifferent to the rain -that beat in his face. By changing his position he might have avoided -half the violence of each new gust, but he seemed to feel a sort of -pleasure in braving it, for a stern pallor lay upon the face thus -steadily turned to the storm. - -This was the man who had first spoken to the servant, but instead of -addressing him, John was passing to the carriage, intent on learning -something of its inmate. But as he went down the steps a strong grasp -was fixed on his arm, and he found himself suddenly wheeled, face to -face, with the powerful man upon the upper flag. - -"Where are you going?" - -There was something in the man's voice that made the mulatto shake. - -"I was going to the carriage, sir, with Mr. Leicester's message to -the--the----" Here John began to stammer, for he felt the grasp upon his -arm tighten like a vice. - -"I sent for Mr. Leicester to come down; give _me_ his answer!" - -"Yes--yes, sir, certainly. Mr. Leicester will be down in a minute," -stammered John, shaking the rain from his garments, and drawing back to -the doorway the moment he was released, but casting a furtive glance -into the darkness, anxious, if possible, to learn something of the -person in the carriage. - -That moment, as if to reward his vigilance, the carriage window was let -down, and by the faint light that struggled from the lanterns, the -mulatto saw a white hand thrust forth; and a face of which he could -distinguish nothing, save that it was very pale, and lighted by a pair -of large eyes fearfully brilliant, gleamed on him through the -illuminated mist. - -"What is it? Will he not come? Open the door--open the door," cried a -voice that rang even through his inert heart. - -It was a female's voice, full and clear, but evidently excited to an -unnatural tone by some powerful feeling. - -Again the mulatto attempted to reach the carriage. - -"Madam--Mr. Leicester will----" - -Before the sentence was half uttered, the mulatto found himself reeling -back against the door, and the man who hurled him there, darted down the -steps. - -"Shut the window--sit further back, for gracious' sake." - -"Is he coming? Is he here?" was the wild rejoinder. - -"He _is_ coming; but do be more patient." - -"I will--I will!" cried the lady, and without another word she drew back -into the darkness. - -Meanwhile the mulatto found his way back to the chamber, where Mr. -Leicester was waiting with no little impatience. The very imperfect -report which he was enabled to give, relieved Leicester from his first -apprehension, and excited a wild spirit of adventure in its place. - -"Who in the name of Heaven can it be?" broke from him as he was looking -for his hat. "The face, John, you saw the face, ha!" - -"Only something white, sir; and the eyes--such eyes, large and -shining--a great deal brighter than the lamp, that was half put out by -the rain!" - -"It cannot be Florence, that is certain," muttered Leicester, as he took -up his dressing-gown from the floor and transferred the revolver to an -inner pocket of his coat--"some old torment, perhaps, or a new one. -Well, I'm ready." - -Leicester found the carriage at the entrance, its outlines only defined -in the surrounding darkness by the pale glimmer of a lamp, whose -companion had been extinguished by the rain. Upon the steps, but lower -down, and close by the carriage, stood the immovable figure of that self -constituted sentinel. As Leicester presented himself, on the steps -above, this man threw open the carriage door, but kept his face turned -away, even from the half dying lamp-light. - -Leicester saw that he was expected to enter; but though bold, he was a -cautious man, and for a moment held back with a hand upon his revolver. - -"Step in--step in, sir," said the man, who still held the door; "the -rain will wet you to the skin." - -"Who wishes to see me?--what do you desire?" said Leicester, with one -foot on the steps. "I was informed that a lady waited. Is she within the -carriage?" - -A faint exclamation broke from the carriage, as the sound of his voice -penetrated there. - -"Step in, sir, at once, if you would be safe!" was the stern answer. - -"I am always safe," was the haughty reply, and Leicester touched his -side pocket significantly. - -"You are safe here. Indeed, indeed you are!" cried a sweet and tremulous -voice from the carriage. "In Heaven's name, step in, it is but a woman." - -He was ashamed of the hesitation that might have been misunderstood for -cowardice, and sprang into the vehicle. The door was instantly closed; -another form sprang up through the darkness and placed itself by the -driver. The carriage dashed off at a rapid pace, for, drenched in that -pitiless rain, both horses and driver were impatient to be housed for -the night. - -Within the carriage all was profound darkness. Leicester had placed -himself in a corner of the back seat. He felt that some one was by his -side shrinking back as if in terror or greatly agitated. It was a -female, he knew by the rustling of a silk dress--by the quick -respiration--by the sort of thrill that seemed to agitate the being so -mysteriously brought in contact with him. His own sensations were -strange and inexplicable; accustomed to adventure, and living in -intrigue of one kind or another continually, he entered into this -strange scene with absolute trepidation. The voice that had invited him -into the carriage was so clear, so thrillingly plaintive, that it had -stirred the very core of his heart like an old memory of youth, planted -when that heart had not lost all feeling. - -He rode on then in silence, disturbed as he had not been for many a day, -and full of confused thought. His hearing seemed unusually acute. -Notwithstanding the rain that beat noisily on the roof, the grinding -wheels, and loud, splashing tread of the horses, he could hear the -unequal breath of his companion with startling distinctness. Nay, it -seemed to him as if the very beating of a heart all in tumult reached -his ear also: but it was not so. That which he fancied to be the voice -of another soul, was a powerful intuition knocking at his own heart. - -Leicester had not attempted to speak; his usual cool self-possession -was lost. His audacious spirit seemed shamed down in that unknown -presence. But this was not a state of things that could exist long with -a man so bold and so unprincipled. After the carriage had dashed on, -perhaps ten minutes, he thought how singular this silence must appear, -and became ashamed of it. Even in the darkness he smiled in self -derision; a lady had called at his hotel--had taken him almost per force -into her carriage--was he to sit there like a great school-boy, without -one gallant word, or one effort to obtain a glimpse at the face of his -captor? He almost laughed as this thought of his late awkward confusion -presented itself. All his audacity returned, and with a tone of half -jeering gallantry he drew closer to the lady. - -"Sweet stranger," he said, "this seems a cold reception for your -captive. If one consents to be taken prisoner on a stormy night like -this, surely he may expect at least a civil word." - -He had drawn close to the lady, her hand lay in his cold as ice. Her -breath floated over his cheek--that, too, seemed chilly, but familiar as -the scent of a flower beloved in childhood. There was something in the -breath that brought that strange sensation to his heart again. He was -silent--the gallant words seemed freezing in his throat. The hand -clasped in his grew warmer, and began to tremble like a half frozen bird -taking life from the humane bosom that has given it shelter. Again he -spoke, but the jeering tone had left his voice. He felt to his innermost -soul that this was no common adventure, that the woman by his side had -some deeper motive than idle romance or ephemeral passion for what she -was doing. - -"Lady," he said, in a tone harmonious with gentle respect, "at least -tell me why I am thus summoned forth. Let me hear that voice again, -though in this darkness to see your face is impossible. It seemed to me -that your voice was familiar. Is it so? Have we ever met before?" - -The lady turned her head, and it seemed that she made an effort to -speak; but a low murmur only met his ear, followed by a sob, as if she -was gasping for words. - -With the insidious tenderness which made this man so dangerous, he -threw his arm gently around the strangely agitated woman, not in a way -to arouse her apprehensions had she been the most fastidious being on -earth, but respectfully, as if he felt that she required support. She -was trembling from head to foot. He uttered a few soothing words, and -bending down, kissed her forehead. Then her head fell upon his shoulder, -and she burst into a passion of tears. Her being seemed shaken to its -very centre; she murmured amid her tears soft words too low for him to -hear. Her hand wove itself around his tighter and more passionately; she -clung to him like a deserted child restored to its mother's bosom. - -Libertine as he was, Leicester could not misunderstand the agitation -that overwhelmed the stranger. It aroused all the sleeping romance--all -the vivid imagination of his nature; unprincipled he certainly was, but -not altogether without feeling. Surprise, gratified vanity, nay, some -mysterious influence of which he was unaware, held the deep evil of his -nature in abeyance. Strange as this woman's conduct had been, wild, -incomprehensible as it certainly was, he could not think entirely ill of -her. He would have laughed at another man in his place, had he -entertained a doubt of her utter worthlessness; but there she lay -against his heart, and spite of that, spite of a nature always ready to -see the dark side of humanity, he could not force himself to treat her -with disrespect. After all, there must have been some few sparks of -goodness in that man's heart, or he could not so well have comprehended -the better feelings of another. - -She lay thus weeping and passive, circled by his arm; her tears seemed -very sweet and blissful. Now and then she drew a deep, tremulous sigh, -but no words were uttered. At length he broke the spell that controlled -her with a question. - -"Will you not tell me now, why you came for me, and your name? If not -that, say where we have ever met before?" - -She released herself gently from his arm at these words, and drew back -to a corner of the seat. He had aroused her from the sweetest bliss ever -known to a human heart. This one moment of delusion was followed by a -memory of who she was, and why she sought him, so bitter and sharp that -it chilled her through and through. There was no danger that he could -recognize her voice then, even if he had known it before. Nothing could -be more faint and changed than the tone in which she answered-- - -"In a little time you shall know all." - -He would have drawn her toward him again, but she resisted the effort -with gentle decision; and, completely lost in wonder, he waited the -course this strange adventure might take. - -The horses stopped before some large building, but even the outline was -lost in that inky darkness; something more gloomy and palpable than the -air loomed before them, and that was all Leicester could distinguish. He -sat still and waited. - -The carriage door was opened on the side where the female sat, and some -words passed between her and a person outside, but she leaned forward, -and had her tones been louder, they would have been drowned by the rain -dashing over the carriage. The man to whom she had spoken closed the -door and seemed to mount a flight of steps. Then followed the sound of -an opening door, and after that a gleam of light now and then broke -through a chink in that black mass, up and up, till far over head it -gleamed through the blinds of a window, revealing the casement and -nothing more. - -Again the carriage door was opened. The lady arose and was lifted out. -Leicester followed, and without a word they both went through an iron -gate and mounted the granite steps of a dwelling. The outer door stood -open, and, taking his hand, she led him through the profound darkness of -what appeared to be a spacious vestibule. Then they ascended a flight of -stairs winding up and up, as if confined within a tower; a door was -opened, and Leicester found himself in a small chamber, furnished after -a fashion common to country villages in New England, but so unusual in a -large city that it made him start. - -We need not describe this chamber, for it is one with which the reader -is already acquainted. The woman who now stood upon the faded carpet, -over which the rain dripped from her cloak, had visited it before that -day. - -One thing seemed strange and out of keeping. A small lamp that stood -upon the bureau was of silver, graceful in form, and ornamented with a -wreath of flowers chased in frosted silver, and raised from the surface -after a fashion peculiar to the best artists of Europe. Leicester was a -connoisseur in things of this kind, and his keen eye instantly detected -the incongruity between this expensive article and the cheap adornments -of the room. - -"Some waiting maid or governess," he thought, with a sensation of angry -scorn, for Leicester was fastidious even in his vices. "Some -waiting-maid or governess who has borrowed the lamp from her mistress' -drawing-table; faith! the affair is getting ridiculous!" - -When Leicester turned to look upon his companion, all the arrogant -contempt which this thought had given to his face still remained there. -But the lady could not have seen it distinctly; she had thrown off her -cloak, and stood with her veil of black lace, so heavily embroidered -that no feature could be recognized through it, grasped in her hand, as -if reluctant to fling it aside. She evidently trembled from head to -foot: and even through the heavy folds of her veil, he felt the -thrilling intensity of the gaze she fixed upon him. - -The look of scornful disappointment left his face; there was something -imposing in the presence of this strange being that crushed his -suspicions and his sneers at once. Enough of personal beauty was -revealed in the superb proportions of her form to make him more anxious -for a view of her face. He advanced toward her eagerly, but still -throwing an expression of tender respect into his look and manner. They -stood face to face--she lifted her veil. - -He started, and a look of bewilderment came upon his face. Those -features were familiar, so familiar that every nerve in his strong frame -seemed to quiver under the partial recognition. She saw that he did not -fully recognize her, and flinging away both shawl and bonnet, stood -before him. - -He knew her then! You could see it in the look of keen surprise--in the -color as it crept from his lips--in the ashy pallor of his cheek. It was -not often that this strong man was taken by surprise. His -self-possession was marvellous at all times; but now, even the lady -herself did not seem more profoundly agitated. She was the first to -speak. Her voice was clear and full of sweetness. - -"You know me, William?" - -"Yes!" he said, after a brief struggle, and drawing a deep -breath--"yes." - -She looked at him: her large eyes grew misty with tenderness, and yet -there was a proud reserve about her as if she waited for him to say -more. She was keenly hurt that he answered her only with that brief -"yes." - -"It is many years since we met," she said at length, and in a low voice. - -"Yes, many years," was his cold reply; "I thought you dead." - -"And mourned for me! Oh! Leicester, for the love of Heaven, say that I -was mourned when you thought me dead!" - -Leicester smiled--oh, that cruel smile! It pierced that proud woman's -heart like the sting of a venomous insect, she seemed withered by its -influence. He was gratified, gratified that his smile could still make -that haughty being cower and tremble. He was rapidly gaining command -over himself. Quick in association of ideas, even while he was smiling -he had began to calculate. Selfish, haughty, cruel, with a heart fearful -in the might of its passion, yet seldom gaining mastery over nerves that -seemed spun from steel, even at this trying moment he could reason and -plan. That power seldom left him. With all his evil might, he was -cautious. Now he resolved to learn more, and deal warily as he learned. - -"And if I did mourn, of what avail was it, Ada?" He uttered the name on -purpose, knowing that, unless she were marvellously changed, it would -stir her heart to yield more certain signs of his power. He was not -mistaken. She moved a step toward him as he uttered the name in the -sweet, olden tone that slept ever in her heart. The tears swelled to her -eyes--she half extended her arms. - -Again he was pleased. The chain of his power had not been severed. Years -might have rusted but not broken it--thus he calculated, for he could -reason now before that beautiful, passionate being, coldly as a -mathematician in his closet. The dismay of her first presence -disappeared with the moment. - -"Oh! had I but known it! Had I but dreamed that you cared for me in the -least!" cried the poor lady, falling into one of the hard chairs, and -pressing a hand to her forehead. - -"What then, Ada--what then?" - -He took her hand in his: she lifted her eyes--a flood of mournful -tenderness clouded them. - -"What then, William?" - -"Yes, what then? How would any knowledge of my feelings have affected -your destiny?" - -"How? Did I not love--worship--idolize? Oh! Heavens, how I did love you, -William!" - -Her hands were clasped passionately: a glorious light broke through the -mist of her unshed tears. - -"But you abandoned me!" - -"Abandoned _you_--oh, William!" - -"Well, we will not recriminate--let us leave the past for a moment. It -has not been so pleasant that we should wish to dwell upon it." - -"Pleasant! oh! what a bitter, bitter past it has been to me!" - -"But the present. If you and I can talk of anything, it must be that. -Where have you been so many years?" - -"You know--you know--why ask the cruel question?" she answered. - -"True, we were not to speak of the past." - -"And yet it must be before we part," she said, gently, "else how can we -understand the present?" - -"True enough; perhaps it is as well to swallow the dose at once, as we -shall probably never meet again." - -She cast upon him a wild upbraiding look. The speech was intended to -wound her, and it did--that man was not content with making victims, he -loved to tease and torture them. He sat down in one of the maple chairs, -and drew it nearer to her. - -"Now," he said, "tell me all your history since we parted--your motive -for coming here." - -She lifted her eyes to his; and smiled with mournful bitterness; the -task that she had imposed upon herself was a terrible one. She had -resolved to open her heart, to tell the whole harrowing, mournful truth, -but her courage died in his presence. She could not force her lips to -speak all. - -He smiled; the torture that she was suffering pleased him--for, as I -have said, he loved to play with his victims, and the anguish of shame -which she endured had something novel and exciting in it. For some time -he would not aid her, even by a question, but he really wished to learn -a portion of her history, for during the last three years he had lost -all trace of her, and there might be something in the events of those -three years to affect his interest. It was his policy, however, to -appear ignorant of _all_ that had transpired. - -But she was silent; her ideas seemed paralyzed. How many times she had -fancied this meeting--with what eloquence she had pleaded to him--how -plausible were the excuses that arose in her mind--and now where had -they fled? The very power of speech seemed abandoning her. She almost -longed for some taunting word, another cold sneer--at least they would -have stung her into eloquence--but that dull, quiet silence chained up -her faculties. She sat gazing on the floor, mute and pale; and he -remained in his seat coldly regarding her. - -At length the stillness grew irksome to him. - -"I am waiting patiently, Ada; waiting to hear why you abandoned your -husband!" - -She started: her eye kindled, and the fiery blood flashed into her -cheek. - -"I did _not_ abandon my husband. He left me." - -"For a journey, but for a journey!" was the calm reply. - -"Yes, such journeys as you had taken before, and with a like motive, -leaving me young, penniless, beset with temptation, tortured with -jealousy. On that very journey you had a companion." - -She looked at him as if eager even then, against her own positive -knowledge, to hear a denial of her accusations; but he only smiled, and -murmured softly-- - -"Yes, yes, I remember. It was a pleasant journey." - -"It drove me wild--I was not myself--suspicions, such suspicions haunted -me. I thought--I believed, nay, believe now that you wished me to -go--that you longed to get rid of me--nay, that you encouraged--I cannot -frame words for the thought even now. He had lent you money, large -sums--William, William, in the name of Heaven, tell me that it was not -for this I was left alone in debt and helpless. Say that you did not -yourself thrust me into that terrible temptation!" - -She laid her hand upon his arm and grasped it hard; her eyes searched -his to the soul. He smiled--her hand dropped--her countenance fell--and -oh! such bitter disappointment broke through her voice. - -"It has been the vulture preying on my heart ever since. A word would -have torn it away, but you will not take the trouble even to deceive me. -You smile, only smile!" - -"I only smile at the absurdity of your suspicion." - -She looked up eagerly, but with doubt in her face. She panted to believe -him, but lacked the necessary faith. - -"I asked _him_ to deny this on his death-bed, and he could not!" - -"Then he _is_ dead," was the quick rejoinder. "He _is_ dead!" - -"Yes, he is dead," she answered in a low voice. - -"And the daughter, his heiress?" - -"She too is dead!" - -He longed to ask another question. His eyes absolutely gleamed with -eagerness, but his self-control was wonderful. A direct question might -expose the unutterable meanness of his hope. He must obtain what he -panted to know by circuitous means. - -"And you staid by him to the last?" - -She turned upon him a sharp and penetrating look. He felt the whole -force of her glance, and assumed an expression well calculated to -deceive a much less excitable observer. - -"I thought," he said, "that you had been living in retirement. That you -left the noble villain without public disgrace. It was a great -satisfaction for me to know this." - -"I did leave him. I did live in retirement, toiled for my own bread; by -wrestling with poverty I strove to win back some portion of content." - -"Yet you were with him when he died!" - -"It was a mournful death-bed--he sent for me, and I went. Oh! it was a -mournful death-bed!" - -Tears rolled down her cheeks; she covered her face with both hands. - -"I had been the governess of his daughter--her nurse in the last -sickness." - -"And you lived apart, alone--you and this daughter." - -"She died in Florence. We were alone. She was sent home for burial." - -"And to be a governess to this young lady you abandoned your own -child--_only_ to be governess. Can you say to me, Ada, that it was only -to be a governess to this young lady?" - -There was feeling in his voice, something of stern dignity--perhaps at -the moment he did feel--she thought so, and it gave her hope. - -She had not removed her hands; they still covered her face, and a faint -murmur only broke through the fingers--oh! what cowards sin makes of us! -That poor woman dared not tell the truth--she shrunk from uttering a -positive falsehood, hence the humiliating murmur that stole from her -pallid lips--the sickening shudder that ran through her frame. - -"You do not answer," said the husband, for Leicester _was_ her -husband--"you do not answer." - -She had gathered courage enough to utter the falsehood, and dropping -her hands, replied in a firm voice, disagreeably firm, for the lie cost -her proud spirit a terrible effort, and she could not utter it naturally -as he would have done. - -"Yes, I can answer. It was to be the young lady's governess that I -went--only to be her governess!--penniless, abandoned, what else could I -do?" - -He did not believe her. In his soul he knew that she was not speaking -the truth; but there was something yet to learn, and in the end it might -be policy to feign a belief which he could not feel. - -"So after wasting youth and talent on his daughter--paling your beauty -over her death-bed and his--this pitiful man could leave you to poverty -and toil. Did he expect that I would receive you again after that -suspicious desertion?" - -"No, no. The wild thought was mine--you once loved me, William!" - -The tears were swelling in her eyes again; few men could have resisted -the look of those eyes, the sweet pleading of her voice--for the -contrast with her usual imperious pride had something very touching in -it. - -"You were very beautiful then," he said--"very beautiful." - -"And am I so much changed?" she answered, with a smile of gentle -sweetness. - -In his secret heart he thought the splendid creature handsomer than -ever. If the freshness of youth was gone, there was grace, maturity, -intellect, everything requisite to the perfection of womanhood, in -exchange for the one lost attraction. - -It was a part of Leicester's policy to please her until he had mastered -all the facts of her position; so he spoke for once sincerely, and in -the rich tones that he knew so well how to modulate, he told how -superbly her beauty had ripened with time. She blushed like a girl. He -could feel even that her hand was glowing with the exquisite pleasure -given by his praise. But he had a point to gain--all her loveliness was -nothing to him, unless it could be made subservient to his interest. -What was her present condition?--had she obtained wealth abroad?--or -could she insanely fancy that he would receive her penniless? This was -the point that he wished to arrive at, but so far she had evaded it as -if unconsciously. - -He looked around the room, hoping to draw some conclusion by the objects -it contained. The scrutiny was followed by a faint start of surprise; -the hard carpet, the bureau, the bed, all were familiar. They had been -the little "setting out" that his wife had received from her parents in -New England. How came they there, so well kept, so neatly arranged in -that high chamber! Was she a governess in some wealthy household, -furnishing her own room with the humble articles that had once been -their own household goods? He glanced at her dress. It was simple and -entirely without ornament; this only strengthened the conclusion to -which he was fast arriving. He remembered the marble vestibule through -which they had reached the staircase, the caution used in admitting him -to the house. The hackney-coach, everything gave proof that she would be -an incumbrance to him. She saw that he was regarding the patch-work -quilt that covered the bed; the tears began to fall from her eyes. - -"Do you remember, William, we used it first when our darling was a baby? -Have you ever seen her since--since?" - -He dropped her hand and stood up. His whole manner changed. - -"Do not mention her, wretched, unnatural mother--is she not -impoverished, abandoned? Can you make atonement for this?" - -"No, no, I never hoped it--I feel keenly as you can how impossible it -is. Oh, that I had the power!" - -These words were enough; he had arrived at the certainty that she was -penniless. - -"Now let this scene have an end. It can do no good for us to meet again, -or to dwell upon things that are unchangeable. You have sought this -interview, and it is over. It must never be repeated." - -She started up and gazed at him in wild surprise. - -"You do not mean it," she faltered, making an effort to smile away her -terror--"your looks but a moment since--your words. You have not so -trifled with me, William!" - -He was gone--she followed him to the door--her voice died away--she -staggered back with a faint wail, and fell senseless across the bed. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -MISTRESS AND SERVANT. - - With hate in every burning thought, - There, shrouded in the midnight gloom, - While every pulse its anguish brought, - He guarded still that attic room. - - -Jacob stood upon the steps of that tall mansion, till his mistress -disappeared in the darkness that filled it. His eyes followed her with -an intense gaze, as if the fire smouldering at his heart could empower -his vision to penetrate the black night that seemed to engulf her, -together with the man to whose hand she was clinging. The rain was -pouring around him. The winds sweeping through the drops, lulled a -little, but were still violent. He stood motionless in the midst, -allowing both rain and wind to beat against him without a thought. He -was listening for another sound of their footsteps, from the marble -floor, and seemed paralyzed upon the great stone flags, over which the -water was dripping. - -The carriage wheels grinding upon the pavement, as the coachman -attempted to turn his vehicle, aroused Jacob from his abstraction. He -turned, and running down the steps, caught one of the horses by the bit. - -"Not yet--you will be wanted again!" he shouted. - -"Wanted or not, I am going home," answered the driver gruffly; "as for -sitting before any lady's door on a night like this, nobody knows how -long--I won't, and wouldn't for twice the money you'll pay me." - -Jacob backed the horses, till one of the carriage wheels struck the -curbstone. - -"There," he said resolutely, "get inside if you are afraid of the rain; -but as for driving away, that's out of the question!" - -"We'll see, that's all," shouted the driver, giving his dripping reins a -shake. - -"Stop," said Jacob, springing up on one of the fore-wheels, and -thrusting a silver dollar into the man's hand. "This is for yourself -beside the regular pay! Will that satisfy you for now waiting?" - -"I shouldn't wonder," answered the man, with a broad grin, thrusting the -coin into the depths of a pocket that seemed unfathomable, "that's an -argument to reconcile one to cold water: because, do you mind, there's a -prospect of something stronger after it. Hallo, what are you about -there?" - -"Only looking to the lamp," answered Jacob, holding the little glass -door open as he spoke. - -"But it's out!" - -"So it is!" answered Jacob, dismounting from the wheel. - -"And what's worse, there isn't a lamp left burning in the neighborhood -to light up by!" muttered the driver, peering discontentedly into the -darkness. - -"Exactly!" was the terse rejoinder. - -"I shall break my neck, and smash the carriage." - -"Keep cool--keep cool," said Jacob, "and when we get safely back to the -Astor, there'll be another dollar to pay for the mending--do you hear?" - -"Of course I do!" answered the man, with a chuckle, and gathering -himself up in his overcoat like a turtle in its shell, he cowered down -in his seat quite contented to be drenched at that price to any possible -extent. - -Relieved from all anxiety regarding the carriage, Jacob fell back into -the state from which this little contention had, for the moment, -diverted him. He looked upward--far, in a gable overhead a single beam -of light quivered and broke amid the rain-drops--it entered his heart -like a poignard. - -What was he saying to her?--was he harsh?--or worse, oh, a thousand -times worse, could that light be gleaming upon their reconciliation? -Jacob writhed with the thought; he tried to be calm; to quench the fire -that broke up from the depths of his heart. His nature strong, and but -slowly excited, grew ungovernable when fully aroused. Never till that -hour had his imagination been so glowing, so terribly awake. A thousand -fears flashed athwart his usually cool brain. Alone, in that great, -silent house, with a man like Leicester, was she safe?--his -mistress--was she? This thought--the latest and least selfish--goaded -him to action. - -He strode hurriedly up the steps, crossed the vestibule and groped his -way up through the darkness till he reached the attic. A single ray of -light penetrating a key-hole, guided him to the door of that singular -chamber. He drew close and listened, unconscious of the act, for his -anxiety had become intense, and Jacob thought of no forms then. - -The rain beating upon the roof overpowered all other sounds; but now and -then a murmur reached his ear, broken, but familiar as the pulses of his -own heart. This was followed by tones that brought his teeth sharply -together. They might be mellowed by distance, but to him they seemed -soft and persuasive to a degree of fascination. He could not endure -them; they glided through his heart like serpents distilling poison from -every coil. He laid his hand upon the latch, hesitated, and turning -away, crept through the darkness, ashamed of what he had done. He an -eaves-dropper, and with her, his mistress! He paused on the top of the -winding staircase beyond ear-shot, but with his eyes fixed upon that ray -of light, humbled and crushed in spirit, for he had awoke as from a -dream, and found himself listening. There the poor man sat down pale and -faint with self-reproach. - -Poor Jacob; his punishment was terrible! Minute after minute crept by, -and each second seemed an hour. Sometimes he sat with both hands -clasped over his face, and both knees pressed hard by his elbows. Then -he would stand up in the darkness quiet as a statue; not a murmur could -possibly reach his ear from the room. Still he held his breath, and bent -forward like one listening. Cruel anxiety forced the position upon him, -but it could not impel him one step nearer the door. - -He was standing thus, bending forward with his eyes, as it were, -devouring the little gleam of light that fell so tranquilly through the -key-hole, when the door was suddenly opened and Leicester came out. With -the abrupt burst of light rushed a cry, wild and quivering with anguish. -Jacob sprang forward, seized Leicester by the arm, and after one or two -fruitless efforts--for every word choked him as it rose--he said-- - -"Have you killed her? Is it murder?" - -"A fit of hysterics, friend, nothing more!" was the cool reply. - -Jacob strode into the chamber. His mistress lay prone upon the bed, her -face pale as death, and a faint convulsion stirring her limbs. - -He bent over her, and gently put the hair back from her temples with his -great, awkward hand. - -"She is not dead, nor hurt!" he murmured, and though his face expressed -profound compassion, a gleam of wild joy broke through it all. "His -scorn has wounded her, not his hand." - -Still the poor lady remained insensible. There was a faint quivering of -the eyelids, but no other appearance of life. Jacob looked around for -some means of restoration, but none were there. He flung up the window, -and dashing open a shutter, held out his palm. It was soon full of -water-drops, and with these he bathed her forehead and her pale mouth, -while a gust of rain swept through the open sash. This aroused her; a -shudder crept through her limbs, and her eyes opened. Jacob was bending -over her tenderly, as a mother watches her child. - -She saw who it was, and rising feebly to her elbow, put him back with -one hand, while her eyes wandered eagerly around the room. - -"Where--where is he?" she questioned; "oh, Jacob, call him back." - -"No!" answered the servant, firmly, notwithstanding that his voice -shook--"no, I will not call him back! To-morrow you would not thank me -for doing it!" - -She turned her head upon the pillow, and closing her eyes, murmured-- - -"Leave me then--leave me!" - -Jacob closed the window, and folding the quilt softly over her, went -out. He had half descended the coil of steps, when a voice from below -arrested his attention. - -"Here yet!" he muttered, springing down into the darkness, and like a -wild beast guided by the instinct of his passion, he seized Leicester by -the arm. - -"Softly, softly, friend," exclaimed that gentleman, with a low calm -intonation, though one hand was upon his revolver all the time. "Oblige -me by relaxing your hand just the least in the world; my arm is tender -as a lady's, and your fingers seem made of iron." - -"We grasp rattlesnakes hard when we do touch them," muttered Jacob, -fiercely, "and close to the throat, it strangles back the poison." - -"Never touch a rattlesnake at all, friend, it is a desperate business, I -assure you; they are beautiful reptiles, but rather dangerous to play -with. Oh, I am glad that your fingers relax, it would have been -unpleasant to shoot a fellow creature here in the dark, and with a -gentle lady close by." - -"Would it?" muttered Jacob, between his teeth. - -The answer was a light laugh, that sounded strangely in that silent -dwelling. - -"Your hand once more, friend; after all, this darkness makes me quite -dependent on your guidance," said the voice again. - -There was a fierce struggle in Jacob's bosom; but at last his hand was -stretched forth and clasped with the soft, white fingers, whose bare -touch filled his soul with loathing. - -"This way--I will lead you safely!" - -"Why, how you tremble, friend--not with fear, I hope." - -"No, with hate!" were the words that sprang to the honest lips of Jacob -Strong; but he conquered the impulse to utter them, and only -answered--"I'm not afraid!" - -"Faith, but it requires courage to grope one's way through all this -darkness--every step puts our necks in danger." - -Jacob made no observation; he had reached the lower hall, and moved -rapidly across the tessellated floor toward the front entrance. The -moment they gained the open air, Jacob wrenched his hand from the -other's grasp, and hurrying down the steps, opened the carriage door. -The rain prevented any further questioning on the part of Leicester, and -he took his seat in silence. - -Jacob climbed up to the driver's seat, and took possession of the reins. -The man submitted quietly, glad to gather himself closer in his -overcoat. A single crack of the whip, and off went the dripping horses, -plunging furiously onward through the darkness, winding round whole -blocks of buildings, doubling corners, and crossing one street half a -dozen times, till it would have puzzled a man in broad daylight to guess -where he was going, or whence he came. At length the carriage dashed -into Broadway, and downward to the Astor House. - -The coachman kept his seat, and Jacob once more let down the carriage -steps. The drive had given him time for deliberation. He was no longer a -slave to the rage that an hour before seemed to overpower his -strength--rage that had changed his voice, and even his usual habits of -language. - -"Come in--come in!" said Leicester, as he ran up the steps. "I wish to -ask a question or two." - -Jacob made no answer, but followed in a heavy indifferent manner. All -his faculties were now under control, and he was prepared to act any -part that might present itself. - -Leicester paused in the lobby, and turning round, cast a glance over -Jacob's person. It was the first time he had obtained a full view of -those harsh features. Leicester was perplexed. Was this the man who had -guided him through the dark passages of the mansion-house, or was it -only the coachman? The profound darkness had prevented him seeing that -another person occupied the driver's seat when he left the carriage; and -Jacob's air was so like a brother of the whip, that it puzzled even his -acute penetration. The voice--Leicester had a faultless ear, and was -certain that in the speech he should detect the man. He spoke, -therefore, in a quiet, common way, and took out his purse. - -"How much am I to pay you, my fine fellow?" - -"What you please. The lady paid, but then it's a wet night, and----" - -"Yes, yes, will that do?" cried Leicester, drawing forth a piece of -silver. The voice satisfied him that it was the coachman only. The -former tone had been quick, peremptory, and inspired with passion; now -it was calm, drawling, and marked with something of a Down-East twang. -Nothing could have been more unlike than that voice then, and an hour -before. - -Jacob took the money, and moving toward the light, examined it closely. - -"Thank you, sir; I suppose it's a genuine half dollar," he said, turning -away with the business-like air he had so well assumed. - -Leicester laughed--"Of course it is--but stop a moment, and tell me--if -it is within the limits of your geographical knowledge--where I have -been travelling to night?" - -"Sir!" answered Jacob, turning back with a perplexed look. - -"Where have I been? What number and street was it to which you drove -me?" - -"The street. Wal, I reckon it was nigh upon Twenty Eighth street, sir." - -"And the number?" - -"It isn't numbered just there, sir, I believe." - -"But you know the house?" - -"Yes, sir, that is, I suppose I know it. The man told me when to stop, -so I didn't look particularly myself." - -"The man, what was he, a servant or a gentleman?" - -"Now raly, sir, in a country where all are free and equal, it is -dreadful difficult to tell which is which sometimes. He acted like a -hired man to the lady, and like a gentleman to me, that is in the way of -renunciation!" - -"Renunciation--remuneration, you mean!" - -"Wal, yes, maby I do!" answered Jacob, shaking the rain from his hat, -"one word is jest as good as t'other, I calculate, so long as both on -'em are about the same length." - -"So you could find the house again?" persisted Leicester, intent upon -gaining some information regarding his late adventure. - -"Wal, I guess so." - -"Very well--come here to-morrow, and I will employ you again." - -"Thank you, sir!" - -"Stop a moment, leave me your card--the number of your hack, and----" - -A look of profound horror came over Jacob's face. "Cards, sir, I never -touched the things in my hull life." - -Leicester laughed. - -"I mean the tickets you give to travellers, that they may know where to -get a carriage." - -Jacob began to search his pockets with great fervor, but in vain, as the -reader may well suppose. - -"Wal, now, did you ever--I hain't got the least sign of one about me." - -"No matter, tell me your number, that will do!" - -The first combination of figures that entered Jacob's head, was given -with a quiet simplicity that left no suspicion of their truthfulness. - -"Very well--come to-morrow, say at two o'clock." - -Jacob made an awkward bow. In truth, with his loose joints and ungainly -figure, this was never a very difficult exploit. - -"A minute more. Should you know that lady again?" - -"Should I know her!" almost broke from Jacob's lips; but he forced back -the exclamation, and though his frame trembled at the mention of his -mistress, he answered naturally as before. - -"Wal, it was dark, but I guess that face ain't one to forget easy." - -"You may be sent for again, perhaps, by the same person." - -"Jest as likely as not!" - -"You seem a shrewd, sensible fellow, friend!" - -"Wal, yes, our folks used to say I was a cute chap." - -"And pick up a little information about almost everybody, I dare say!" - -"Sartainly, I am generally considered purty wide awake!" - -"Very well, just keep an eye on this lady--make a little inquiry in the -shops and groceries about the neighborhood--I should like to learn more -about her. You understand!" - -Jacob nodded his head. - -"You shall be well paid for the trouble--remember that!" - -"Jest so!" was the composed answer. - -"Very well, call to-morrow--the man will bring you to my rooms," said -Leicester, turning away. - -"I will," muttered Jacob, in a voice so changed, that Leicester's -suspicions must have returned, had it reached his ear. - -The next moment the fictitious driver came rushing down the Astor House -steps. He dashed the silver impetuously upon the pavement, and plunged -into the carriage. - -"Drive up the Fifth avenue, till I tell you to stop and let me out," he -shouted to the coachman; then sinking back in the seat and knitting his -great hands hard together, he muttered through his teeth--"the -villain!--oh the villain, how cool, how etarnally cool he was!" - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -THE TEMPTER AND THE TEMPTED. - - The serpent, coiled within the grass, - With open jaw and eager eyes, - Watches the careless wild bird pass, - And lures him from his native skies. - - -Leicester went to his room humming a tune as he moved along the -passages. Soft and low the murmurs fell from his lips, like the -suppressed cooing of a bird. Now and then he paused to brush the -moisture from his coat. Once he fell into thought, and stood for more -than a minute with his eyes beat upon the floor. One of those lone -wanderers in hotels, that sit up to help off early travellers, happened -to pass just then, and interrupted his reverie. - -"Oh, is it you Jim," said Leicester, starting, "I hope there is a fire -still in my room." - -"Yes, sir, I just looked in to see if the young gentleman was -comfortable," answered the man. - -"What young gentleman, Jim?" - -"Why, one that called just after you went out, sir. I told him you left -no word, and might be in any minute, so he has been waiting ever since." - -This information seemed to disturb Leicester, but he checked a visible -impulse to speak again, and moved on. - -Leicester found in his chamber a young man, or rather lad, for the -intruder did not seem to be more than nineteen. His complexion was fair -as an infant's, and silky as an infant's were the masses of chestnut -curls, rich with a tinge of gold, that lay upon his white forehead. The -boy was sound asleep in the large, easy chair. One cheek lay against the -crimson dressing-gown, which Leicester had flung across the back of this -chair on going out. The other was warmed to a rich rose tint by the -heat. His lips, red and lustrous as over-ripe cherries, were just -parted, till the faintest gleam of his teeth became visible. The lad was -tall for his age, and every limb was rounded almost to a tone of -feminine symmetry. His hands, snowy, somewhat large, and dimpled at the -joints, lay on his chest indolently, as if they had been clasped and -were falling apart in his slumber, while each elbow fell against, rather -than rested upon the arms of his seat. - -An air of voluptuous quiet hung about the boy. Wine gleamed redly in the -half filled glasses, fragments of Leicester's supper were scattered -about, and all the rich tints that filled the room floated around him, -like the atmosphere in a warmly toned picture. Leicester observed this, -as he entered the room, and, with the feelings of an artist, changed one -of the candles, that its beams might fall more directly on the boy's -face, and fling a deeper shadow in the background. - -The deep, sweet slumber of youth possessed the boy, and even the -increased light did not arouse him; he only stretched himself more -indolently, and, while one of his hands fell down, began to breathe deep -and freely again. The motion loosened several folds of the -dressing-gown, adding a more picturesque effect to the position. - -Leicester smiled, and leaning against the mantel-piece, began to study -the effect quietly; for he was one of those men whose refinement in -selfishness, forbade the abridgment of a pleasurable sensation, however -ill-timed it might be. The boy smiled in his sleep. He was evidently -dreaming, and the glow that spread over his cheek grew richer, as if the -slumbering thought was a joyous one. - -Leicester's brow darkened. There was something in that soft sleep, in -the warm smile, that seemed to awake memories of his own youth. He gazed -on, but his eye grew vicious in its expression, as if he were beginning -to loathe the youth for the innocence of his look. Again the boy moved -and muttered in his sleep--something about a picture; Leicester heard -it, and laughed softly. - -At another time, Leicester would not have hesitated to arouse the -youth, for it was deep in the night, and he was not one to break his own -rest for the convenience of another; but he had been greatly excited, -notwithstanding that cool exterior. Old memories were stirred up in his -heart--pure as some memories of youth ever must be, even though breaking -through a nature vile as his--like water-lilies dragged up from the -depths of a dark pool. Those memories disturbed the very dregs of his -heart, and when thus disturbed, some pure waters gushed up, mingled with -much that was black and bitter. He had no inclination for sleep, none -for solitude, and with his whole being thus aroused, anything which -promised to occupy thought, without touching upon feeling, was a relief. - -It would not do. The exquisite taste, the intense love of artistical -effect that brightened his nature, could not long rob his spirit of -those thoughts that found in everything a stimulus. In vain he strove to -confine himself to simple admiration, as he gazed upon each new posture -assumed by the sleeping boy. His own youth rose before him in the -presence of youth asleep. He made a powerful effort at self-control. He -said to his thought, so far shalt thou go and no farther. But the light -which gleamed across the throat of that sleeping boy, exposed by the low -collar and simple black ribbon, was something far more intense than the -beams of a waxen candle. Spite of himself, it illuminated the many dark -places in his own soul, and forced him to see that which existed there. - -Thus he fell into a reverie, dark and sombre, from which he awoke at -length with a profound sigh. The boy still smiled in his sleep. -Leicester could no longer endure this blooming human life, so close to -him, and yet so unconscious. He laid his hand on the youth's shoulder -and aroused him. - -"Robert!" - -"Ha! Mr. Leicester--is it you?" cried the boy starting up and opening a -pair of large gray eyes to their fullest extent.--"Really, I must have -been asleep in your chair, and dreaming too. It was not the wine, upon -my honor. I only drank half a glass." - -"And so you were dreaming?" said Leicester, with a sort of chilly -sadness. "The vision seemed a very pleasant one!" - -The lad glanced at the miniature on the mantel-piece, and his eyes -flashed under their long lashes. - -"The last object I saw was that," he said. "It haunted me, I suppose." - -"You think it pretty, then?" was the quiet rejoinder. - -"Pretty! beautiful! I dreamed she was with me in one of those far off -isles of the ocean, which Tom Moore talks about. Such fruit, ripe, -luscious, and bursting with fragrance--flowers moist with dew, and -fairly dripping with sunshine--grass upon the banks softer than moss, -and greener than emerald--water so pure, leaping----" - -"It was a pleasant dream, no doubt," said Leicester, quietly -interrupting the lad. - -"Pleasant--it was Heavenly. That lovely creature, so bright, so----" - -"Do you know how late it is?" said Leicester, seating himself in the -easy chair, and bringing the boy down from his fancies with the most -ruthless coldness. - -"No, really. I had been waiting some time, that is certain. Then the -dream--but one never guesses at the length of time when----" - -"It is near one o'clock!" - -"And you are sleepy--wish me away--well, good bye then!" - -"No; but I wish to talk of something beside childish visions!" - -"Childish!" The boy's cheek reddened. - -"Well, youthful, then; that is the term, I believe. Now tell me what you -have been doing. How do you like the counting-house?" - -"Oh, very well. I'm sure it seems impossible to thank you enough for -getting me in." - -"Has the firm raised your salary yet?" - -"No--I have not ventured to mention it." - -"You have won confidence, I trust." - -"I have tried my best to deserve it," answered the boy modestly. - -Leicester frowned. The frank honesty of this speech seemed to displease -him. - -"They are beginning to trust you in things of importance--with the bank -business, perhaps?" - -"Yes, sometimes!" - -"That looks very well, and your writing--I hope you have attended to the -lessons I gave you. Without faultless penmanship, a clerk is always at -disadvantage." - -"I think you will not be displeased with my progress, sir." - -"I am glad of it. It would grieve me, Robert, should you fall short in -anything, after the recommendation I procured for your employers." - -"I never will, sir, depend upon it--I never will if study and hard work -will sustain me," answered the youth, earnestly. - -"I do not doubt it. Now tell me about your companions, your amusements." - -"Amusements, sir, how can I afford them?" - -"Certainly the salary is too small!" - -"I did not complain. In fact, I suppose it is large enough for the -services!" - -"Still you work all the time?" - -"Of course I do!" - -"And those who receive twice--nay, three times your salary do no more." - -"That is true," answered the boy, thoughtfully, "but then I am so -young!" - -"But you have more abilities than many of those above you who are far -better paid." - -"Do you think so--really think so, Mr. Leicester?" said the youth, -blushing with honest pleasure. - -"I never say what I do not think!" answered the crafty man with quiet -dignity, and keeping his eyes fixed upon the boy, for he was reading -every impulse of that warm young heart. "You have abilities of a high -order, industry, talent, everything requisite for success--but -remember, Robert, the reward for those qualities comes slowly as society -is regulated, and sometimes never comes at all. The rich blockhead often -runs far in advance of the poor genius." - -The youth looked grave. A spirit of discontent was creeping into his -heart. "I thought that with integrity and close application, I should be -sure to succeed like others," he said, "but I suppose poverty will stand -in the way. Strange that I did not see that before." - -"See what, Robert?" - -"Why, that starting poor I am only the more likely to be kept in -poverty. I remember now one of our clerks, no older than I am, was -promoted only last week. His father was a rich man, and it was whispered -that he would sometime be a junior partner in the concern." - -"You see, then, what money can do." - -"Well, after all, my good old aunt has money, more than people imagine, -I dare say!" cried the boy, brightening up. - -"What, the old lady in the market? Take my advice, Robert, and never -mention her." - -"And why not?" questioned the boy. - -"Because selling turnips and cabbage sprouts might not be considered the -most aristocratic way of making money among your fellow clerks." - -The boy changed countenance; his eye kindled and his lip began to curve. - -"I shall never be ashamed of my aunt, sir. She is a good, generous -woman----" - -"No doubt, no doubt. Go and proclaim her good qualities among your -companions, and see the result. For my part, I think the state of -society which makes any honest occupation a cause of reproach, is to be -condemned by all honorable men. But you and I, Robert, cannot hope to -change the present order of things, and without the power to remedy we -have only to submit. So take my advice and never talk of that fine old -huckster-woman among your fellow clerks." - -Robert was silent. He stood gazing upon the floor, his cheeks hot with -wounded feeling, and his eyes half full of tears. When he spoke again -there was trouble in his voice. - -"Thank you for the advice, Mr. Leicester, though I must say it seems -rather cold-hearted. I will go now; excuse me for keeping you up so -late." - -"You need not go on that account," said Leicester, "I am not certain of -going to sleep at all before morning!" - -"And I," said Robert, with a faint smile, "somehow this conversation -makes me restless. That sweet dream from which you aroused me, will not -be likely to come back again to-night!" - -Robert glanced at the miniature as he spoke, and a glow of admiration -kindled the mist still hanging about his eyes. - -"Perhaps," said Leicester, quietly, and with his keen glance fixed upon -the boy, "perhaps I may introduce you to her some day." - -"To her," cried the youth. "Alive! is there any being like that alive?" - -His face was in a glow, and a bright smile flashed over it. Nothing -could have been more beautiful than the boy that moment. - -Leicester regarded him with a faint smile. Like a chemist, he was -experimenting upon the beautiful nature before him, and like a chemist -he watched the slow, subtle poison that he had administered. - -"Alive and breathing, Robert; the picture does not quite equal her in -some things. It is a little too sad. The quick sparkle of her more -joyous look no artist can embody. But you shall see her." - -"I shall see her," muttered Robert, turning his eyes from the miniature. -"What if my dream were to prove correct?" - -"What--the lone island, the flowers, the magical fruit!" said Leicester -with a soft laugh that had a mocking tone in it. - -"That was not all my dream. It seemed to me that she was in trouble, -and in all her beauty and her grief, became my guardian angel." - -"You could not select anything more lovely for the office, I assure -you," answered Leicester. - -"She must be good as she is beautiful," answered the boy, turning an -earnest glance on his companion; for without knowing it, his sensitive -nature had been stung by the sarcasm lurking beneath the soft tones in -which Leicester had spoken. - -"At your age, all women are angels," was the rejoinder. - -"And at yours, what are they then?" questioned the lad. - -"Women!" answered Leicester with a scornful curve of the lip, and a -depth of sarcasm in his voice, that made the youth shrink. - -The arch hypocrite saw the impression his unguarded bitterness had made, -and added, "but this one really is an angel. I may not admire her as -much as you would, Robert, but she is an exquisite creature, timid as a -young fawn, delicate as a flower!" - -"I was sure of it!" exclaimed Robert with enthusiasm, for this frank -praise had obliterated all impression made by the sarcasm in Leicester's -voice. - -"And now," said Leicester taking his hat from the table, "as you seem -quite awake, and as I positively cannot sleep, what if we take a -stroll?" - -"Where could we go at this time of night?" said Robert, surprised by the -proposition. - -"I have a great fancy to let you see the inside of a gambling house for -once," was the quiet reply. - -"A gambling house? Oh, Mr. Leicester!" - -"I have often thought," said Leicester, as if speaking to himself, "that -the best way of curing that ardent curiosity with which youth always -regards the unseen, is to expose evil at once, in all its glare and -iniquity. The gambling house is sometimes a fine moral school. Robert, -have you never heard grave men assert as much?" - -Robert did not answer, but a cloud settled on his white forehead, and -taking his cap from Leicester, who held it toward him, he began to crush -it nervously with his hand. - -"The storm is over, I believe," observed Leicester, without seeming to -observe his agitation. "Come, we shall be in time for the excitement -when it is most revolting." - -Robert grew pale and shrunk back. - -"Not with me?" cried Leicester, turning his eyes full upon the boy with -a look of overwhelming reproach, "are you afraid to go with _me_, -Robert?" - -"No. I will go anywhere with you!" answered the youth, almost with a -sob, for that look of reproach from his benefactor wounded him to the -heart. "I will go anywhere with you!" - -And he went. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE OLD HOMESTEAD. - - There was not about her birth-place, - A thicket, or a flower, - But childish game, or friendly face, - Had given it a power - To haunt her in her after life, - And be to her again, - A sweet and bitter memory - Of mingled joy and pain. - - -It was a wild and lovely spot in the heart of Maine, a state where the -rural and the picturesque are more beautifully blended than can be found -elsewhere upon the face of the earth. The portion we speak of is broken, -and torn up, as it were, by undulating ridges of the White Mountains, -that seem to cast their huge shadows half over the state. The valleys -are bright with a wealth of foliage, which, in the brief summer time, is -of a deeper and richer green than ever was found elsewhere on this side -the Atlantic. Hills, some of them bold and black with naked rocks, -others clothed down the side with soft waving ridges of cultivation, -loomed over fields of Indian corn, with buckwheat, all in a sea of snowy -blossoms. Patches of earth newly ploughed for the next year's crop, -blended their brown tints with mountain slopes, rich with rye and oats. -Wild, deep lakes, sleeping in their green basins among the hills; -mountain streams plunging downward, and threading the dark rocks -together as with a thousand diamond chains closely entangled and -struggling to get free, shed brightness and music among these hills; and -the Androscoggin, gliding calmly on, winding through the hills, and -rolling softly beneath the willows that here and there give its banks a -park-like beauty, and a thousand broken hollows--sheltered and secluded -nooks of cultivated ground, sometimes containing a single farm, -sometimes a small village; such is the country, and such are the scenes -to which our story tends. - -In one spot the mountainous banks loomed close and dark over the river; -but there was a considerable depth of rich soil among the rocks, and -thrifty trees crowded the poverty-stricken yellow pine up to the very -summit of each beautiful acclivity; for half a mile the shadows of this -rough bank fell nearly across the river, but all at once it parted as if -some earthquake had torn it, centuries before, and there lay a little -valley opening upon the stream, walled on one hand by an abrupt -precipice, and on the other by a steep and broken hill, its crevices -choked up by wild grape-vines, mosses, and every species of forest tree -that can be found among the high grounds of Maine. This little valley -was perhaps half a mile in width, and cut back into the mountains twice -that distance. From thence the highway wound up the broken bank, and was -lost sight of among the pine trees bristling along the horizon. - -The river was broad at this point, as a rich flat of groves and meadow -land lay on the opposite side. This was threaded by a turnpike, -connected with the road we have mentioned by a ferry-boat, or rather -ancient scow, in which two old men of the neighborhood picked up a -tolerable subsistence. - -A few weeks after the events already related in the course of our -story, a plain, one-horse chaise came slowly along the highway, and bent -its course toward the ferry. The scow had been hauled up beneath a clump -of willows, and two old men sat in the shade, waiting for customers. -They saw the chaise, and instantly sprang to work, pushing the scow out -into the stream, and bringing it up with a clumsy sweep against the -carriage track. - -The chaise contained two persons; one was a female, in a neat, -unostentatious travelling dress, and with her face partially concealed -by a green veil. The old men had never travelled far beyond the river -which afforded them support, but there was something in the air and -general appearance of the lady, which aroused them to an unusual degree -of curiosity. - -The man, too--there was much in his air and dress to attract -observation; a degree of rustic awkwardness, mingled with -self-confidence and a sort of rude strength, that struck the old men as -unnatural and foreign. The chaise was soon recognized as belonging to -the landlord in a neighboring village; but the two persons who rode in -it puzzled them exceedingly. The man in the chaise drove at once into -the scow, and, stepping out, he took his horse by the bit. - -"Now move on!" he said, addressing the old men with the air of one who -understood the place and its customs. "If the horse stands steady, I -will lend a hand directly." - -"Oh, he's steady enough; we've rowed the critter across here more than -once; he ain't shiey, that horse ain't," answered one of the men, ready -to open a conversation on any subject. - -"That may be, but I'll hold him just now and see how he stands the -water." - -There was nothing in this to open a fresh vein of conversation; so, -taking up their poles, the two old men pushed their lumbering craft into -the river, casting now and then a furtive glance at the lady, who had -drawn her veil aside, and sat with her eyes fixed on the opposite shore, -apparently unmindful of their scrutiny. - -"Purty, ain't she?" whispered one of the men. - -The other nodded his head. - -"A sort of nat'ral look about her," continued the man, drawing back, as -if to give a fresh plunge with his pole. - -"Just so," was the rejoinder. - -The lady, who had, up to this time, kept her eyes eagerly bent on the -little village to which they seemed creeping over the water, suddenly -addressed them-- - -"There are three houses in the valley now--that nearest the water, to -whom does it belong?" - -"That, ma'am! oh, that's the new tavern; the sign isn't so well seen -when the leaves are out, yet if you look close, it's swinging to that ar -willow agin the house." - -The lady cast a glance toward the willow, then her eyes seemed to pierce -into the depths of the valley. Beyond the tavern lay an apple orchard, -and back of that rose the roof of an old gray house. The ridge and heavy -stone chimney alone were visible; but the old building seemed to -fascinate her gaze--she bent forward, her hands were clasped, her -features grew visibly pale. She cast an earnest look at the old man, and -attempted to speak; but the effort only made her parted lips turn a -shade whiter. She uttered no sound. - -"You needn't be afraid, ma'am, there's no arthly danger here!" said one -of the men, mistaking the source of her emotion. "I've been on this -ferry sixteen years, and no accident, has ever happened in my time. You -couldn't drown here if you was to try." - -The lady looked at him with a faint quivering smile, that died gently -away as her gaze became more earnest. She dwelt upon his withered old -face, as if trying to study out some familiar feature in its hard lines. - -"Sixteen years!" she said, and the smile returned, but with an -additional tinge of sadness, "sixteen years!" - -"It seems a long time to you, like enough; but wait till you get old as -I am, and see how short it is." - -The lady did not reply; but sinking back into her seat, drew the veil -over her face. - -All this time, the traveller, who still held the horse by the bit, had -been regarding the lady with no ordinary appearance of anxiety. He -overheard the whispers passing between the ferrymen, and seemed annoyed -by their import. He was evidently ill at ease. When the scow ran with a -grating noise upon the shore, he gave the usual fare in silence, and -entering the chaise with a swinging leap, drove toward the tavern. - -The landlord, who had just arisen from an early supper, washed down by a -cup of hard cider, came indolently from the front stoop and held the -horse while the travellers dismounted. - -"Want to bait the horse?" he inquired, pointing toward a wooden trough -built against the huge trunk of the willow. - -"Put him up--we shall stay all night, replied the guest." - -The landlord's face expanded; it was not often that his house was -honored by travellers of a higher grade than the teamsters, who brought -private fare for man and horse with them; the same bag usually -containing oats or corn in one end, and a box of baked beans, a loaf of -bread, and a wedge of dried beef in the other--man and beast dividing -accommodations equally on the journey. - -"Oats or grass?" cried the good man, excited by the rich prospects -before him. - -"Both, with two rooms--supper for the lady in her own chamber--for me, -anywhere." - -"Supper!" cried the landlord, with a crest-fallen look, "supper! We -haven't a morsel of fresh meat, nor a chicken on the place." - -"But there is trout in the brook, I suppose," answered the traveller. - -"Wal, how did you know that? Been in these parts afore mebby." - -"These hills are full of trout streams, everybody knows that, who ever -heard of the state," was the courteous reply. "If you have a pole and -line handy perhaps I can help you." - -"There is one in the porch--I'll just turn out the horse, and show you -the way." - -The traveller seemed glad to be relieved from observation. He turned -hurriedly away, and taking a rude fishing-rod from the porch went round -the house, and crossing a meadow behind it, came out upon the banks of a -mountain stream, that marked the precipitous boundaries of the valley. A -wild, sparkling brook it was--broken up by rocks sinking into deep, -placid pools, and leaping away through the witch-hazels and brake leaves -that overhung it with a soft, gushing murmur so sweet and cheerful, that -it seemed like the sunshine laughing, as it was drawn away to the hill -shadows. - -Jacob Strong looked up and down the stream with a sad countenance. "How -natural everything seems," he muttered. "She used to sit here on this -very stone, with her little fish-pole, and send me off yonder after -box-wood blossoms and wild honeysuckles, while she dipped her feet in -and out of the water, just to hurry me back again. Those white little -feet--how I did love to see her go barefooted! By and by, as she grew -older, how she would laugh at my awkward way of baiting her hook--she -didn't know what made my hand tremble--no, nor never will!" - -Jacob sat down upon the stone on which his eyes had been riveted. With -his face resting between his hands, an elbow supported by each knee, and -his feet buried in a hollow choked up with wood moss, he fell into one -of those profound reveries, that twine every fibre of the heart around -the past. The fishing rod lay at his feet, unheeded. Just beneath his -eye, was a deep pool, translucent as liquid diamond, and sleeping at the -bottom, were three or four fine trout, floating upon their fins, with -their mottled sides now and then sending a soft rainbow gleam through -the water. - -At another time, Jacob, who had been a famous angler in his day, would -have been excited by this fine prospect of sport; but now those delicate -creatures, balancing themselves in the waves, scarcely won a passing -notice. They only served to remind him more vividly of the long ago. - -He was aroused by the landlord, who came up the stream, pole in hand, -baiting his hook as he walked along. He cast two fine trout, strung upon -a forked hazel twig, on the moss at Jacob's feet, and dropped his hook -into the pool. - -Jacob watched him with singular interest. His eyes gleamed as he saw the -man pull his fly with a calm, steady hand over the surface of the water, -now dropping it softly down, now aiding it to float lazily on the -surface, then allowing it to sink insidiously before the graceful -creatures, that it had as yet failed to excite. - -All at once, a noble trout, that had been sleeping beneath a tuft of -grass over which the water flowed, darted into the pool with a swiftness -that left a ripple behind him, and leaped to the fly. Jacob almost -uttered a groan, as he saw the beautiful creature lifted from the wave, -his fins quivering, his jewelled sides glistening with water drops, and -every wild evolution full of graceful agony. He was drawing a parallel -between the tortured trout and a human being, whose history filled his -heart. This it was that wrung the groan from his heart. - -"This will do!" said the landlord, gently patting the damp sides of his -prize, and thrusting the hazel twig under his gills. "You're sartin of a -supper, sir, and a good one too--they'll be hissing on the gridiron long -before you get to the house, I reckon, without you make up your mind to -go along with me." - -"Not yet; I will try my luck further up the stream," answered Jacob, and -snatching up the rod, he plunged through a clump of elders, and -disappeared on the opposite bank. But the man was scarcely out of sight, -when he returned again and resumed his old position. - -Again he fell into thought--deep and painful thought. You could see it -in the quiver of his rude features, in the mistiness that gathered over -his eyes. - -The afternoon shadows were beginning to lengthen across the valley, but -they only served to plunge poor Jacob into memories still more bitter -and profound. Everything within sight seemed clamoring to him of the -past. Near by was a clover-field ruddy with blossoms, and broken with -clumps and ridges of golden butter-cups and swamp lilies. Again the -little girl stood before him--a fair, sweet child, with chestnut curls -and large earnest eyes, who had waited in a corner of the fence, while -he gathered armsful of these field-blossoms, for her to toss about in -the sunshine. On the other hand lay an apple orchard, with half a dozen -tall pear trees, ranging along the fence. He remembered climbing those -trees a hundred times up to the very top, where the pears were most -golden and ripe. He could almost hear the rich fruit as it went tumbling -and rustling through the leaves, down to the snow-white apron held up to -receive it. That ringing shout of laughter, as the apron gave way -beneath its luscious burden--it rang through his heart again, and made a -child of him. - -The shadows grew deeper upon the valley, dew began to fall, and every -gush of air that swept over the fields, became more and more fragrant. -Still Jacob dwelt with the past. The lady at the inn was forgotten. He -was roaming amid those sweet scenes with that wild, mischievous, -beautiful girl, when a hand fell upon his shoulder. - -He started up and began to tremble as if caught in some deep offence. - -"Madam--oh, madam! what brought you here?" - -"I could not stay in that new house, Jacob. It was so close I could not -breathe. The air of this valley penetrates my very heart--but I cannot -shed a tear. Is it so with you, Jacob Strong?" - -Jacob turned his head away; he could not all at once arouse himself from -the deep delirium of his memories; his strong brain ached with the -sudden transition her presence had forced upon it. Ada looked -searchingly up the valley, and made a step forward. - -"Where are you going, madam, not up yonder--not to the old house?" - -"I must go, Jacob--this suspense is choking me--I could not live another -hour without learning something of them." - -"No, not yet, I beg of you, do not go yet." - -Ada Leicester turned abruptly toward her humble friend; her lips grew -very pale. - -"Why, why? have you inquired? have you heard anything?" - -"No, I did not like to ask questions at first." - -"Then you know absolutely nothing?" - -"Nothing yet!" - -"But you have seen the old house. It should be visible from this -hollow!" - -"Not now, madam. The orchard has grown round since--since----" - -"Have the saplings grown into trees since then, Jacob? Indeed it seems -but like yesterday to me," said the lady, with a sad wave of the hand. -"I thought to get a view of the house from this spot, just as one -ponders over the seal of a letter, afraid to read the news within. Let -me sit down, I feel tired and faint." - -Jacob moved back from the stone, and tears absolutely came into his eyes -as she sat down. - -"How strangely familiar everything is," said the lady, looking around, -"this tuft of white flowers close by the stone--it scarcely seems to -have been out of blossom since I was here last, I remember. But why have -you crushed them with your feet, Jacob?" - -"Because _I_ remember!" answered the man, removing his heavy foot from -the bruised flowers, and regarding them with a stern curve of the lip, -which on his irregular mouth was strangely impressive. The lady raised -her eyes, filled with vague wonder, to his features. Jacob was troubled -by that questioning glance. - -"I never loved flowers," he faltered. - -"You never loved flowers! Oh, Jacob, how can you say so?" - -"Not that kind, at any rate, ma'am," answered Jacob, almost vehemently, -pointing down with his finger. "The last time I came this way, a snake -was creeping round among those very flowers. That snake left poison on -everything it touched, at least in this valley." - -The lady gazed on his excited face a moment very earnestly. Then the -broad, white lids drooped over her eyes, and she only answered with a -profound sigh. - -The look of humble repentance that fell upon Jacob's face was painful to -behold. He stood uneasily upon his feet, gazing down upon the tuft of -flowers his passion had trampled to the earth. His large hands, with -their loosely knit joints, became nervously restless, and he cast -furtive glances at the face and downcast features of the lady. He could -not speak, but waited for her to address him again, in his heart of -hearts sorry for the painful thoughts his words had aroused. At length -he ventured to speak, and the humble, deprecating tones of his voice -were almost painful to hear. - -"The dews are falling, ma'am, and you are not used to sitting in the -damp." - -"There was a time," said the lady, "when a little night dew would not -drive me in doors." - -"But now you are tired and hungry." - -"No, Jacob, I can neither taste food nor take rest till we have been -yonder--perhaps not then, for Heaven only knows what tidings may reach -us. Go in and get some supper for yourself, my good friend." - -Jacob shook his head. - -"I _am_ wrong," persisted the lady; "let me sit here till the dusk comes -on; then I will find my way to the house--perhaps I may sleep there -to-night, Jacob, who knows?" She paused a moment, and added, "If they -are alive, but surely I need not say if. They must be alive." - -"I hope so," answered Jacob, pitying the wistful look with which the -poor lady searched his features, hoping to gather confidence from their -expression. - -"And yet my heart is so heavy, so full of this terrible pain, Jacob. -Leave me now; if any thing can make me cry, it will be sitting here -alone." - -Jacob turned away, without a word of remonstrance. His own rude, honest -heart was full, and the sickening anxiety manifest in every tone and -look of his mistress was fast undermining his own manhood. He did not -return to the tavern, however, but clambering over a fence, leaped into -the clover field, and wading, knee-deep, through the fragrant blossoms, -made his way toward the old farm-house, whose chimney and low, sloping -roof became more and more visible with each step. - -On he went, with huge, rapid strides, resolute to carry back some -tidings to the unhappy woman he had just left. "I will see them first," -he muttered; "they might not know her, or may have heard. It ain't -likely, though--who could bring such news into these parts? Anyhow, I -will see that nothing is done to hurt her feelings." - -Full of these thoughts, Jacob drew nearer and nearer to the old house. -He crossed the clover lot, and a fine meadow, whose thick, waving grass -was still too green for the scythe, lay before him, bathed in the last -rays of a midsummer sunset. Beyond this meadow rose the farm-house, -silent and picturesque in the waning day, with gleams of golden light -here and there breaking over the mossed old roof. Jacob paused, with his -hand upon an upper rail of the fence. His heart misgave him. Every -object was so painfully familiar, that he shrunk from approaching -nearer. There was the garden sloping away from the old dwelling, with a -line of cherry trees running along the fence, and shading triple rows of -currant and gooseberry bushes, now bent to the ground with a load of -crimson and purple fruit. There was the well sweep, with its long, round -bucket swinging to the breeze, and the pear tree standing by, like an -ancient sentinel staunch at his post, and verdant in its thrifty old -age. A stone or two had fallen from the rough chimney, and on the -sloping roof lay a greenish tinge, betraying the velvety growth of moss -with which time had dotted the decayed shingles, while clumps of -house-leeks clustered here and there in masses from under their warped -edges. - -Silent and solemnly quiet stood that old dwelling amid the dying light -which filled the valley. A few jetty birds were fluttering in and out of -a martin-box at one end, and that was all the sign of life that -appeared to the strained eyes of Jacob Strong. He stood, minute after -minute, waiting for a sight of some other living object--a horse grazing -at the back door--a human being approaching the well, anything alive -would have given relief to his full heart. - -He could contain himself no longer: a desperate wish to learn at once -all that could give joy or pain to his mistress possessed him. He sprang -into the meadow, found a path trodden through the grass, and sweeping -the tall, golden lilies aside, where they fell over the narrow way, he -strode eagerly forward, and soon found himself in a garden. It was full -of coarse vegetables, and gay with sun-flowers; tufts of -"love-lies-bleeding" drooped around the gate, and flowering beans, -tangled with morning-glories, half clothed the worm-eaten fence. - -Coarse and despised as some of these flowers are, how eloquently they -spoke to the heart of Jacob Strong! The very sun-flowers, as they turned -their great dials to the West, seemed to him redolent and golden with -the light of other days. They filled his heart with new hope; since the -earliest hour of his remembrance, those massive blossoms had never been -wanting at the old homestead. - -Again the objects became more and more familiar. The plantain leaves -about the well seemed to have kept their greenness for years. The -grindstone, with a trough half full of water, stood in its old place by -the back porch. Surely, while such things remained, the human beings -that had lived and breathed in that lone dwelling, could not be entirely -swept away! - -Jacob Strong entered the porch and knocked gently at the door. A voice -from within bade him enter, and, lifting the latch, he stood in a long, -low kitchen, where two men, a woman, and a chubby little girl, sat at -supper. One of the men, a stout, sun-burned fellow, arose, and placing a -splint-bottomed chair for his guest, quietly resumed his place at the -table, while the child sat with a spoon half way to its mouth, gazing -with eyes full of wonder at the strange man. - -Jacob stood awkwardly surveying the group. A chill of keen -disappointment fell upon him. Of the four persons seated around that -table, not one face was familiar. He sat down and looked ruefully -around. A single tallow candle standing on the table shed its faint -light through the room, but failed to reveal the troubled look that fell -upon the visitor. The silence that he maintained seemed to astonish the -family. The farmer turned in his chair, and at last opened a discourse -after his own hospitable fashion. - -"Sit by and take a bite of supper," he said, while his wife arose and -went to a corner cupboard. - -"No, I thank you," answered Jacob, with an effort; for the words seemed -blocking up his throat. - -"You had better sit by," observed the wife, modestly, coming from the -cupboard with a plate and knife in her hands. "There's nothing very -inviting, but you'll be welcome." - -"Thank you," said Jacob, rising, "I'm not hungry; but if you've got a -cup handy, I will get a drink at the well." - -The farmer took a white earthen bowl from the table, and, reaching -forward, handed it to his guest. - -"And welcome! but you'll find the well-pole rather hard to pull, I -calculate." - -Jacob took the bowl and went out. It seemed to him that a draught from -that moss-covered bucket would drive away the chill that had fallen on -his heart at the sight of those strange faces. - -He sat the bowl down among the plantain leaves, and seizing the pole, -plunged the old bucket deep into the well. When it came up again, full -and dripping, he balanced it on the curb and drank. After this, he -lingered a brief time by the well, filled with disappointment, and -striving to compose his thoughts. At length he entered the house again -with more calm and fixed resolution. - -"This seems to be a fine place of yours," he said, taking the chair once -more offered to his acceptance, and addressing the farmer. "That was as -pretty a meadow I just crossed as one might wish to see!" - -"Yes, there is some good land between this and the brook," answered the -man, pleased with these commendations of his property. - -"You keep it in good order, too; such timothy I have not seen these five -years." - -"Wal, true enough, one may call that grass a little mite superior to the -common run, I do think!" answered the farmer, taking his chubby little -daughter on one knee, and smoothing her thick hair with both his hard -palms. "Considering how the old place was run down when we took it, we -haven't got much to be ashamed of, anyhow." - -"You have not always owned the farm?" Jacob's voice shook as he asked -the question, but the farmer was busy caressing his child, and only -observed the import of his words, not the tone in which they were -uttered. - -"I rayther think you must be a stranger in these parts, for everybody -knows how long I've been upon the place; nigh upon ten years, isn't it, -Mabel?" - -"Ten years last spring," replied the woman, in a pleasant, low tone; -"jist three years before Lucy was born." - -"That's it! she's as good as an almanac at dates; could beat a hull -class of us boys at cyphering when we went to school together, couldn't -you, Mabel?" - -The wife answered with a blush, and a good-humored smile divided -cordially between her husband and Jacob. - -"You must not think us over-shiftless," she said, "for living in the old -house so long; we've talked of building every year, but somehow the -right time hasn't come yet; besides, my old man don't exactly like to -tear the old house down." - -"Tear it down!" cried Jacob, with a degree of feeling that surprised the -worthy couple--"tear the old homestead down! don't do it--don't do it, -friend. There are people in the world who would give a piece of gold for -every shingle on the roof rather than see a beam loosened." - -"I guess you must have been in this neighborhood afore this," said the -farmer, looking at his wife with shrewd surprise; "know something about -the old homestead, I shouldn't wonder!" - -"Yes, I passed through here many years ago; a man at that time, older -than you are now, lived on the place; his name was--let me think----" - -"Wilcox--was that the name?" - -"Yes, that was it--a tall man, with dark eyes." - -"That's the man, poor old fellow; why we bought the farm of him." - -"I wonder he ever brought himself to part with it! His wife seemed so -fond of the place, and--and his daughter: he had a daughter, if I -recollect right?" - -"Yes, we heard so; I never saw her; but the folks around here talk about -her wild, bright ways, and her good looks, to this day; a harnsome, -smart gal she was if what they say can be relied on." - -"But what became of her? Did she settle anywhere in these parts?" - -"Wal, no, I reckon not. A young fellow from somewhere about Boston or -York, come up the river one summer to hunt and fish in the hills, he -married the gal, and carried her off to the city." - -"And did she never come back?" - -"No; but a year or two after, the young man come and brought a little -girl with him, the purtyest creature you ever sat eyes on. Hard words -passed between him and the old man, for Wilcox wouldn't let any human -being breathe a whisper agin his daughter. Nobody ever knew exactly what -happened, but the young man went away and left his child with the old -people. It wasn't long after this before the old man kinder seemed to -give up, he and his wife too, just as if that bright little grandchild -had brought a canker into the house. - -"After that things went wrong, nothing on earth could make the old -people neighborly; they gin up going to meeting, and sat all Sunday long -on the hearth, there, looking into the fire. Wal, you know the best of -us will talk when anything happens that is not quite understood. Some -said one thing, and some another, and Wilcox, arter a while, got so shy -of his neighbors that they took a sort of distaste to him." - -"Did the old people live alone after their daughter went away?" asked -Jacob, in a husky voice. "There was a young man or boy in the family -when I knew anything about it." - -"Oh, yes, I jist remember, there was a young chap that Mr. Wilcox -brought up--a clever critter as ever lived. He went away just arter the -gal was married, and nobody ever knew what became of him. People thought -the old man pined about that too: at any rate, one thing and another -broke him down, and his wife with him." - -"You do not mean to say that Mr. Wilcox and his wife are dead?" - -The farmer turned his eyes suddenly on the form of Jacob Strong, as -these words were uttered, for there was something in the tone that took -his honest heart by surprise. Jacob sat before him like a criminal, -pale, and shrinking in his chair. - -"No, I did not mean to say that they died, but when a tough, cheerful -man, like Wilcox, gives up, it is worse than death." - -"What happened then--where did he go? is the child living?" almost -shouted Jacob Strong, unable to control the agony of his impatience a -moment longer; but the astonished look of his auditors checked the burst -of impetuous feeling, and he continued more quietly---- - -"I took an interest in this family long ago, and stopped in the valley -over night, on purpose to visit the old gentleman. I had no idea he -would ever leave the farm, and was surprised to find strangers here, -more so than you could have been at seeing me. Tell me now where the -Wilcox family can be found?" - -"That is more, by half, than I know myself," answered the farmer. "I -bought the farm, paid cash down for everything, land, stock, furniture, -and all." - -"But where did they go?" cried Jacob, breathless with suspense. - -"To Portland; they took one wagon load of things, and when the teamster -came back, he said they were left in the hold of a schooner lying at the -wharf." - -"But where was she bound?--what was her name?" - -"That was exactly what we asked the teamster, but he could tell nothing -about it; and from that day to this, no person in these parts has ever -heard a word about them!" - -Jacob arose and supported himself by his chair. - -"And is this all? Gone, no one knows where? Is this all?" - -"All that I or any one else can tell you," answered the kind-hearted -farmer. - -"But the teamster, where is he?" - -"Dead!" - -Jacob left the house without another word. He knew that these tidings -would be more terrible to another than they had been to him, and yet -that seemed scarcely possible, for all the rude strength of his nature -was prostrated by the news that he heard. - -The twilight had given place to a full moon, and all the valley lay -flooded in a sea of silver. The meadows were full of fireflies, and a -whip-poor-will on the mountain-side poured his mournful cry upon the -air. Jacob could not endure the thought of meeting his friend and -mistress, with tidings that he knew would rend her heart. He left the -homestead, tortured by all that he had heard, and plunged into a hollow -which opened to the trout stream. In this hollow stood a tall elm tree, -with great, sweeping branches, that drooped almost to the ground. A -spring of never-failing water gushed out from a rocky bank, which it -shaded, and the sweet gurgle of its progress as it flowed away through -the cowslips and blue flag that choked up the outlet to the mountain -streams, fell like the memory of an old love upon his senses. - -He drew near the tree, and there, sitting upon the fragment of rock, -with her head resting against the rugged trunk of the elm, sat Ada -Leicester. Her face shone white in the moonbeams, and Jacob could hear -her sobs long before she was conscious of his presence. - -She heard his approach, and starting to her feet, came out into the -full light. The hand with which she wildly seized his was damp and cold, -and he could see that heavy tear-drops were trembling on her cheek. - -"You--you have seen them--are they alive? I saw you go in, and have been -waiting all this time. Tell me, Jacob, will they let me sleep in the old -house to-night?" - -"They are all gone; no one of the whole family are there!" answered -Jacob Strong, too much excited for ordinary prudence. - -A wild cry, scarcely louder than the scream of a bird, but oh, how full -of agony! rang down the valley, and terror-stricken at what he had done, -Jacob saw his mistress lying at his feet, her deathly face, her lifeless -hands, and the white shawl which she had flung about her, huddled -together in the pale moonlight. - -The strong man lost all self-control. He looked fiercely around, as if -some one might attempt to stop him; then gathered Ada Leicester up in -his huge arms, and folded her close to his bosom. It was not a light -burden to carry; but he neither wavered nor paused, but strode down the -hollow, folding her tighter and tighter against his heart; and a joy -broke over his features, as the moonlight fell upon them, that seemed -scarcely human. - -"Ada Wilcox--little Ada--I have carried you so a thousand times. Then, -Ada, you would lift up your little arms, and fold them over my neck, and -lay your cheek against mine, as it is now, Ada." - -His face sunk slowly toward hers. He gave a sudden start. - -"God forgive me! oh, Ada, forgive me!" broke from him, as he looked down -upon the pale forehead which his lips had almost pressed. - -He stood still, holding his breath, trembling in all his limbs, and -beginning to move to and fro, as he perceived that her pale eyelids -began to quiver in the moonlight. - -It was a delusion; the fainting fit had been too sudden; the exhaustion -complete. She lay in his arms like one from whom life had just -departed--her pale limbs relaxed--her eyelids closed. He stood thus -awhile, and then she began to move in his arms. - -"Do not move, Ada--Ada Wilcox; it is Jacob, your father's bound boy. We -are all alone, in the home meadow. He has carried you down to the brook -a thousand times, when you knew all about it and laughed and--and----; -not yet--not yet," he said passionately; "you are not strong enough to -stand alone." - -Still she struggled, for in his excitement he girded her form with those -strong arms, till the pain restored her to consciousness. - -"Not yet--oh, not yet," he pleaded, feeling the strong heart within him -sink with each faint struggle that she made; "you cannot stand--the -grass is deep and damp--be still--I am strong as an ox, Ada--I can carry -you." - -"Is it you, Jacob Strong?" she said, but half conscious. - -"Yes," said Jacob in a choked voice, "it's me, your father's bound boy; -we are in the old home lot again. I--I--it is a long time since I have -carried you in my arms, Ada Wilcox." - -"Ada Wilcox!" said the woman, with a start; "let me down, Jacob Strong; -my name is not Ada Wilcox; all that bore that name are gone; the -homestead is full of strangers; Wilcox is a dead name; that of Leicester -has crept over it like night-shade over a grave." - -Jacob Strong unfolded his arms so abruptly, that Ada almost fell to the -earth. - -"I had forgotten that name," he said with mournful sternness. - -The poor woman attempted to stand up, but she wavered, and her pale face -was lifted with piteous helplessness toward him. - -"No, Jacob, I tremble--this blow has taken all my life. Help me to stand -up, that I may look on the old homestead once more. How often have we -looked upon it from this spot!" - -"I remember," answered Jacob, "the moonlight lies upon the roof as it -did that night; the old pear tree had stretched its shadow just to the -garden fence." - -Jacob Strong grew pale in the moonlight. Ada felt his arm shake beneath -the grasp of her hand. - -"You shiver with the cold," she said. - -"It is cold, madam; the dew is heavy; I will go forward and break a path -through the grass. It will not be the first time." - -Jacob moved on, tramping down the grass, and casting his long, uncouth -shadow before her, in the moonlight. She followed him in silence, -casting back mournful glances at the old homestead. - -Jacob paused to let down a heavy set of bars that divided the meadow -from the trout stream. He jerked them fiercely from their sockets in the -tall chestnut posts, dropping them down on each other with a noise that -rang strangely through the stillness. Ada Leicester passed through the -opening, and moved slowly toward the tavern. She reached the door, but -turned again to her attendant. - -"Jacob," she said, very sorrowfully, "I am all alone now, in the wide -world; you will not leave me?" - -"Ada Wilcox, I have not deserved that question," said Jacob, pushing -open the door. - -She shrunk through timidly, perhaps expecting her servant to follow; but -he closed the door and rushed away, leaping the pile of bars with a -bound, and plunging back into the meadow. - -"Leave her!" he said, dashing the tall herds-grass aside with his hand; -"Leave her, as if I warn't her slave--her dog--her jackall, and had been -ever since I was a shaver, so small that this very grass would have -closed over my head; and yet she don't know why--thinks it's the wages, -may be. It never enters her head that I've got a soul to love and hate -with. What did I follow her and that man to foreign parts for, but to -stand ready when her time of trouble came? What did I give up my -freeborn American birthright for, and put that gold lace, and darn'd -etarnal cockade over my hat, like an English white nigger, only because -I couldn't stand by her in any other way? What is it that makes me -humble as a rabbit, sometimes, and then, again, snarling around like a -dog? She don't see it; she believes me when I tell her that it was a -hankering to see foreign parts, that sent me over sea; and that I, a -freeborn American citizen, have a nat'ral fancy to gold bands and -cockades, as if the thing wasn't jist impossible! True enough, she don't -want me to wear them now; but if she did, it's my solemn belief that I -should do it, jist here, in sight of the old homestead. - -"The old homestead," he continued, standing still in the grass, and -looking toward the old home, till the bitter mood passed from his heart, -and his eyes filled with tears. "Oh, if I was only his bound boy again, -and she a little girl, and the old folks up yonder. I would be a -nigger--a hound--anything, if she could only stand here, as she did -then--as innocent and sweet a critter as ever drew breath. But he did -it--that villain! Oh, if he could be extarminated from the face of the -earth! It wan't her fault--I defy the face of man to say that. It was -the original sin in her own heart." - -Poor Jacob! All his massive strength was exhausted now. He even ceased -to mutter over the sad, sad memories that crowded on him. But all that -night he wandered about the old homestead--now lost beneath its pear -trees--now casting his uncouth shadow across the barn-yard, where half a -dozen slumbering cows lifted their heads and gazed earnestly after him, -as if waiting for the intruder to be gone. There was not a nook or -corner of the old place that he did not visit that night, and the -morning found him cold, sad and pale, waiting for his mistress at the -tavern door. - -Just after daylight, the one-horse chaise crossed the ferry again. The -old boatmen would gladly have conversed a little with its inmates, but -Jacob only answered them in monosyllables, and they could not see the -lady's face, so closely was it shrouded with the folds of her travelling -veil. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -THE CITY COTTAGE. - - Alas, that woman's love should cling - To hearts that never feel its worth, - As prairie roses creep and fling - Their richest bloom upon the earth. - - -Overlooking one of those small parks or squares that lie in the heart of -our city like tufts of wild flowers in a desert, stands one of those -miniature palaces, too small for the very wealthy, and too beautiful in -its appointments for any idea but that of perfect taste, which wealth -does not always give. A cottage house it was, or rather an exquisite -mockery of what one sees named as cottages in the country. The front, of -a pale stone color, was so ornamented and netted over with the lace-work -of iron balconies and window-gratings, that it had all the elegance of a -city mansion, with much of the rustic beauty one sees in a rural -dwelling. - -A little court, full of flowers, lay in front, with a miniature fountain -throwing up a slender column of water from the centre of a tiny -grass-plat, that, in the pure dampness always raining over it, lay like -a mass of crushed emeralds hidden among the flowers. The netted -iron-work that hung around the doors, the windows, and fringed the -eaves, as it were, with a valance of massive lace, was luxuriously -interwoven with creeping plants. Prairie roses, crimson and white, clung -around the lower balconies. Ipomas wove a profusion of their great -purple and rosy bells around the upper windows; cypress vines, with -their small crimson bells; petunias of every tint; rich passion flowers, -and verbenas with their leaves hidden in the light balconies, wove and -twined themselves with the coarser vines, blossoming each in its turn, -and filling the leaves with their gorgeous tints. Crimson and fragrant -honeysuckles twined in massive wreaths up to the very roof, where they -grew and blossomed in the lattice-work, now in masses, now spreading -out like an embroidery, and everywhere loading the atmosphere with -fragrance. - -The cool, bell-like dropping of the fountain, that always kept the -flowers fresh; the fragrance of half a dozen orange trees, snowy with -blossoms and golden with heavy fruit; the gleam of white lilies; the -glow of roses, and the graceful sway of a slender labarnum tree, all -crowded into one little nook scarcely large enough for the -pleasure-grounds of a fairy, were enough to draw general attention to -the house, though another and still more beautiful object had never -presented itself at the window. - -On a moonlight evening, especially when a sort of pearly veil fell upon -the little flower nook, an air of quiet beauty impossible to describe, -rested around this dwelling--beauty not the less striking that it was so -still, so lost in profound repose, that the house might have been deemed -uninhabited but for the gleam of light that occasionally broke through -the vines about one or another of the windows. Sometimes it might be -seen struggling through the roses around the lower balcony, but far -oftener it came in faint gleams from a window in the upper story, and at -such times the shadow of a person stooping over a book, or lost in deep -thought, might be seen through the muslin curtains. - -No sashes, flung open in the carelessness of domestic enjoyment, were -ever seen in the dwelling; no voices of happy childhood were ever heard -to ring through those clustering vines. Sometimes a young female would -steal timidly out upon the balconies, and return again, like a bird -afraid to be detected beyond the door of its cage. Sometimes an old lady -in mourning might be seen passing in and out, as if occupied with some -slight household responsibility. This was all the neighborhood ever knew -of the cottage or its inmates. The face of the younger female, though -always beautiful, was not always the same, but no person knew when one -disappeared and another took her place. - -The cottage had been built by a private gentleman, and its first -occupant was the old lady. She might have been his mother, his tenant, -or his housekeeper, no one could decide her exact position. He seldom -visited the house. Sometimes during months together he never crossed the -threshold. But the old lady was always there, scarcely ever without a -young and lovely companion; and, what seemed most singular, year after -year passed and her mourning garments were never changed. - -Servants, the universal channel through which domestic gossip circulates -in the basement strata of social life, were never seen in the cottage. -An old colored woman came two or three times a week and performed -certain household duties; but she spoke only in a foreign language, and -probably had been selected for that very reason. Thus all the usual -avenues of intelligence were closed around the cottage. True, a colored -man came occasionally to prune and trim the little flower nook, but he -was never seen to enter the house, and appeared to be profoundly -ignorant of its history and its inmates. Some of the most curious had -ventured far enough into the fairy garden to read the name on a silver -plate within the latticed entrance. It was a single name, and seemed to -be foreign; at any rate, it had no familiar sound to those who read it, -and whether it belonged to the owner of the cottage or the old lady, -still continued a mystery. - -Thus the cottage remained a tiny palace, more isolated amid the -surrounding dwellings than it could have been if buried in the green -depths of the country. But at the season when our story commences, the -profound quietude of the place was broken by the appearance of a new -inmate. A fair young girl about this time was often noticed early in the -morning, and sometimes after dusk hovering about the little fountain, as -if enticed there by the scent of the orange trees; still, though her -white garments were often seen fluttering amid the shrubbery, which she -seemed to haunt with the shy timidity of a wild bird, few persons ever -obtained a distinct view of her features. - -On the night, and at the very hour when Ada Leicester and Jacob Strong -met beneath the old elm tree in sight of the farm-house which had once -sheltered them, two men gently approached this cottage and paused before -the gate. This was nothing singular, for it was no unusual thing, when -that lovely fountain was tossing its cool shower of water-drops into the -air, and the flowers were bathed in the moonlight, for persons to pause -in their evening walk and wonder at the gem-like beauty of the place. -But these two persons seemed about to enter the little gate. One held -the latch in his hand, and appeared to hesitate only while he examined -the windows of the dwelling. The other younger by far and more -enthusiastic, grasped the iron railing with one hand, while he leaned -over and inhaled the rich fragrance of the flower garden with intense -gratification. - -"Come," said Leicester, gently opening the gate, "I see a light in the -lower rooms--let us go in!" - -"What, here? Is it here you are taking me?" cried the youth, in accents -of joyful surprise--"how beautiful--how very, very beautiful. It must be -some queen of the fairies you are leading me to!" - -"You like the house then?" said Leicester, in his usual calm voice, -gently advancing along the walk. "It does look well just now, with the -moonlight falling through the leaves, but these things become tiresome -after a while!" - -"Tiresome!" exclaimed the youth, casting his glance around. "Tiresome!" - -"I much doubt," added Leicester, turning as he spoke, and gliding, as if -unconsciously, along the white gravel walk that curved around the -fountain--"I much doubt if any thing continues to give entire -satisfaction, even the efforts of our own mind, or the work of our own -hands, after it is once completed. It is the progress, the love of -change, the curiosity to see how this touch will affect the whole, that -gives zest to enjoyment in such things. I can fancy the owner of this -faultless little place now becoming weary of its prettiness." - -"Weary of a place like this--why the angels might think themselves at -home in it!" - -"They would find out their mistake, I fancy!" - -As Leicester uttered these words the moonlight fell full upon his face, -and the worm-like curl of his lip which the light revealed, had -something unpleasant in it. The youth happened to look up at the moment, -and a sharp revulsion came over his feelings. For the moment he fell -into thought, and when he spoke, the change in his spirit was very -evident. - -"I can imagine nothing that is not pure and good, almost as the angels -themselves, living here!" he said, half timidly, as if he feared the -scoff that might follow his words. - -"We shall see," answered Leicester, breaking a cluster of orange flowers -from one of the plants. He was about to fasten the fragrant sprig in his -button-hole, but some after-thought came over him, such as often -regulated his most trivial actions, and he gave the branch to his -companion. - -"Put it in your bosom," he said, with a sort of jeering good humor, as -one trifles with a child: "who knows but it may win your first -conquest?" - -The youth took the blossoms, but held them carelessly in his hand. There -was something in Leicester's tone that wounded his self-love; and -without reply he moved from the fountain. They ascended to the richly -latticed entrance, and Leicester touched the bell knob. - -The door was opened by a quiet, pale old lady, who gravely bent her head -as she recognised Leicester. After one glance of surprise at his young -companion, which certainly had no pleasure blended with it, she led the -way into a small parlor. - -Nothing could be more exquisitely chaste than that little room. The -ceilings and the enamelled walls were spotless as crusted snow, and like -snow was the light cornice of grape leaves and fruit, that scarcely -seemed to touch the ceiling around which they were entwined. No -glittering chandelier, no gilded cornices or gorgeous carpets disturbed -the pure harmony of this little room; delicate India matting covered the -floor; the chairs, divans and couches were of pure white enamel. -Curtains of soft, delicate lace, embroidered, as it were, with -snow-flakes, draped the sashes. Those at the bay window, which opened on -the flower-garden, were held apart by two small statues of Parian marble -that stood guarding the tiny alcove, half veiled in clouds of -transparent lace. - -Upon a massive table of pure alabaster, inlaid with softly clouded -agate, stood a Grecian vase, in which a lamp was burning, and through -its sculpture poured a subdued light that seemed but a more lustrous -kindling of the moonbeams that lay around the dwelling. - -The youth had not expressed himself amiss. It did seem as if an angel -might have mistaken this dwelling, so chaste, so tranquilly cool, for -his permanent home. The clouds of Heaven did not seem more free from -earthly taint than everything within it. Robert paused at the threshold; -a vague feeling of self-distrust came over him. It seemed as if his -presence would soil the mysterious purity of the room. The old lady, -with her grave face and black garments, was so at variance with the -dwelling, that the very sight of her moving so noiselessly across the -room chilled him to the heart. - -Leicester sat down on a divan near the window. - -"Tell Florence I am here!" he said, addressing the old lady. - -For a moment the lady hesitated; then, without having spoken a word, she -went out. Directly there was a faint rustling sound on the stairs, a -quick, light footstep near the door, and with every appearance of eager -haste a young girl entered the room. A morning dress of white muslin, -edged with a profusion of delicate lace, clad her slender form from head -to foot; a tiny cameo of blood-red coral fastened the robe at her -throat, and this was all the ornament visible upon her person. - -She entered the room in breathless haste, her dark eyes sparkling, her -cheeks warm with a rich crimson, and with both hands extended, -approached Leicester. Before she reached the divan the consciousness -that a stranger was present fell upon her. She paused, her hands fell, -and all the beautiful gladness faded from her countenance. - -"A young friend of mine," said Leicester, with an indolent wave of the -hand toward Robert. "The evening was so fine, we have been rambling in -the park, and being near, dropped in to rest awhile." - -The young lady turned with a very slight inclination, and Robert saw the -face he had so admired in Leicester's chamber, the beautiful, living -original of a picture still engraven on his heart. The surprise was -overpowering. He could not speak; and Leicester, who loved to study the -human heart in its tumults, smiled softly as he marked the change upon -his features. - -As if overcome by the presence of a stranger, the young lady sat down -near the divan which Leicester occupied. The color had left her cheek; -and Robert, who was gazing earnestly upon her, thought that he could see -tears gathering in her eyes. - -"It is a long time since you have been here," she said, in a low voice, -bending with a timid air toward Leicester. "I--I--that is, we had begun -to think you had forgotten us." - -"No, I have been very busy, that is all!" answered Leicester, -carelessly. "I sent once or twice some books and things--did you get -them?" - -"Yes; thank you very much--but for them I should have been more sad -than, than--" - -She checked herself, in obedience to the quick glance that he cast upon -her; but, spite of the effort, a sound of rising tears was in her voice; -the poor girl seemed completely unnerved with some sudden -disappointment. - -"And your lessons, Florence, how do you get along with them?" - -"I cannot study," answered the girl, shaking her head mournfully. -"Indeed I cannot, I am so, so----" - -"Homesick!" said Leicester, quietly interrupting her. "Is that it?" - -"Homesick!" repeated the girl, with a faint shudder. "No, I shall never -be that!" - -"Well--well, you must learn to apply yourself," rejoined Leicester, -with an affectation of paternal interest; "we must have a good report of -your progress to transmit when your father writes." - -Florence turned very white, and, hastily rising, lifted the lace -drapery, and concealing herself in the recess behind, seemed to be -gazing out upon the flower-garden. A faint sound now and then broke from -the recess; and Robert, who keenly watched every movement, fancied that -she must be weeping. - -Leicester arose, and sauntering to the window, glided behind the lace. A -few smothered words were uttered in what Robert thought to be a tone of -suppressed reproof, then he came into the room again, making some -careless observation about the beauty of the night. Florence followed -directly, and took her old seat with a drooping and downcast air, that -filled the youth with vague compassion. - -"Now that we are upon this subject," said Leicester, quietly resuming -the conversation, "you should, above all things, attend to your drawing, -my dear young lady. I know it is difficult to obtain really competent -masters; but here is my young friend, who has practised much, and has -decided genius in the arts; he will be delighted to give you a lesson -now and then." - -Florence lifted her eyes suddenly to the face of the youth. She saw him -start and change countenance, as if from some vivid emotion. A faint -glow tinged her own cheek, and, as it were, obeying the glance of -Leicester's eye, which she felt without seeing, she murmured some gentle -words of acknowledgment. - -"I shall be most happy," said the poor youth, blushing, and all in a -glow of joyous embarrassment--"that is, if I thought--if I dreamed that -my imperfect knowledge--that--that any little talent of mine could be of -service." - -"Of course it will!" said Leicester, quietly interrupting him; "do you -not see that Miss Craft is delighted with the arrangement? I was sure -that it would give her pleasure!" - -Florence turned her dark eyes on the speaker with a look of gratitude -that might have warmed a heart of marble. - -"Ah, how kind you are to think of me thus!" she said, in a low tone, -that, sweet as it was, sent a painful thrill through the listener. "I -was afraid that you had forgotten those things that I desire most." - -"It is always the way with very young ladies; they are sure to think a -guardian too exacting or too negligent," said Leicester, with a smile. - -Again Florence raised her eyes to his face, with a look of vague -astonishment; she seemed utterly at a loss to comprehend him, and though -a faint smile fluttered on her lip, she seemed ready to burst into -tears. - -You should have seen Leicester's face as he watched the mutations of -that beautiful countenance. It was like that of an epicure who loves to -shake his wine, and amuse himself with its rich sparkle, long after his -appetite is satiated. It seemed as if he were striving to see how near -he could drive that young creature to a passion of tears, and yet forbid -them flowing. - -"Now," he said, turning upon her one of his most brilliant smiles, "now -let us have some music. You must not send us away without that, pretty -lady; run and get your guitar." - -"It is here," said Florence, starting up with a brightened look. "At -least, I think so--was it not in this room I played for you last?" - -"And have you not used the poor instrument since?" questioned Leicester, -as she brought a richly inlaid guitar from the window recess. - -"I had no spirits for music," she answered softly, as he bent over the -ottoman on which she seated herself, and with an air of graceful -gallantry, threw the broad ribbon over her neck. - -"But you have the spirits now," he whispered. - -A glance of sudden delight and a vivid blush was her only reply, unless -the wild, sweet burst of music that rose from the strings of her guitar -might be deemed such. - -"What will you have?" she said, turning her radiant face toward him, -while her small hand glided over the strings after this brilliant -prelude. "What shall it be?" - -It was a fiendish pleasure, that of torturing a young heart so full of -deep emotions; but the pleasures of that man were all fiendish; the cold -refinement of his intellect made him cruel. With his mind he tortured -the soul over which that mind had gained ascendancy. He named the song -very gently which that poor young creature was to sing. It was her -father's favorite air. The last time she had played it--oh! with what a -pang she remembered that time. It sent the color from her lips. Her hand -seemed turning to marble on the strings. - -This was what Leicester expected. He loved to see the hot, passionate -flashes of a heart all his own thus frozen by a word from his lip or a -glance of his eye. A moment before she had been radiant with -happiness--now she sat before him drooping and pale as a broken lily. -That was enough. He would send the fire to her cheek again. - -"No, let me think, there was a pretty little air you sometimes gave us -on shipboard--do you remember I wrote some lines for it! Let me try and -catch the air." - -He began to hum over a note or two, as if trying to catch an almost -forgotten air, regarding her all the while through his half-closed eyes. -But even the mention of that song did not quite arouse her; it is easier -to give pain than pleasure; easier to dash the cup of joy from a -trembling hand than to fill it afterward. She sighed deeply, and sat -with her eyes bent upon the floor. That bad man was half offended. He -looked upon her continued depression as an evidence of his waning power, -and was not content unless the heart-strings of his victim answered to -every glowing or icy touch of his own evil spirit. - -"Ah, you have forgotten the air--I expected it," he said, in a tone of -thrilling reproach, but so subdued that it only reached the ear for -which it was intended. He had stricken that young heart cruelly. Even -this but partially aroused her. His vicious pride was pained. He leaned -back on the divan, and the words of a song, sparkling, passionate and -tender with love broke from his lips. His voice was superb; his -features lighted up; his dark eyes flashed like diamonds beneath the -half-closed lashes. - -You should have seen Florence Leicester then. That voice flowed through -her chilled heart like dew upon a perishing lily--like sunshine upon a -rose that the storm has shaken; her drooping form became more erect; her -hand began to tremble; her pale lips were softly parted, and grew red as -if the warm breath, flashing through, kindled a richer glow with each -short, eager gasp. Deeper and deeper those mellow notes penetrated her -soul; for the time, her very being was given up to the wild delusion -that had perverted it. - -All the time that his spirit seemed pouring forth its tender memories, -he was watching the effect, coldly as the physician counts the pulse of -his patient. She was very beautiful as the bloom came softly back to her -cheek like a smile growing vivid there; it was like watching a flower -blossom, or the escape of sunbeams from underneath a summer cloud. He -loved a study like this; it gratified his morbid taste; it gave him -mental excitement, and yielded a keen relish to his inordinate vanity. - -A doubt that his hitherto invincible powers of attraction might fall -away with the approach of age, had began to haunt him about this time, -and the thought stimulated his hungry self-love into more intense -action. He was testing his own powers in the beautiful agitation of that -young creature. The rich vibrations of his voice were still trembling -upon the air, when the old lady returned to the room. Her manner was -still quiet, but her large and very black eyes were brighter than they -had been, and her tread, though still, was more firm as she crossed the -room. She advanced directly toward Leicester, whose back was partly -turned toward her, and touched his shoulder. - -"William!" - -Leicester started from his half reclining position and sat upright; his -song was hushed the instant that low, but ringing voice fell upon his -ear, and, with some slight display of embarrassment, he looked in the -old lady's face. Its profound gravity seemed to chill even his -self-possession. - -"Not here, William; you know I do not like music!" added the old lady, -in her firm, gentle tones. - -Florence leaned back in her seat and drew a deep breath. It seemed as if -she had been disturbed in the sweet bewilderment of some dream; Robert -was gazing fixedly upon her, wondering at all he saw. To him she -appeared like the birds he had read of fluttering around the jaws of a -serpent; spite of himself, this delusion would come upon him. Yet he had -boundless faith in the honor and goodness of the man on whom her eyes -were fixed, while she was a profound stranger. - -"I did not know--indeed, madam, I thought you liked music" said -Florence, casting the ribbon from her neck, and addressing the old lady. - -"Only when we are alone; then I love to hear you both sing and play, -dear child; but William--Mr. Leicester's voice; it is that I do not -like." - -"Not like _his_ voice?" exclaimed Florence, turning her eyes upon him -with a look that made Robert press his lips hard together--"not like -that--oh, madam?" - -"Well--well, madam, you shall not be annoyed by it again," said -Leicester, with a slight shrug of their shoulders, "I forgot myself, -that is all!" - -The old lady bent her head and sat down, but her coming cast a restraint -upon the little group, and though she attempted to open a conversation -with Robert, he was too much pre-occupied for anything more than a few -vague replies that were sadly out of place. - -From the moment of the old lady's entrance, Leicester changed his whole -demeanor. He joined in the efforts she was making to draw the youth out, -and that with a degree of quiet gravity that seemed by its respect to -win upon her favor. He took no further notice of Florence, and seemed -unconscious that she was sitting near watching this change with anxious -eyes and drooping spirits. - -"I have," said Leicester, after a few common-place remarks, "I have -just been proposing that the young gentleman should give our pretty -guest here some drawing lessons during the season, always under your -sanction, madam, of course." - -The old lady cast a more searching glance at the youth than she had -hitherto bestowed on him, then bending her eyes upon the floor, she -seemed to ponder over the proposal that had been made. After this her -keen glance was directed to Leicester; then she seemed once more lost in -thought. - -"Yes," she said, at length, looking full and hard at Leicester, "it will -occupy her--it will be a benefit, perhaps to them both." - -Leicester simply bent his head. He conquered even the expression of his -face, that the keen eyes bent upon him might not detect the hidden -reason which urged this proposal. That some motive of self interest was -there, the old lady well knew, but she resolved to watch closer. His -projects were not to be fathomed in a moment. She did not leave the room -again, and her presence threw a constraint upon the group, which -prompted the visitors to depart. - -Florence rose as they prepared to go out. Her dark eyes were -beseechingly turned upon Leicester. With a mute glance she sought to -keep him a few minutes longer, though she had no courage to utter the -wish. He took her soft, little hand gently in his, held it a moment, and -went away, followed by Robert and the old lady, who accompanied her -guests to the door. - -Florence had crept into the window recess, and while her panting breath -clouded the glass, gazed wistfully at these two dark shadows as they -glided through the flower-garden. She was keenly disappointed; his -visit, the one great joy for which she had so waited and watched, was -over; and how had it passed? With the keen, cold eyes of that old lady -upon them--beneath the curious scrutiny of a stranger. Tears of vexation -gathered in her eyes; she heard the old lady return, and tried to crush -them back with a pressure of the silken lashes, shrinking still behind -the cloud of lace that her discomposure might not be observed. - -The old lady entered the room, and, believing it empty, sat down in a -large easy-chair. She sighed profoundly, shading her face with one of -the thin delicate hands, that still bore an impress of great beauty. Her -eyes were thus shrouded, and, though she did not appear to be weeping, -one deep sigh after another heaved the black neckerchief folded over her -bosom. As these sighs abated, Florence saw that the old lady was sinking -into a reverie so deep, that she fancied it possible to steal away, -unnoticed, to her room. So, timidly creeping out from the drapery, that -in its cloud-like softness fell back without a rustle, she moved toward -the door. The old lady looked suddenly up, and the startled girl could -see that the usual serious composure of her countenance was greatly -disturbed. - -"Is it you, my dear?" she said, in her usual kindly tones, "I thought -you had gone up stairs." - -Florence was startled by the suddenness of this address, and turned -back, for there was something in the old lady's look that seemed to -desire her stay. - -"No," she said, "I was looking out upon--upon the night. It is very -lovely!" - -"Paradise was more lovely, and yet serpents crept among the flowers, -even there!" said the old lady, thoughtfully. - -A vivid blush came into Florence's pale cheek. - -"I--I do not understand you," she said, in a faltering voice. - -"No, I think not--I hope not," answered the lady, bending her eyes -compassionately on the young girl, "come here, and sit by me." - -Florence sat down upon the light ottoman which the old lady drew near -her chair. The blushes, a moment before warm upon her cheeks, had burned -themselves out. She felt herself growing calm and sad under the -influence of those serious, but kind eyes. - -"You love Mr. Leicester!" This was uttered quietly, and rather as an -assertion, than from any desire for a reply. As she spoke, the old lady -pressed her hand upon the coil of raven hair that bound that graceful -head; the motion was almost a caress, and it went to the young -creature's heart. "Has he ever said that he loved you?" - -"Loved me, oh yes! a thousand times," cried the young creature, her eyes -and her cheek kindling again, "else how could you know--how could any -one guess how very, very much I think of him?" - -"And how do you expect this to end?" questioned the old lady, while a -deeper shade settled on her pale brow. - -"End?" repeated Florence, and her face was bathed with blushes to the -very temples; "I have never really thought of that--he loves me!" - -"Have you never doubted that?" questioned the old lady, with a faint -wave of the head. - -"What, his love? I--I--how could any one possibly doubt?" - -"And yet to-night--this very evening?" - -"No--no, it was only disappointment--regret, the--the flurry of his -sudden visit--not doubt--oh, not doubt of his love!" - -"Has this man--has Leicester ever spoken to you of marriage? Have his -professions of love ever taken this form?" persisted the old lady, -becoming more and more earnest. - -"Of marriage? yes--no--not in words." - -"Not in words then?" - -"No, I never thought of that before--but what then?" - -"Then," said the old lady, impressively--"then he is one shade less a -villain than I had feared!" - -"Madam!" exclaimed the young girl, all pallid and gasping with anger and -affright. - -"My child," said the old lady, taking both those small, trembling hands -in hers, "William Leicester will never marry you, nor any one." - -"How do you know, madam? how can you know? Who are you that tells me -this with so much authority?" - -"I am his mother, poor child. God help me, I am his mother!" - -The young girl sat gazing up into that aged face, so pale, so still, -that her very quietude was more painful than a burst of passion could -have been. - -"His mother!" broke from her parted lips. "It is his mother who calls -him a villain!" - -"Even so," said the old lady, with mournful intensity. "Look up, girl, -and see what it costs a mother to say these things of an only son!" - -Florence did look up, and when she saw the anguish upon that face -usually so calm, her heart filled with tender pity, notwithstanding the -tumult already there, and taking the old lady's hands in hers, she bent -down and kissed them. - -"If you are indeed his mother," she said, with a sort of fond anguish, -"to-morrow you will unsay these bitter words--you are only angry with -him now--something has gone wrong. You will not repeat such things of -him to-morrow--for oh, they have made me wretched." - -"I am cruel only that I may be kind!" said the old lady with mournful -earnestness. "And now, dear child, let us talk no more, you are grieved, -and I suffer more than you think." - -With these words, the old lady arose and led her guest from the room. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -MRS. GRAY'S THANKSGIVING DINNER. - - Oh, I love an old-fashioned thanksgiving, - When the crops are all safe in the barn; - When the chickens are plump with good living, - And the wool is all spun into yarn. - - It is pleasant to draw round the table, - When uncles and cousins are there, - And grandpa, who scarcely is able, - Sits down in his old oaken chair! - - It is pleasant to wait for the blessing, - With a heart free from malice and strife, - While a turkey, that's portly with dressing, - Lies, meekly awaiting the knife. - - -Amid all the varieties of architecture--Grecian, Gothic, Swiss, Chinese, -and even Egyptian, to be met with on Long Island, there yet may be found -some genuine old farms, with barns instead of carriage-houses, and cow -sheds in the place of pony stables. To these old houses are still -attached generous gardens, hedged in with picket fences, and teeming -with vegetables, and front yards full of old-fashioned shrubbery, with -thick grass half a century old mossing them over. These things, -primitive, and full of the olden times, are not yet crowded out of sight -by sloping lawns, gravel walks, and newly acclimated flowers; and if -they do not so vividly appeal to the taste, those, who have hearts, -sometimes find them softened by these relicts of the past, to warmer and -sweeter feelings than mere fancy ever aroused. - -One of these old houses, a low roofed, unpretending dwelling, exhibiting -unmistakable evidence of what had once been white paint on the edges of -its clap-boards, and crowned by a huge stone chimney, whose generous -throat seemed half choked up with swallows' nests, belonged to a -character in our story which the reader cannot have forgotten without -breaking the author's heart. - -It was autumn--but a generous, balmy autumn, that seemed to cajole and -flatter the summer into keeping it company close up to Christmas. True, -the gorgeous tints of a late Indian summer lay richly among the trees, -but some patches of bright green were still left, defying the season, -and putting aside, from day to day, the red and golden veil which the -frost was constantly endeavoring to cast over them. - -In front of the old house stood two maples--noble trees, such as have -had no time to root themselves around your modern cottages. These -maples, symmetrical as a pair of huge pine cones, rose against the house -a perfect cloud of gorgeous foliage. One was red as blood, and with a -dash of the most vivid green still keeping its hold down the centre of -each leaf--the other golden all over, as if its roots were nourished in -the metallic soil of California, and its leaves dusted by the winds that -drift up gold in the valley of Sacramento. These superb trees blended -and wove their ripe leaves together, now throwing out a wave of red, now -a mass of gold, and here a tinge of green in splendid confusion. - -All around, under these maples, the grass was littered with a fantastic -carpet of leaves, showered down from their branches. They hung around -the huge old lilac bushes. They fluttered down to the rose thickets, and -lay in patches of torn crimson and crumpled gold among the house-leeks -and mosses on the roof. - -In and out, through this shower of ripe leaves, fluttered the swallows. -In and out along the heavy branches, darted a pair of red squirrels, who -owned a nest in one of the oldest and most stately trees. In and out, -through the long, low kitchen, the parlor, the pantries, and the -milk-room, went and came our old friend, Mrs. Gray, the comely -huckster-woman of Fulton market. That house was hers. That great square -garden at the back door was hers. How comfortable and harvest-like it -lay, sloping down toward the south, divided into sections, crowded with -parsnips, beets, onions, potatoes, raspberry thickets, and strawberry -patches; in short, running over with a stock in trade that had furnished -her market stall during the year. - -The season was late. The frost had been there nipping, biting and -pinching up the noble growth of vegetables that was to supply Mrs. -Gray's stall in the winter months. Half the great white onions lay above -ground, with their silvery coats exposed. The beet beds were of a deep -blackish crimson; and the cucumber vines had yielded up their last -delicate gherkins. All her neighbors had gathered in their crops days -ago, but the good old lady only laughed and chuckled over the example -thus offered for her imitation. New England born and accustomed to the -sharp east winds of Maine, she cared nothing for the petty frosts that -only made the leaves of her beet and parsnip beds gorgeous, while their -precious bulbs lay safely bedded in the soil. No matter what others did, -she never gathered her garden crop till Thanksgiving. That was her -harvest time, her great yearly jubilee--the season when her accounts -were reckoned up--when her barns and cellars were running over with the -wealth of her little farm. - -Christmas, New Year, the Fourth of July, in short, all the holidays of -the year were crowded into one with Mrs. Gray. During the whole twelve -months, she commemorated Thanksgiving only. The reader must not, for a -moment, suppose that the Thanksgiving Mrs. Gray loved to honor, was the -miserable counterfeit of a holiday proclaimed by the governor of New -York. No! Mrs. Gray scorned this poor attempt at imitation. It made her -double chin quiver only to think of it. If ever a look of contempt crept -into those benevolent eyes, it was when people would try to convince her -that any governor out of New England, could enter into the spirit of a -regular Down East Thanksgiving; or, that any woman, south of old -Connecticut, could be educated into the culinary mysteries of a mince -pie. Her faith was boundless, her benevolence great, but in these things -Mrs. Gray could not force herself to believe. - -You should have seen the old lady as Thanksgiving week drew near--not -the New York one, but that solemnly proclaimed by the governor of Maine. -Mrs. Gray heeded no other. That week the woman of a neighboring stall -took charge of Mrs. Gray's business. The customers were served by a -strange hand; the brightness of her comely face was confined to her own -roof tree. She gave thanks to God for the bounties of the earth, -heartily, earnestly; but it was her pleasure to render these thanks -after the fashion of her ancestors. - -You should have seen her then, surrounded by raisins, black currants, -pumpkin sauce, peeled apples, sugar boxes, and plates of golden butter, -her plump hand pearly with flour dust, the whole kitchen redolent with -ginger, allspice, and cloves! You should have seen her grating orange -peel and nutmegs, the border of her snow-white cap rising and falling to -the motion of her hands, and the soft gray hair underneath, tucked -hurriedly back of the ear on one side, where it had threatened to be in -the way. - -You should have seen her in that large, splint-bottomed rocking-chair, -with a wooden bowl in her capacious lap, and a sharp chopping-knife in -her right hand; with what a soft, easy motion the chopping-knife fell! -with what a quiet and smiling air the dear old lady would take up a -quantity of the powdered beef on the flat of her knife, and observe, as -it showered softly down to the tray again, that "meat chopped too fine -for mince pies was sure poison." Then the laugh--the quiet, mellow -chuckle with which she regarded the astonished look of the Irish girl, -who could not understand the mystery of this ancient saying. - -Yes, you should have seen Mrs. Gray at this very time, in order to -appreciate fully the perfections of an old-fashioned New England -housewife. They are departing from the land. Railroads and steamboats -are sweeping them away. In a little time, providing our humble tale is -not first sent to oblivion, this very description will have the dignity -of an antique subject. Women who cook their own dinners and take care of -the work hands are getting to be legendary even now. - -The day came at last, bland as the smile of a warm heart, a breath of -summer seemed whispering with the over-ripe leaves. The sunshine was of -that warm, golden yellow which belongs to the autumn. A few hardy -flowers glowed in the front yard, richly tinted dahlias, marigolds, -chrysanthemums, and China-asters, with the most velvety amaranths, still -kept their bloom, for those huge old maples sheltered them like a tent, -and flowers always blossomed later in that house than elsewhere. No -wonder! Inside and out, all was pleasant and genial. The fall flowers -seemed to thrive upon Mrs. Gray's smiles. Her rosy countenance, as she -overlooked them, seemed to warm up their leaves like a sunbeam. -Everything grew and brightened about her. Everything combined to make -this particular Thanksgiving one to be remembered. - -Now, all was in fine progress, nothing had gone wrong, not even the -awkward Irish girl, for she had only to see that the potatoes were in -readiness, and for that department she was qualified by birth. - -Mrs. Gray had done wonders that morning. The dinner was in a most -hopeful state of preparation. The great red crested, imperious looking -turkey, that had strutted away his brief life in the barn-yard, was now -snugly bestowed in the oven--Mrs. Gray had not yet degenerated down to a -cooking-stove--his heavy coat of feathers was scattered to the wind. His -head, that arrogant, crimson head, that had so often awed the whole -poultry yard, lay all unheeded in the dust, close by the horse-block. -There he sat, the poor denuded monarch--turned up in a dripping pan, -simmering himself brown in the kitchen oven. Never, in all his pomp, had -that bosom been so warmed and distended--yet the huge turkey had been a -sad gourmand in his time. A rich thymy odor broke through every pore of -his body; drops of luscious gravy dripped down his sides, filling the -oven with an unctuous stream that penetrated a crevice in the door, and -made the poor Irish girl cross herself devoutly. She felt her spirit so -yearning after the good things of earth, and never having seen -Thanksgiving set down in the calendar, was shy of surrendering her -heart to a holiday that had no saint to patronize it. - -No wonder! the odor that stole so insidiously to her nostrils was -appetising, for the turkey had plenty of companionship in the oven. A -noble chicken-pie flanked his dripping pan on the right; a delicate -sucking pig was drawn up to the left wing; in the rear towered a -mountain of roast beef, while the mouth of the oven was choked up with a -generous Indian pudding. It was an ovenful worthy of New England, worthy -of the day. - -The hours came creeping on when guests might be expected. Mrs. Gray, who -had been invisible a short time after filling the oven, appeared in the -little parlor perfectly redolent with good humor, and a fresh toilet. A -cap of the most delicate material, trimmed with satin ribbons, cast a -transparent brightness over her bland and pleasant features. A dress of -black silk, heavy and ample in the skirt, rustled round her portly -figure as she walked. Folds of the finest muslin lay upon her bosom, in -chaste contrast with the black dress, and just revealing a string of -gold beads which had reposed for years beneath the caressing protection -of her double chin. - -Mrs. Gray, was ready for company, and tried her best to remain with -proper dignity in the great rocking chair, that she had drawn to a -window commanding a long stretch of the road; but every few moments she -would start up, bustle across the room, and charge Kitty, the Irish -girl, to be careful and watch the oven, to keep a sharp eye on the -sauce-pans in the fire-place, and, above all, to have the mince pies -within range of the fire, that they might receive a gradual and gentle -warmth by the time they were wanted. Then she would return to the room, -arrange the branches of asparagus that hung laden with red berries over -the looking glass, or dust the spotless table with her handkerchief, -just to keep herself busy, as she said. - -At last she heard the distant sound of a wagon, turning down the cross -road toward the house. She knew the tramp of her own market horse even -at that distance, and seated herself by the window ready to receive her -expected guests with becoming dignity. - -The little one-horse wagon came down the road with a sort of dash quite -honorable to the occasion. Mrs. Gray's hired man was beginning to enter -into the spirit of a holiday; and the old horse himself made every thing -rattle again, he was so eager to reach home, the moment it hove in -sight. - -The wagon drew up by the door yard gate with a flourish worthy of the -Third avenue. The hired man sprang out, and with some show of awkward -gallantry, lifted a young girl in a pretty pink calico and a cottage -bonnet, down from the front seat. Mrs. Gray could maintain her position -no longer; for the young girl glanced that way with a look so eloquent, -a smile so bright, that it warmed the dear old lady's heart like a flash -of fire in the winter time. She started up, hastily shook loose the -folds of her dress, and went out, rustling all the way like a tree in -autumn. - -"You are welcome, dear, welcome as green peas in June, or radishes in -March," she cried, seizing the little hand held toward her, and kissing -the heavenly young face. - -The girl turned with a bright look, and making a graceful little wave of -the hand toward an aged man who was tenderly helping a female from the -wagon, seemed about to speak. - -"I understand, dear, I know all about it! the good old people--grandpa -and grandma, of course. How could I help knowing them?" Mrs. Gray went -up to the old people as she spoke, with a bland welcome in every feature -of her face. - -"Know them, of course I do!" she said, enfolding the old gentleman's -hand with her plump fingers. "I--I--gracious goodness, now, it really -does seem as if I had seen that face somewhere!" she added, hesitating, -and with her eyes fixed doubtingly on the stranger, as if she were -calling up some vague remembrance, "strange, now isn't it? but he looks -natural as life." - -The old man turned a warming glance toward his wife, and then answered, -with a grave smile, "that, at any rate, Mrs. Gray could never be a -stranger to them, she who had done so much----" - -She interrupted him with one of her mellow laughs. Thanks for a kind -act always made the good woman feel awkward, and she blushed like a -girl. "No, no; but somehow I can't give it up; this isn't the first time -we have seen each other!" - -"I hope that it will not be the last!" said old Mrs. Warren, coming -gently forward to her husband's assistance. "Julia has seen you so -often, and talked of you so much--no wonder we seem like old -acquaintances. I always thought Julia looked very much like her -grandfather!" - -"Yes, I reckon it must be that," answered Mrs. Gray, evidently but half -giving up her prepossession. "Her face isn't one to leave the mind: I -dreamed about it the first night after she came into the market, poor -thing--poor thing!" - -Mrs. Gray repeated the last words with great tenderness, for Julia -Warren had crept close to her, and taking one of her hands, softly -lifted it to her lips. - -"Come, come, let us go in," cried the good woman, gently withdrawing her -hand, with which she patted Julia on the shoulder. "There, there, pick -your grandmother a handful of China-asters. I believe the frost left -them just for you." - -Julia was about to obey the welcome command, but her glance happened to -fall on the face of her grandfather, and she hesitated. There was -something troubled in his look, an expression of anxiety that struck her -as remarkable. - -"Grandpa, what is the matter?--you look pale!" she said, in a low voice, -for, with delicate tact, she saw he wished to escape observation. - -"Nothing, child, nothing," he answered hurriedly, but with kindness. "Do -not mind me." - -Julia cast one more anxious look into his face, and then stooped to the -flowers. The old gentleman followed Mrs. Gray and his wife into the -house. - -"A sweet, pretty creature, isn't she?" said Mrs. Gray, watching Julia -from the parlor window, after she had put aside Mrs. Warren's things; -"and handsome as a picture! Just watch her now as she turns her face -this way." - -"You are kind to praise her," said Mrs. Warren, with a gentle smile; -"you know how much it pleases us." - -Mrs. Gray laughed and shook her head. "I know how much it pleases me, -and that's all I think about it," she answered; and the two warm-hearted -women stood together watching Julia as she gathered and arranged her -humble bouquet. - -The child did indeed look very lovely in her pink dress--only a shilling -calico, but fresh and becoming for all that. You never saw a more -interesting picture in your life. The long ringlets of her hair swept -from underneath her bonnet, while its delicate rose-colored tinge and -the ride had given her cheek a bloom fresh as an almond flower when it -first opens. Still she was a slender, fragile little creature, and you -saw that the rude winds of life had swept too early over her. Feeling -and intellect had prematurely developed themselves in her nature. In her -face--in her smile--in her eyes, with their beautiful curling lashes, -there was something painfully spiritual. Within the last few months this -expression had grown upon her wonderfully. Her loveliness was of a kind -to make you thoughtful, sometimes even sad. Mrs. Gray felt all this -without understanding it, and her heart yearned strangely toward the -child. - -"It's a truth," she said, addressing the grandmother. "I feel almost as -if she were my own daughter, and yet I never had a child, and didn't use -to care for other people's children much. I really believe that some day -I shall up and give her these. It's come into my mind more than once, I -can tell you, and yet they were my mother's, and her mother's before -that." Here Mrs. Gray ran her fingers along the gold beads on her neck. -"It's strange, but I always want to be giving her something." - -"You _are_ always giving her something," said Mrs. Warren, gratefully. - -"No, no, nothing to speak of." - -"That pretty dress and the bonnet--are they nothing?" - -"And who told you that?--who told you they came from me?" - -"We have not so many friends that there could be much doubt," answered -Mrs. Warren, with a sigh. "Julia was sure of it from the first; and the -other things!" continued the old lady, in a low voice, glancing at her -own neat dress, "who else would have thought of them?" - -All truly benevolent persons shrink from spoken thanks. The gratitude -expressed by looks and actions may give pleasure, but there is something -too material in words--they destroy all the refinement of a generous -action. Good Mrs. Gray felt this the more sensitively, because her own -words had seemed to challenge the thanks of her guest. The color came -into her smooth cheek, and she began to arrange the folds of her dress -with both hands, exhibiting a degree of awkwardness quite unusual to -her. When she lifted her eyes again, they fell upon a young man coming -down the cross road on foot, with an eager and buoyant step. - -"There he comes, I thought he would not be long on the way," she cried, -while a flash of gladness radiated her face. "It's my nephew; you see -him there, Mrs. Warren--no, the maple branch is in the way! Here he is -again--now look! a noble fellow, isn't he?" - -Mrs. Warren looked, and was indeed struck by the free air and superior -appearance of the youth. He had evidently walked some distance, for a -light over-sacque hung across his arm, and his face was flushed with -exercise. Seeing his aunt, the boy waved his hand; his lips parted in a -joyous smile, and he hastened his pace almost to a run. - -Mrs. Gray's little brown eyes glistened; she could not turn them from -the youth, even while addressing her guest. - -"Isn't he handsome?--not like your girl, but handsome for a boy," she -exclaimed with fond enthusiasm, "and good--you have no idea, ma'am, -_how_ good he is. There, that is just like him, the wild creature!" she -continued, as the youth laid one hand upon the door yard fence, and -vaulted over, "right into my flower-beds, trampling over the grass -there--did you ever?" - -"Couldn't help it, Aunt Sarah," shouted the youth, with a careless -laugh, "I'm in a hurry to get home, and the gate is too far off. Three -kisses for every flower I tramp down--will that do? Ha, what little lady -is this?" - -The last exclamation was drawn forth by Julia Warren, who had seated -herself at the root of the largest maple, and with her lap full of -flowers, was arranging them into bouquets. On hearing Robert's voice she -looked up with a glance of pleasant surprise, and a smile broke over her -lips. There was something so rosy and joyous in his face, and in the -tones of his voice, that it rippled through her heart as if a bird -overhead had just broken into song. The youth looked upon her for a -moment with his bright, gleeful eyes, then, throwing off his hat and -sweeping back the damp chestnut curls from his forehead, he sat down by -her side, and cast a glance of laughing defiance at his relative. - -"Come out here and get the kisses, Aunt Sarah, I have made up my mind to -stay among the flowers!" - -Mrs. Gray laughed at the young rogue's impudence, as she called it, and -came out to meet him. - -"Now this is too bad," exclaimed the youth, starting up: "don't box my -ears, aunt, and besides paying the kisses, I will embrace you -dutifully--upon my life I will--that is if my arms are long enough," and -with every appearance of honest affection, the youth cast one arm around -the portly person of his aunt, and pressed a warm kiss on her cheek. - -"You are welcome home, Robert, always welcome; and I wish you a happy -Thanksgiving with my whole heart. Julia dear, this is my nephew, Mr. -Robert Otis. His mother and I were sisters--only sisters; there were -three of us in all, two daughters and a son. He is the only child among -us, that is the reason I spoil him so." - -Julia, who had just recovered from the blush that crimsoned her cheek at -his first approach, came forward and extended her hand to the youth -with a timid and gentle grace, that seemed too composed for her years. - -"And Miss Julia Warren, who is she, dear aunt?" questioned the youth, in -a half whisper, as the girl moved toward the house, holding the loose -flowers to her bosom with one hand. - -"The dearest and best little girl that ever lived, Robert; that is all I -know about her!" was the earnest reply. - -"And enough, who wants to know any more about any one," returned the -youth; "and yet Mr. Leicester would say that something else is wanting -before we invite strangers to eat Thanksgiving dinners with us. _He_ -would say that all this is imprudent." - -"Mr. Leicester is very wise, I dare say, and I am but a simple old -woman, Robert; but somehow that which seems right for me to do always -turns out for the best." - -"Because what seems right to the good always is best, my darling old -aunt. I only wanted to prove how prudent and wise a city life has made -me." - -"Prudent and wise--don't set up for that character, Bob. These things -never did run in our family, and never will. Just content yourself with -being good and happy as you can!" - -All at once Robert became grave. Some serious thought seemed pressing -upon his mind. - -"I always was happy when you were my only adviser," he said, looking in -her face with a thoughtful sort of gloom. - -"Now don't, Robert, don't joke with your old aunt. One would think by -your looks that there was something in it. I'm sure it would break my -heart to think you unhappy in earnest!" - -"I know it would!" answered the affectionate youth, casting aside his -momentary depression. "Just box my ears for teasing you, and let us go -in--I must help the little girl tie up her flowers." - -Mrs. Gray seemed about to press the conversation a little more -earnestly; but that moment the Irish girl came through the front door -with an expression of solemn import in her face. She whispered in a -flustered manner to her mistress, and the words "spoilt entirely," -reached Robert's ear. - -Away went the aunt all in a state of excitement to the kitchen. The -nephew watched her depart, and then turning thoughtfully back, begun to -pace up and down the footpath leading from the front door to the gate. -The first wild flash of spirits consequent on a return home had left -him, and from that time the joyousness of his look grew dim. He was gay -only by starts, and at times fell into thought that seemed unnatural to -his youth, and his usual merry spirit. - -Whatever mischief had happened in the kitchen, the dinner turned out -magnificently. The turkey came upon the table a perfect miracle of -cookery. The pig absolutely looked more beautiful than life, crouching -in his bed of parsely, with his head up, and holding a lemon daintily -between his jaws. The chicken-pie, pinched around the edge into a -perfect embroidery by the two plump thumbs of Mrs. Gray, and then -finished off by an elaborate border done in key work, would have charmed -the most fastidious artist. - -You have no idea, reader mine, how beautiful colors may be blended on a -dinner-table, unless you have seen just the kind of feast to which Mrs. -Gray invited her guests. The rich brown of the meats; the snow white -bread; the fresh, golden butter; the cranberry sauce, with its bright, -ruby tinge, were daintily mingled with plates of pies, arranged after a -most tempting fashion. Golden custard; the deep red tart; the brown -mince and tawny orange color of the pumpkin, were placed in alternate -wedges, and radiating from the centre of each plate like a star, stood -at equal distances round the table. Water sparkling from the well; -currant wine brilliantly red--contrasted with the sheeted snow of the -table-cloth; and the gleam of crystal; then that old arm-chair at the -head of the table, with its soft crimson cushions. I tell you again, -reader, it was a Thanksgiving dinner worthy to be remembered. That poor -family from the miserable basement in New York, did remember it for many -a weary day after. Mrs. Gray remembered it, for she had given delicious -pleasure to those old people. She had, for that one day at least, lifted -them from their toil and depression. Besides, the good woman had other -cause to remember the day, and that before she closed her eyes in sleep. - -Robert too. In his heart there lingered a remembrance of this dinner -long after such things are usually forgotten. And Julia! even with her -it was an epoch, a mile-stone in the path of her life--a mile-stone -wreathed with blossoms, to which in after days she loved to wander back -in her imagination, as pilgrims journey to visit a shrine. - -When old Mr. Warren took the great crimson easy-chair at the head of the -table, and folding his hands earnestly and solemnly, asked a blessing on -the food, Mrs. Gray could not forbear stealing another, and more -searching glance at his face. She could not be mistaken, somewhere those -features had met her eye before; it might be years ago, she could not -fix the time or place, but she had seen that forehead and heard the -voice--of that she became certain. - -I will not dwell upon that dinner--the warm, almost too warm -hospitality! No wine was wanted to keep up the general cheerfulness; the -sparkle of champagne; the dash of crystals; the gush of song were all -unnecessary there. - -Everything was fresh, earnest, and full of pure enjoyment; even old Mr. -Warren smiled happily more than once; and as for Robert, he was -perfectly brilliant during the whole meal, saying the drollest things to -his aunt, and making Julia laugh every other minute with his sparkling -nonsense. - -There was one thing that, for a moment, cast a shadow upon the general -hilarity. By the great easy-chair occupied by Mr. Warren, stood an empty -seat; a plate, knife, and glass was before it; but when Mr. Warren asked -if any other guest was expected, a profound sigh arose from the recesses -of Mrs. Gray's bosom, and she answered sadly that one guest was always -expected on Thanksgiving day, but he never came. All the company saw -that this was a painful subject, and no more questions were asked; but -after dinner, when Robert and Julia were under the old maples, he told -her in a low voice that this seat was always kept standing for an uncle -of his--Mrs. Gray's only brother--who left home when a youth, and had -been a wanderer ever since. For him this empty seat was ever in -readiness. - -Mrs. Gray, with all her good common sense, had a dash of romance buried -deep somewhere in her capacious bosom. It was an old-fashioned, hearty -sort of romance, giving depth and vigor to her affections; people might -smile at it, but what then? It beautified, and gave wholesome refinement -to a character which required something of this kind to tone down its -energies, and soften even its best impulses. - -Thanksgiving, in New England, is a holiday of the hearth-stone, a yearly -Sabbath, where friends that are scattered meet with a punctuality that -seems almost religious. It is a season of little, pleasant surprises; -unexpected friends often drop in to partake of the festival. It was not -very singular, considering all these things, that good Mrs. Gray should -have cherished a fancy, as each of these festive holidays came round, -that her long absent brother might return to claim his seat at her -table. They were orphans--and her home was all that he could claim in -his native land. She did hope--and there was something almost of -religious faith in the idea--that some day her only brother would -surprise them with his presence. - -And now the day was over, the landmark of another year was planted, her -guests had departed, and Mrs. Gray sat down in her little parlor alone. -There was something melancholy in the solitude to which she was left. -Every footfall of the old market horse as he bore away those whom she -had made so happy, seemed to trample out a sweet hope from her heart. -There stood the chair--empty, empty, empty--her brother, her only -brother, would he never come again? As these thoughts stole through her -mind, Mrs. Gray folded her arms, and, leaning back in the old arm-chair -that had been her father's, wept, but so gently that one sitting by her -would hardly have been aware of it. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE BROTHER'S RETURN. - - My soul is faint beneath its unshed tears; - The earth seems desolate amid its flowers; - Oh, better far wild hope and racking fears, - Than all this leaden weight of weary hours. - - -Miss Landon says, in one of her exquisite novels, that the history of a -book--the feelings, sufferings, and experience of its author--would, if -truly revealed, be often more touching, more romantic, and full of -interest, than the book itself. Alas, alas, how true this is with me! -How mournful would be the history of these pages, could I write of that -solemn under-current of grief that has swept through my heart, while -each word has fallen, as it were, mechanically from my pen. I have -written in a dream; my mind has been at work while my soul dwelt wholly -with another. Between every sentence fear, and grief, and keen anxiety -have broken up, known only to myself, and leaving no imprint on the page -which my hand was tracing. My brother, my noble young brother, so good, -so strong, once so full of hopeful life! How many times have I said to -my heart, as each chapter was commenced, Will he live to see the end? By -his bedside I have written--with every sentence I have turned to see if -he slept, or was in pain. We had began to count his life by months then, -and as each period of mental toil came round, the wing of approaching -death fell more darkly over my page and over my heart. Reader, do you -know how we may live and suffer while the business of life goes -regularly on, giving no token of the tears that are silently shed? - -Here, here! between this chapter and the last he died. The flowers we -laid upon his coffin are scarcely withered; the vibrations of the -passing bell have but just swept through the beautiful valley where we -laid him down to sleep. While I am yet standing bewildered and -grief-stricken in "the valley and shadow of death,"--for we followed -that loved one even to the brink of eternity, rendering him up to God -when we might go no further,--even there comes this cry from the outer -world, "Write--write!" - -And I must write--my work, like his young life, must not be broken off -in the middle. Here, in the desolate room, where he was an object of so -much care, I must gather up the tangled thread of my story. There is -nothing to interrupt me now--no faint moan, no gentle and patient call -for water or for fruit. The couch is empty--the room silent; nothing is -here to interrupt thought save the swell of my own heart--the flow of my -own tears. - -And she sat waiting for _her_ brother, that kind-hearted old -huckster-woman, waiting for him on that Thanksgiving night, with the -beautiful faith which will not yield up hope even when everything that -can reasonably inspire it has passed away. - -The hired man had escorted the Irish girl on a visit to some "cousin -from her own country," and Robert was acting as charioteer to the Warren -family. Thus it happened that Mrs. Gray was left entirely alone in the -old farm-house. - -The twilight deepened, but the good woman, lost in profound memories, -sat gazing in the fire, unconscious of the gathering darkness; even her -housewife thrift was forgotten, and she sat quiet and unconscious for -the time as it passed. There stood the table, still loaded with the -Thanksgiving supper--nothing had been removed--for Mrs. Gray had no idea -of more than one grand course at her festive board. Pies, puddings, -beef, fowl, everything came on at once, a perfect deluge of hospitality, -and thus everything remained. It was a feast in ruins. When her guests -went away, the good lady, partly from fatigue, partly from the rush of -thick-coming memories, forgot that the table was to be cleared. The -lonesome stillness suited her frame of mind, and thus she sat, -motionless and sorrowful, brooding amid the vestiges of her Thanksgiving -supper. - -She was aroused from this unusual state of abstraction by a slight -noise among the dishes, and supposing that the slack old house cat had -broken bounds for once, she stamped her foot upon the hearth too gently -for much effect, and brushing the tears from her eyes, uttered a faint -"get out," as if that hospitable heart smote her for attempting to -deprive the cat of a reasonable share in the feast. - -Still the noise continued, and added to it was the faint creaking of a -chair. She looked around, eagerly arose from her seat, and stood up -motionless, with her eyes bent on the table. A man sat in the vacant -chair--not the hired man--for his life he dared not have touched that -seat. The apartment was full of shadows, but through them all Mrs. Gray -could detect something in the outline of that tall figure that made her -heart beat fast. The face turned toward her was somewhat pale, and even -through the gloom she felt the flash of two dark eyes riveted upon her. - -Mrs. Gray had no thought of robbers--what highwayman could be fancied -bold enough to seat himself in that chair? She had no fear of any kind, -still her stout limbs began to shake, and when she moved toward the -table it was with a wavering step. As she came opposite her brother's -chair the intruder leaned forward, threw his arms half across the table, -and bent his face toward her. That moment the hickory fire flashed up; -she rushed close to the table, seized both the large hands stretched -toward her, and cried out, "Jacob, brother Jacob--is that you?" - -"Well, Sarah, I reckon it isn't anybody else!" said Jacob Strong, -holding his sister's hand with a firm grip, though she was trying to -shake his over the table with all her might. "You didn't expect me, I -suppose?" - -It would not do; with all his eccentricity, the warm, rude love in Jacob -Strong's heart would force its way out. His voice broke; he suddenly -planted his elbows on the table, and covering his face with both hands, -sobbed aloud. - -"Jacob, brother Jacob, now don't!" cried Mrs. Gray, coming round the -table, her buxom face glistening with tears. "I'm sure it seems as if I -should never feel like crying again. Why, Jacob, _is_ it you? I can't -seem to have a realizing sense of it yet." - -Jacob arose, opened his large arms, and gathered the stout form of Mrs. -Gray to his bosom, as if she had been a child. - -"Sarah, it is the same heart, with a great deal of love in it yet. Does -not that seem real?" - -"Yes," said Mrs. Gray, in a soft, deep whisper, "yes, Jacob, that is -nat'ral, but I want to cry more than ever. It seems as if I couldn't -stop! I always kind of expected it, but now that you are here, it seems -as if I had got you right back from heaven." - -Jacob Strong held his sister still closer to his bosom, and putting up -his hand, he attempted to smooth her hair with a sort of awkward caress, -probably an old habit of his boyhood, but his hand fell upon the muslin -and ribbons of her cap, and the touch smote him like a reproach. "Oh, -Sarah," he said, in a broken voice, "you have grown old. _Have_ I been -away so many years?" - -"Never mind that now," answered Mrs. Gray, whose kindly heart was moved -by the sigh that seemed lifting her from the bosom of her brother. "I -have had trouble, and, sure enough, I have grown old, but it seems to me -as if I was never so happy as I am now." - -Jacob tightened his embrace a moment, and then released his sister. - -"Get a light, Sarah, let us look at each other." - -Mrs. Gray took a brass candlestick from the mantel-piece and kindled a -light. Her face was paler than usual, and bathed with tears as she -turned it toward Jacob. For a time the two gazed on each other with a -look of intense interest; an expression of regretful sadness settled on -their features, and, without a word, Mrs. Gray sat down the light. - -"Is it age, Sarah, or trouble, that has turned your hair so grey?" said -Jacob, a moment after, when both were seated at the hearth. He paused, a -choking sensation came in his throat, and he added with an effort, -"have I helped to do it? was it mourning because I went off and never -wrote?" - -"No, no, do not think that," was the kind reply, "I always knew that -there must be some good reason for it; I always expected that you would -come back, and that we should grow old together." - -"Then it was not trouble about me?" - -"Nothing of the kind; I knew that you would never do anything really -wrong; something in my heart always told me that you were alive and -about some good work, what, I could not tell; but though I longed to see -you, and wondered often where you were, I was just as sure that all -would end right, and that you would come back safe, as if an angel from -heaven had told me so!" - -"Yet I was doing wrong all the time, Sarah," answered Jacob, smitten to -the heart by the honest sisterly faith betrayed in Mrs. Gray's speech. -"It was cruel to leave you--cruel not to write. But it appeared to me as -if I had some excuse. You were settled in life--and so much older. It -did not seem as if you could care so much for me with a husband to think -of. I was a boy, you know, and could not realize that two full grown -married women really could care much about me." - -"You knew when poor Eunice died?" answered Mrs. Gray. "You heard, I -suppose, that she was buried by her husband not three months after the -fever took him off; and about the baby?" - -"No, no, I never heard of it, I was too full of other things. I did not -even know that your husband was gone, till a man up yonder called you -the Widow Gray, when I inquired if you lived here. The last news I heard -was years ago, when your husband left home and settled here on the -Island." - -"He died that very year," answered Mrs. Gray, with a gentle fall of her -voice; "I have been alone ever since--all but little Robert." - -"Little Robert--have you a child, then, Sarah? I did not know that!" - -"No, it wasn't my child, poor Eunice left a boy behind her, the -dearest, little fellow. I wish you could have seen him when he first -came here, a nussing baby, not three months old, so feeble and helpless. -In his mother's sickness he hadn't been tended as children ought to be; -and he was the palest thinnest little creature. I wasn't much used to -babies, but somehow God teaches us a way when we have the will--and no -creature ever prayed for knowledge as I did. Sometimes when the little -thing fell to sleep, moaning in my arms, it sounded as if it must wake -up with its mother in heaven; but good nussing and new milk, warm from -the cow, soon brought out its roses and dimples. He grew, I never did -see a child grow like him, when he once took a start--and so -good-natured too!" - -"But now--where is the boy now?" questioned Jacob. - -"He was here this forenoon, almost a man grown. You have been away _so_ -long, Jacob. He was here and ate his Thanksgiving dinner. A perfect -gentleman, too; I declare, I was almost ashamed to kiss him, he's grown -so." - -"Then you have brought him up on the place?" - -"No, Jacob, we never had a gentleman in our family that I ever heard on, -so I determined to make one of Robert." - -"And how did you go to work?" questioned Jacob, with a grim smile, "I've -tried it myself; but we're a tough family to mould over; I never could -do more than make a tolerably honest man out of my share of the old -stock." - -"Oh, Robert was naturally gifted," answered Mrs. Gray, with great -complacency. - -"He did not get it from our side of the house, that's certain," muttered -Jacob; "the very gates on the old farm always swung awkwardly." - -"But his father--he was an 'Otis,' you know--Robert looks a good deal -like his father, and took to his learning just as naturally as he did to -the new milk. He was born a gentleman. I remember Mr. Leicester said -these very words the first time he came here." - -Jacob gave a start, and clenching his hand, said, only half letting out -his breath--"Who, who?" - -"Mr. Leicester, the best friend Robert ever had. He used to come over to -the Island to board sometimes for weeks together, for there was deer in -the woods then, and fish in the ponds, enough to keep a sportsman busy -at least four months in the year. He took a great notion to Robert from -the first, and taught him almost everything--no school could have made -Robert what he is." - -"And this man has had the teaching of my sister's child!" muttered -Jacob, shading his face with one hand. "Everywhere--everywhere, he -trails himself in my path." - -Mrs. Gray looked at her brother very earnestly. "You are tired," she -said. - -"No, I was listening. So this man, this Mr. Leicester--you like him -then? he has been good to you?" - -Mrs. Gray hesitated, and bent her eyes upon the fire. "Good--yes he has -been good to us; as for liking him I ought to. I know how ungrateful it -is, but somehow, Jacob, I'll own it to you, I never did like Mr. -Leicester with my whole heart, I'm ashamed to look you in the face and -say this, but it's the living truth: perhaps it was his education, or -something." - -"No, Sarah, it was your heart, your own upright heart, that stirred -within you. I have felt it a thousand times, struggled against it, been -ashamed of it, but an honest heart is always right. When it shrinks and -grows cold at the approach of a stranger, depend on it, that stranger -has some thing wrong about him. Never grieve or blush for this heart -warning. It is only the honest who feel it. Vile things do not tremble -as they touch each other." - -"Why, Jacob, Jacob, you do not mean to say that it was right for me to -dislike Mr. Leicester--to dread his coming--to feel sometimes as if I -wanted to snatch Robert from his side and run off with him! I'm sure it -has been a great trouble to me, and I've prayed and prayed not to be so -ungrateful. Now you speak as if it was right all the time; but you don't -know all; you will blame me as I blame myself after I tell you it was -through Mr. Leicester that Robert got his situation with one of the -richest and greatest merchants in New York, and that he was paid a -salary from the first, though hundreds and hundreds of rich men's sons -would have jumped at the place without pay; now, Jacob, I'm sure you'll -think me an ungrateful creature." - -"Ungrateful!" repeated Jacob with emphasis, "but no matter now; the time -has gone by when it would do good to talk all this over. But tell me, -Sarah, what studies did he seem most earnest that Robert should -understand? What books did they read together? What was the general -discourse?" - -"I'm sure it's impossible for me to tell; they read all sorts of books, -some of 'em are on the swing shelf--you can look at 'em for yourself." - -Jacob arose, and taking up a light, examined the books pointed out to -him, while his sister stood by, gazing alternately upon his face and the -volumes, as if some new and vague fear had all at once possessed her. - -There was nothing in the volumes which Jacob beheld to excite -apprehension, even in the most rigid moralist. Some of the books were -elementary; the rest purely classical; a few were in French, but they -bore no taint of the loose morals or vicious philosophy which has -rendered the modern literature of France the shame of genius. - -Jacob drew a deep breath, and replacing the light on the mantel-piece, -sat down. His feelings and suspicions were not in the least changed, but -the inspection of those books had baffled him. Mrs. Gray sat watching -him with great anxiety. - -"There is nothing wrong in the books, is there?" she said, at length. - -"No!" was the absent reply. - -"You could tell, I suppose, for it seemed as if you were reading. It is -foreign language, isn't it?" - -"Yes." - -"And you can read it?" - -"Yes!" - -"But how--where did you get so much learning?" - -Jacob did not hear her. He was lost in profound thought, striving to -search out some clue which would reveal the motives of that evil man for -the interest he had taken in Robert Otis. - -"And these were all my nephew studied?" he said, at length, still -pondering upon what had been told him. - -"No, not all. Those were the books; but then Mr. Leicester thought a -good deal of music and drawing, but most of all, writing. Hours and -hours he would spend over that. Every kind of writing, not coarse hand -and fine hand as you and I learned to write--but everything was given -him to copy. Old letters, names. I remember he practised one whole month -writing over different names from a great pile of letters that Mr. -Leicester brought for copies." - -"Ha!" ejaculated Jacob Strong, now keenly interested, "so he was taught -to copy these names?" - -"Yes, and he did it so beautifully, sometimes, you could not have known -one from the other. The more exactly alike he made them, the more Mr. -Leicester was pleased. I used to tell Robert to beat the copy if he -could, and some of the names were crabbed enough, but Mr. Leicester said -that wasn't the object." - -"No, it wasn't the object," muttered Jacob, and now his eyes flashed, -for he had obtained the clue. - -"One week, I remember," persisted Mrs. Gray, "he wrote and wrote, and -all the time on one name. I fairly got tired of the sight of it, and -Robert too; but Mr. Leicester said that he would never be a clerk -without perfect penmanship." - -"And this one name, what was it?" inquired Jacob, with keen interest. - -Mrs. Gray opened a stand drawer, and took out a copy-book filled with -loose scraps of paper. - -Jacob examined the book and the scraps of paper separately and together. -Mrs. Gray was wrong when she said it was a single name only. In the -book, and on loose fragments were notes of hand, evidently imitated -from some genuine original, with checks on various city banks, -apparently drawn at random, and merely as a practice in penmanship; but -one bank was more frequently mentioned than the others, and this fact -Jacob treasured in his mind. - -"This name," he said, touching a signature to one of these -papers--"whose is it?" - -"Why it is the merchant that Robert is with," answered Mrs. Gray. "That -is the one he wrote over so often!" - -"I thought so," said Jacob, dryly; and laying the copy-book down, he -seemed to cast it from his mind. - -Mrs. Gray had become unfamiliar with the features of her relative, or -she would have seen that deep and stern feelings were busy within him; -but now she only thought him anxious and tired out with the excitement -of returning home after so many years of absence. - -They sat together on the hearth, more silent than seemed natural to -persons thus united, when a footstep upon the crisp leaves brought a -smile to Mrs. Gray's face. - -"I thought there was a sound of wheels," she said, eagerly. "It is -Robert come back from the ferry--how he will be surprised!" - -"Not now!" said Jacob Strong. "I would rather not see him to-night--do -not tell him that I am here!" - -"But he will stay all night!" pleaded Mrs. Gray, whose kind heart was -overflowing with the hope of presenting the youth to his uncle without -delay. - -"So much the better; I can see something of him without being known. -Where does that door lead?" - -"To a spare bed-room!" - -"His bed-room?" - -"No. Robert will sleep up stairs in his own chamber--he always does." - -"Very well, I will take that room; say nothing of my return. When he is -in bed I will come out again." - -"Dear me, how strange all this is--how can I keep still?--how can I -help telling him?" murmured the good woman, half following Jacob into -the dark bedroom; "I never kept a secret in my life. He will certainly -find me out." - -"Hush!" said Jacob in an emphatic whisper, from the bed-room; "I will -lay down upon the bed--leave the door partly open--now take your seat -again where the light will fall on you both. Go--go!" - -Mrs. Gray took her seat again, looking very awkward and -conscience-stricken. Robert came in flushed with his ride. It was a -sharp autumnal evening, and his drive home had been rapid; a brilliant -color lay in his cheeks, and the rich hair was blown about his forehead. -He flung off his sacque, and cast it down with the heavy whip he carried -in one hand. - -"Well, aunt, I am back again--that old horse, like wine I have tasted, -grows stronger and brighter as he gets old." - -"But where is he? the hired-man went away at dark," said Mrs. Gray, -anxious for the comfort of her horse. - -"Never mind him. I put the blessed pony up myself. You should have heard -the old fellow whinney as I gave out his oats. He knew me again." - -"Of course he did. I should like to see anything on the place forget -you, Robert; it wouldn't stay here long, I give my word for it." - -"Oh, aunt, I would not have even a horse or dog sent from the old place -for a much greater sin--I know what it is!" - -"But you never were sent off, Robert." - -"No, aunt, but I went. Instead of superintending the place, and taking -the labor from your shoulders, who have no one else to depend on--I must -set up for a gentleman--see city life, aunt. I wish from the bottom of -my heart that I had never left you!" - -"Why, Robert--what makes you wish this? or if you really are homesick, -why not come back again?" - -"Come back again, aunt!" said the youth, with sudden and bitter -earnestness. "Is there any coming back in this life? When we are -changed, and places are changed--always ourselves most--how can a return -to one spot be called coming back?" - -"But I am not changed--the place is just as it was," pleaded the kind -aunt. - -"But I am changed, aunt--I can throw myself by your side, and lay my -head upon your lap as if I were a petted child still, but it would not -be natural--we could not force ourselves into believing it natural." - -"How strangely you talk, Robert; to me you are a child yet." - -"But to myself I am _not_ a child, I have thought, felt--yes, I have -suffered only as men think, feel and suffer. Oh, aunt, if I had never -lived with any one but you, how much better it would have been!" - -The youth had cast himself on the hearth by his aunt, and rested his -beautiful head upon her knee. Tears--those warm bright tears that youth -alone can shed--filled his eyes without impairing their brightness. - -The old lady pressed her hand upon his hair, and looked lovingly into -those brimming eyes. "And this comes of being a gentleman!" she -whispered, shaking her head with a gentle motion. - -The youth gave a faint shudder, and turning his head so that his eyes -were buried in the folds of her dress, sobbed aloud. - -"Why, Robert, Robert, what is this?--what trouble is upon you?" - -"None, aunt--nothing. I am only in a fit of the blues just now. It makes -me home-sick to see you all alone here, that is all!" answered the -youth, lifting his face, and shaking back the curls from his forehead, -while he attempted one of his old careless smiles, but vainly enough. - -The old lady was distressed. "Is it money, Robert?--have you been -extravagant? The salary is a very nice one; but if you want more -clothes, or anything, I wouldn't mind giving you twenty or thirty -dollars. There, now, will that do?" - -Blessed old woman, she did not understand the half sad, half comic smile -that curled those young lips, and thinking, in her innocence, that she -had dived to the heart of his mystery, her own face beamed with -satisfaction. - -"That is it; I see through it all now; come, how much shall it -be--twenty, thirty, forty? It's extravagant, I know, but this day, of -all others, I feel as if it would do me good to give somebody everything -I've got in the world; there, nephew, there--two tens--three fives--a -three, and, and--yes, I have it--here is a two. Now brighten up, and -next time don't be afraid to come and tell me; only, Robert, remember -the fate of the prodigal son--the husks, the tears--not that I wouldn't -kill the fatted calf--not that I wouldn't forgive you, Bob--I couldn't -help it; but it would break my heart. If I was to be called on for the -sacrifice, I couldn't eat a morsel of the animal, I'm sure. So you won't -be extravagant and spend the hard earnings of your old aunt, at any -rate, till after she's dead and gone." - -The good woman had worked herself up to a state of almost ludicrous -sorrow with the future her fancy was coloring. Her hands shook as she -drew an old black pocket-book from some mysterious place in the folds of -her dress, and counting out the bank-notes as they were enumerated, -crowded them into Robert's hand. - -The youth had altered very strangely while she was speaking. His face -was pale and red in alternate flashes; his lips quivered, and with a -convulsive movement he pressed his eyelids down, thus crushing back the -tears that swelled against them. Mrs. Gray attempted to press the -bank-notes upon him, but his hand was cold, and his fingers refused to -clasp the money. Drawing back with a faint struggle, he said, "No, no, -aunt, I do not want it! Indeed it would do me no good!" - -"Do you no good! What! is it not money that you want?" cried the kind -woman. "Nonsense, nonsense, Robert; here, take it--take it. I wouldn't -mind ten dollars more--it does seem as if I was crazy, but then really I -would not mind it scarcely at all." - -Robert was more composed now. The hot flushes had left his face very -pale, and with a look of firm resolve upon it. - -"No, aunt, he said," gently putting back the money, "I will not take it. -The salary I receive ought to be enough for my support, and it shall; -besides, I tell you but the simple truth, that money would do me no good -whatever." - -The old lady took up the crushed notes, smoothed them across her knee -with both hands, over and over, in a puzzled and dissatisfied way. - -"What is it that you are worried about, if money will not answer?" she -said, at length. - -"Nothing, aunt--why should you think it?" He spoke slowly and in a -wavering voice at first, then with a sort of reckless impetuosity he -broke into a laugh. It was not his old gleeful laugh, and Mrs. Gray only -looked startled by it. - -"There, now, put up the old pocket-book, and give me a hearty good-night -kiss," he said hurriedly, "I shall be off in the morning before you are -up." - -"Good night, Robert," said Mrs. Gray, with a meek and disappointed air. -"That kiss is the first one that ever fell heavily on your old aunt's -heart. You are keeping something back from me." - -"No, aunt, no!" The words were uttered faintly, and Mrs. Gray felt that -the ardor of truth was not there. For a moment both were silent; Robert -had lighted a candle, and stood on the hearth looking hard into the -blaze; he turned his eyes slowly upon his aunt. She sat with one hand -upon the pocket-book, gazing into the fire. There was anxiety and doubt -in her features. Robert sighed heavily. - -"Good night, aunt." - -"Good night." - -She listened to each slow footstep, as her nephew went up stairs. When -his chamber door closed, she buckled the strap around her pocket-book, -and dropped it with a deep sigh into its repository among her voluminous -skirts. - -"I can't understand it," she murmured--"I can't make out what ails -him!" - -All at once she remembered the presence of her brother, and her face -brightened up. "Jacob will know what it means. Jacob, Jacob!" - -Mrs. Gray uttered the name of her brother in a whisper, but it brought -him forth at once. - -"Well Jacob, you have seen him--you have heard him talk. Isn't he -something worth loving?" - -"He is worth loving and worth saving too," answered Jacob. "Sarah, I do -not think anything on earth could make my heart beat as the sight of -that boy did." - -"He is in trouble, you see that, Jacob, and would not take money! What -can it mean?" - -"I saw all--heard all. His nature is noble--his will strong--have no -fear. He needs a firmer hand than yours, Sarah; I will take care of -him." - -"I did not give a hint about you." - -"That was right. It is best that he shouldn't know about me, at any -rate, jest now." - -"But I should so like to tell him!" said Mrs. Gray. - -"And you shall in time, but not yet. I must know more and see more -first." - -"Well, you ought to know best," answered the sister, in a tone of gentle -submission. "I'm sure he puzzles me!" - -"Now," said Jacob, seating himself, "let us leave the boy to his rest. I -wish to talk with you about old times--about the people Down East." - -"It is a good while since I was in Maine, Jacob; I've almost forgotten -all about the folks." - -"But there was one family that you will remember. Old Mr. Wilcox's, I -want to hear about him." - -There was something constrained and unnatural in Jacob's manner; he had -evidently forced himself to appear calm when every word was sharpened -with anxiety. - -Mrs. Gray shook her head; Jacob's heart fell as he saw the motion. -"Nothing--can you tell me nothing?" he said, with an expression of deep -anguish. "Oh, Sarah, try, try! you do not know how much happiness a word -from you would bring!" - -"If I could but speak it," said Mrs. Gray, "how glad I should be. Mr. -Wilcox sold out and left Maine about the time we moved on to the Island; -where he went, no one ever heard. It was a very strange thing, everybody -thought so at the time; but that story about his daughter set people -a-talking, and I suppose he couldn't bear it." - -Jacob uttered a faint groan--her words had taken the last hope from his -heart. "And this is all you know, Sarah?" - -"It is all anybody knows of old Mr. Wilcox or his family. As for his -daughter--let me think, that was just before you left the old gentleman; -nobody ever heard of her either. What is the matter, are you going away, -Jacob?" - -"Yes, I will talk over these things another time. Good night, Sarah. I -will just throw myself on the bed till daybreak." - -"But you are not going away to live?" - -"Yes; but you will see me every now and then; I shall stay near you--in -the city, may be." - -"Why not here? I have enough for us both, and we two are all that is -left, almost. It seems kind of hard for you to leave me so soon." - -"Not now, Sarah, by and by we will settle down and grow old together; -but the time has not come yet." - -"I forgot to ask, are you married, Jacob?" - -"Married!" answered Jacob Strong, and a grim, hard smile crept over his -lips. "No, I was never married. Good night, Sarah." - -"There, now, I suppose I've been inquisitive, and worried him," thought -Mrs. Gray, as the bed-room door closed upon her brother. "What a -Thanksgiving it has been? Who would have thought this morning that _he_ -would sleep under my roof to-night and Robert close by, without knowing -a word of it? Well, faith is a beautiful thing after all--I was certain -that he would come back alive, and sure enough he has!" - -Thus Mrs. Gray ruminated, unconscious of the lapse of time, till a sense -of fatigue crept over her. Still she was keenly wakeful, for, unused to -excitement of any kind, the agitation that crowded upon her that day -forbade all inclination to sleep. There was a large moreen couch in the -room, and as the night wore on she lay down upon it, still thoughtful -and oppressed with the weight of her over-wrought feelings. Thus she lay -till the candle burned out, and there was no light in the room save that -which came from a bed of embers and the rays of a waning moon, half -exhausted in the maple boughs. - -A sleepy sensation was at length conquering the excitement that had kept -her so long watchful, when she was aroused by the soft tread of a foot -upon the stairs. Quietly, and with frequent pauses, it came downward; -the door opened, and Mrs. Gray saw her nephew, in his night clothes, and -barefooted, glide across the room. He went directly to an old-fashioned -work-stand near the bed-room door, and opened one of the drawers. Then -followed a faint rustle of papers, and he stole back again softly, and -with something in his hand. - -It was strange that Mrs. Gray did not speak, but some unaccountable -feeling kept her silent, and after she heard him cautiously enter his -room again, the reflection that there was nothing but his own little -property in the stand, tranquilized her. "He wanted something from the -drawer, and so came down softly, that I might not be disturbed," she -thought. - -Thus the kind lady reassured herself, and with these gentle thoughts in -her mind she fell asleep. - -Mrs. Gray awoke early in the morning, and softly entered the spare -bed-room. It was empty. No vestige of her brother's visit remained. Like -a ghost he came, like a ghost he had departed. She went up stairs--the -nephew was gone. Some time during that day she happened to think of his -visit to the work-stand. It was only the old copy book that he had -taken. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE MOTHER'S LETTER. - - What though her gentle heart is breaking! - What though her form grows pale and thin! - His iron heart knows no awaking, - Nor tears nor anguish moveth him. - - -It was two nights after Thanksgiving. Leicester had thrown himself upon -a couch in his chamber. A little sofa-table was by his elbow, and upon -it a small and richly chased salver, overflowing with notes and letters. -Most of them were unopened, for he had been absent several days, and it -often happened that when he once knew a handwriting, and did not fancy -the correspondence, letters remained for weeks unread, on that little -table, even when he was at home. - -But this morning Leicester seemed to have nerved himself to read -everything that came to hand. Bills, letters heavy with red wax from the -counting-room, and even dirty, square-shaped missives, stamped with keys -or thimbles, passed successively through his hands. These coarse letters -he took up first, sorting them out with his white fingers from the -rose-tinted and azure notes, glittering with gold and fancy seals, with -which they were interspersed. These notes, breathing a voluptuous odor, -eloquent of that sentimental foppery from which deep, pure feeling -recoils, Leicester flung aside in disgust. - -When all the business letters were read, he selected from this perfumed -mass three little snow-white notes, traced in delicate characters, that -seemed yet unsteady with the trembling hand that had written them. A -single drop of pale green wax, stamped with a gem, held the envelopes, -and in all things these notes were singularly chaste, and unlike those -he had left so contemptuously unread. He broke the seals coldly, and -perused each note according to its date. The contents must have been -full of eloquence, wild and passionate; for they brought the color even -to his hardened cheek, and toward the last he became somewhat excited. - -"By Jove, it is a pity these could not be published. How the creature -writes--a perfect nightingale pouring forth her heart in tears. After -all, it is amusing to see downright, earnest love like this. -One--two--three--I wonder if there are no more!" - -He began tossing over the notes again. "Yes, yes, here is another, like -a snow-drop in a cloud of buttercups. How is this?--the seal black, the -handwriting delicately rigid--that of my lady mother." - -He spoke a little anxiously, and, unfolding the note, read the few lines -it contained with a darkened brow. - -"Ill--is she, poor girl?--ill, and delirious at times--unfortunate -that--physicians must be called, nurses--all a torment and a plague. My -friend Robert has been of little use here, after all; I did think his -handsome face might have helped me safely out of the whole business. -Now, here is the question--shall I go up--re-assure her--take her away -from the old lady--brave her friends? No, it is not worth while; a -bullet through the brain must be unpleasant, especially to a reflecting -mind; and these haughty southerners make short settlements. Besides, I -hate scenes. But then the girl is ill, has fretted herself to the brink -of the grave. These are the very words--I wonder my stately mamma ever -brought herself to utter anything so pathetic. Well, she _has_ -suffered--the worst is over. When all hope is extinguished she will find -consolation, or die. Die--that would end all; but then death is so -gloomy, and she does write exquisite letters." - -If is lips ceased to utter these cold thoughts, and falling back on his -couch he closed his eyes, still holding the open note in one hand. It -was terrible to see how calm and passionless his features remained while -he settled in his mind the destiny of one who had loved him so much. -After some ten minutes, he opened his eyes, turned softly on the couch, -and laid down his mother's letter. - -"No, I will not go near her," he said, "and yet this is another heart -that I am casting away--another that has loved me. How soon--how soon -shall I have need of affection? A whole life--conquest upon conquest, -and yet never truly loved save by these two women--the first and the -last. It is strange but this moment my heart softens toward them both. -What, a tear in Leicester's eye!" and with a look of thrilling -self-contempt the bad man started up, scoffing at the only pure feeling -that had swelled his bosom for months. - -A waiter stood in the door. "Sir, there is a man below, who says you -told him to call." - -"What does he seem like?" - -"A hack-driver. He says you employed him one rainy night, a long time -ago, and ordered him to come again when he had news to bring?" - -"What, a tall, awkward fellow, with a stoop in the shoulders--tremendous -feet and hands?" - -"That's the man, sir." - -"Send him up, I did tell him to call." - -A few minutes, and Jacob Strong stood in Leicester's chamber, -self-possessed even in his exaggerated awkwardness, and with a look of -shrewd intelligence which recommended itself to Leicester at once. In -their previous acquaintance, the man of the world had seen this applied -solely to self-interest in the supposed hackman, and he hoped to make -this rude, sharp intellect useful to himself. - -It would have been a strange contrast to one acquainted with them -both--the deep, wily, elegant man of the world--the honest, firm, shrewd -man of the people. These two were pitted together in the game of life; -and though one was unconscious, looking upon his antagonist as an -instrument--nothing more--and though the other was often compelled to -grapple hard with his passions, that they might lead him to no false -move--the game was a trial of skill worth studying. - -"You told me to find out who the lady was, and where she lived, sir. It -took time, for these great people are always moving about, but I have -done it." - -"I was sure that you were to be depended on, my good fellow; there is -your money. Now tell me all about her. Who is she? Where does she live, -and when have you seen her?" - -Jacob took the offered piece of gold, turned it over in his palm, as if -estimating its value, and then laid it on the table, before Leicester. - -"I don't jest like to give up the money," he said--eyeing the gold with -well-acted greed; "but perhaps you will help me in a way I like better." - -"How!--what can be better than money?" questioned Leicester. "I thought -you Yankees considered the almighty dollar above all things." - -"Once in a while there may be things that we like better than that, -though we do love to plant the root of evil whenever we can get seed, -jest as I want to plant that are gold eagle where it will bring a crop -of the same sort." - -"Oh, that is it!" said Leicester, laughing, "I thought there must be -something to come. But do you remember the old proverb about a 'bird in -the hand?'" - -"Wal, yes. It seems to me as if I did remember something about it," -answered Jacob, putting his huge hand to his forehead; "'a bird in the -hand is worth two in the bush,' isn't that the poetry you mean?" - -"Yes, that is quite near enough. Now tell me about this lady, and we -will talk of the reward after. You found the number of the house?" - -"No. It wasn't numbered; but that made no difference, she didn't live -there; only staid there one night. Besides, she wasn't a lady, only a -kind of help, you know!" - -"A governess or waiting-maid--I thought so," exclaimed Leicester. "Very -well, where is she now?" - -"She went away with the folks that she had been living with, up to -Saratoga, and about; then she came back, and they all went off together -across the water, to where she came from." - -"What, to Europe? Then that is the last of her! Very well, my good -fellow, you have earned the money." - -Jacob looked keenly at the gold, but did not take it. - -"Maybe," said he, shifting his weight from one foot to the other--"maybe -you can tell me of some one that wants a hired-man, to drive carriage, -or do almost any kind of chores. I'm out of work jest now, and it costs -all creation to live here in New York." - -Leicester was interested. His personal habits rendered an attendant -necessary, and yet he had of late been unable to supply himself with one -that could at the same time be useful and discreet. Here was a person, -evidently new to the world, honest and with a degree of shrewdness that -might be invaluable, ready to accept any situation that might offer. -Could he but attach this man to his person, interest his affections, -what more useful agent, or more serviceable dependent could be found? -Still there was risk in it. Leicester with his lightning habit of -thought revolved the idea in his mind, while Jacob stood looking upon -the floor, inly a-fire with intense excitement, but to all outward -appearance calm. - -"You don't know of any one then?" he said, at last, with assumed -indifference. "Wal, I don't see how on arth I shall get along." - -Leicester looked at him searchingly. Jacob felt the glance, and met it -with a calm, dull expression of the eye, that completely deceived the -man who was trying with such art to read him to the soul. - -"What if I were to engage you myself?" - -"Wal, now, I should be awful glad!" - -"Do you read? Of course! what Down Easter does not? But are you fond of -reading?--in the habit of picking up books and papers?" - -Jacob saw the drift of this question at once. - -"Wal, yes. I can read a chapter in the Bible, or a piece in the English -reader, I suppose, as well as most folks, though I haven't tried much of -late years. But then, if you want a feller to read books for you, why I -don't think we should agree. I was set agin them at school, and haven't -got over it yet." - -"You know how to write, of course?" - -He made one of his shuffling bows, and began to brush his hat with the -sleeve of his coat. - -"You need not wait; we will talk about the wages to-morrow," said -Leicester. "Meantime if you can gather any more information about--about -the lady, you know it would be a praiseworthy introduction to your new -duties." - -Jacob bowed again and edged himself toward the door. "I will do my best, -you may be sartain. What time o' day shall I come to-morrow?" - -"At ten or two, it does not signify. If I am not in, wait!" - -"I will!" muttered Jacob, when he found himself alone. "It is something -to have learned how to wait, as you shall find, my new -master--_master_!" and Jacob laughed. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -STRIFE FOR AN EARL. - - Thistledown--Thistledown!--join the pursuit; - While fashion flies onward, let wisdom be mute. - All pleasure is fleeting, and life's but a span, - Come gather up, Thistledown, souls, while you can! - - -It had been a brilliant season in the fashionable world that year. -Saratoga and Newport were perfect hot-beds of gaiety, splendor and -trivial ambition. A thorough bred nobleman or two from England--a German -countess--the greatest and most popular statesmen of our own land, had -flung a dazzling splendor over these places. But even amid all this -false life and _eclat_ there was one person whose dress, wit and beauty -became the theme of general comment. She had taken rooms at Saratoga -late in the season. Accommodations for half a dozen servants--stabling -for almost as many horses, all was in preparation long before the lady -herself appeared. - -There was something about this to puzzle and bewilder the most -thorough-bred gossip of a watering-place. The servants were foreign, and -thoroughly educated to their vocation. When questioned regarding their -mistress, they spoke of her without apparent restraint, and always as my -lady. But there was no title attached to the name under which the superb -suite of apartments had been engaged. Mrs. Gordon! Nothing could be more -simple and unpretending. If there was a title behind it, as the -indiscretion of the servants seemed to intimate, she was only the more -interesting. - -Mrs. Gordon's servants had lounged about the United States a whole -fortnight; her horses had been exercised by the grooms often enough to -attract attention to their superb beauty, and to keep the spirit of -gossip and curiosity alive. A lady's maid had for days been making a -sensation at the servant's table by her broken English and Parisian -finery. Yet no one had obtained a sight of the lady. At last she -appeared in the drawing-room, very simply dressed, quiet and -self-reliant, neither courting attention nor seeming in the least -desirous of avoiding it. She presented no letters, sought no -introductions. The various fashionable cliques, with their reigning -queens, seemed scarcely to attract the notice of this singular woman, -though a mischievous smile would sometimes dawn upon her beautiful -mouth, as some petty manoeuvering for superiority passed before her. - -A creature so calm, so tranquil, so quietly regardless of contending -cliques and fashionable factions, was certain to become an object of -peculiar attention, even though rare personal beauty, and all the -appliances of great wealth had been wanting. The reputation of a title, -the graceful repose of manners just enough tinged with foreign grace to -be piquant, and, above all, the novelty of a face and position -singularly unlike anything known at the Springs that season, could not -fail to excite a sensation. - -If the lady had designed to secure for herself with one graceful fling a -place among the _elite_ of American fashion, she could not have managed -more adroitly. But even the design was doubtful; she scarcely seemed -conscious of the position after it had been awarded to her, and accepted -it with a sort of graceful scorn at last, as if yielding herself to the -caprice of others, not to her own wishes. - -In less than three weeks after her domestication at the Springs, this -stranger, announced without introduction, and with no seeming effort, -became the reigning belle and toast of the higher circles. Her dress was -copied--her wit quoted--her manners became a model to aspiring young -ladies, and, with all her power, she was the most popular creature in -the world, for she was affable to all, and peculiarly gentle and -unassuming to those whom other fashionable leaders were ready to crush -with a look and wither by a frown. Sometimes a dash of haughty contempt -was visible in her manner, but this was only when thrown in contact with -assumption and innate coarseness, which soon shrunk from her keen wit -and smiling sarcasms. She was feared by the few, but loved, nay, almost -worshipped, by the many. - -When the season broke up and the waves of high life ebbed back to the -cities, this woman had attained a firm social position, unassailable -even by the most envious and the most daring. Still she was as -completely unknown as on the first day of her appearance. Of herself she -never spoke, and from the strange serving-man, who, maintaining the most -profound respect, always hovered about her, nothing but vague hints -could be obtained. These hints, apparently won from a simple and -hesitating nature, always served to inflame rather than satisfy -curiosity. One thing was certain. The lady had seen much of foreign -life--had travelled in every penetrable country, and her wealth seemed -as great as her beauty. More than this no one knew; and this very -ignorance, strange as it may seem, added strength to her position. - -The way in which Mrs. Gordon shrouded herself had its own fascination. -True, it might conceal low birth, even shame, but it had pleased the -fashionable world to bury a high European title under all this mystery, -and this belief the lady neither aided nor contradicted, for she seemed -profoundly unconscious of its existence. With no human being had she -become so intimate that a question on the subject might be directly -hazarded. With all her graceful kindliness, there was some thing about -her that forbade intrusion or scrutiny. She came to Saratoga beautiful, -wealthy, unknown. She left it a brilliant enigma, only the more -brilliant that she continued to be mysterious, though a title still -loomed mistily in the public mind. - -This mysteriousness was rather increased in its effect, and her position -wholly established at the annual fancy ball given the last week of her -stay at the springs. - -During the whole of that season the United States Hotel had been kept in -a state of delightful commotion by the rivalry of two leaders in the -fashionable world, who had taken up their head-quarters in that noble -establishment. - -Never was a warfare carried on with such amiable bitterness, such -caressing home-thrusts. Everything was done regally, and with that -sublime politeness which duellists practice when most determined to -exterminate each other. Of course, each lady had her position and her -followers, and no military chieftains ever managed their respective -forces more adroitly. - -Mrs. Nash was certainly the oldest incumbent, and had a sort of -preemption right as a fashionable leader. She had won her place exactly -as her husband had obtained his wealth, first plodding his way from the -work-shop to the counting-room, thence into the stock market, where, by -two or three dashing speculations worthy of the gambling-table, and -entered upon in the same spirit, he became a millionaire. - -Exactly by the same method Mrs. Nash worked her way upward as a leader -of ton. Originally uneducated and assuming, she had exercised unbounded -sway over her husband's work-people, patronizing their wives, and -practising diligently the airs that were to be transferred with her -husband's advancement into higher circles. - -Through the rapid gradations of her husband's fortune, she held her own -in the race, and grew important, dressy, and presuming, but not a whit -better informed or more refined. When her husband became a millionaire, -she made one audacious leap into the midst of the upper ten thousand, -hustled her way upward, and facing suddenly about, proclaimed herself a -leader in the fashionable world. - -People looked on complacently. Some smiled in derision; some sneered -with scorn; others, too indolent or gentle for dispute, quietly admitted -her charms; while to that portion of society worth knowing, she retained -her original character--that of a vulgar, fussy, ignorant woman, from -whom persons of refinement shrunk instinctively. Thus, through the -forbearance of some, the sneers of others, and the carelessness of all, -she fought her way to a position which soon became legitimate and -acknowledged. - -But this year Mrs. Nash met with a very formidable rival, who disputed -the ground she had usurped inch by inch. If Mrs. Nash was insolent, Mrs. -Sykes was sly and fascinating. With tact that was more than a match for -any amount of arrogant presumption, and education which gave keenness to -art, founded upon the same hard purpose and coarse-grained character -that distinguished Mrs. Nash, she was well calculated to make a contest -for fashionable superiority, exciting and piquant. - -Women of true refinement never enter into these miserable rivalries for -notoriety, but they sometimes look on amused. In this case the ladies -were beautifully matched. The audacity of one was met with the artful -sweetness of the other. If Mrs. Nash had power and the prestige of -established authority, Mrs. Sykes opposed novelty, unmatched art, and a -species of serpent-like fascination difficult to cope with; and much to -her astonishment, the former lady found her laurels dropping away leaf -by leaf before she began to feel them wither. - -Always on the alert for partisans, both these ladies had looked upon -Mrs. Gordon with calculating eyes. Beautiful, undoubtedly wealthy, and -with that slight foreign air--above all, with a title dropping now and -then unconsciously from the lips of her servants--she promised to be an -auxiliary of immense value to either faction. - -For a week or two they hovered about her, much as two cautious trouts -might coquette with a fly on the surface of a mountain pool. Both were -afraid to dart at the fly, and yet each was vigilant to keep the other -from securing the precious morsel. - -Thus, while they were manoeuvering around her, drawing public attention -that way, Mrs. Gordon became an object of very general admiration, and -bade fair, without an effort, and wholly against her will, to rival both -the combatants, and like the dancing horse of a Russian chariot, to -carry away all the admiration, while the other two bore the toil and -burden of the road. - -But a few days before the fancy ball, a new fly was cast into the -fashionable current, that quite eclipsed anything that had appeared -before. An English earl, fresh from the continent, came up to Saratoga, -one day, in a train from New York, and would be present at the fancy -ball. - -Here was new cause for strife between the Nashes and the Sykeses. Which -of these ladies should secure the nobleman for the fancy ball? True, the -earl was very young, awkward as the school-boy he was, and really looked -more like a juvenile horse-jockey than a civilized gentleman. But he was -an _earl_; would assuredly have a seat in the House of Lords, if ever he -became old enough; besides, he had already lost thirty thousand dollars -at the gaming-table, and bore it like a prince. - -Here was an object worth contending for. What American lady would be -immortalized by leaning upon the arm of an earl as she entered the -assembly room? No minor claims could be put in here. The earl -undoubtedly belonged to Mrs. Nash or Mrs. Sykes--which should it be? -This was the question that agitated all fashionable life at the Springs -to its centre. Partisans were brought into active operation. Private -ambassadors went and came from the gambling saloons to the -drawing-rooms, looking more portentous than any messenger ever sent from -the allied powers to the Czar. - -The innocent young lord, who had escaped from his tutor for a lark at -the Springs, was terribly embarrassed by so many attentions. Too young -for any knowledge of society in his own land, he made desperate efforts -to appear a man of the world, and feel himself at home in a country -where men are set aside, while society is converted into a paradise for -boys. It is rumored that some professional gentlemen took advantage of -this confusion in the young lordling's ideas, and his losses at the -gambling-table grew more and more princely. - -But the important night arrived. The mysterious operations of many a -private dressing-room became visible. A hundred bright and fantastic -forms trod their way to music along the open colonnade of the hotel -toward the assembly-room. The brilliant procession entered the -folding-doors, and swept down the room two rivers of human life, flowing -on, whirling and retiring, beneath a shower of radiance cast from the -wall, and the chandeliers that seemed literally raining light. In her -toilet, the American lady is not a shade behind our neighbors of Paris; -and no saloon in the world ever surpassed this in picturesque effect and -richness of costume. Diamonds were plentiful as dew-drops on a rose -thicket. Pearls embedded in lace that Queen Elizabeth would have -monopolised for her own toilet, gleamed and fluttered around those -republican fairies, a decided contrast to the checked handkerchief that -Ben. Franklin used at the European court, or the bare feet with which -our revolutionary fathers trod the way to our freedom through the winter -snows. After the gay crowd had circulated around the room awhile, there -was a pause in the music, a breaking up of the characters into groups; -then glances were cast toward the door, and murmurs ran from lip to lip. -Neither Mrs. Nash or her rival had yet appeared; as usual their entrance -was arranged to make a sensation. How Dodsworth's leader knew the exact -time of this fashionable's advent, I do not pretend to say. Certain it -is, just as the band struck up an exhilarating march, Mrs. Z. Nash -entered the room with erect front and pompous triumph, holding the -English earl resolutely by the arm. Mrs. Theodore Sykes came in a good -deal subdued and crestfallen, after the dancing commenced. She was -escorted by one of the most illustrious of our American statesmen, which -somewhat diminished the bitterness of her defeat. Her fancy dress was -one blaze of diamonds, and when Mrs. Nash sailed by, holding the young -earl triumphantly by the arm, she seemed oblivious of the noble -presence, but was smiling up into the eyes of her august companion, as -if an American statesman really were some small consolation for the loss -of a schoolboy nobleman, who looked as if he would give his right arm, -which however, belonged to Mrs. Nash just then, to be safe at home, even -with his tutor. When Mrs. Gordon entered the room, no one could have -told. When first observed, she was sitting at an open window which -looked into the public grounds. The light was striking aslant the white -folds of a brocaded silk, and on the delicate marabout feathers in her -hair, with the brilliancy of sunshine, playing upon wreaths of newly -fallen snow. She evidently had no desire to enter into the spirited -competition going on between the rival factions. When a crowd of -admirers gathered around the window, she received them quietly, but -without empressment. At length, as if weary with talking, she took the -first arm offered, and sauntered into the crowd, searching it with her -eyes, as if she feared or expected some one. The first dance had broken -up; all was gay confusion, when unwittingly she came face to face with -Mrs. Nash, who was sailing down the room with her captive. The young -earl, who had remained awkwardly shy since his entrance, gave a start of -recognition, his sullen features lighted up, and freeing his arm from -the grasp of Mrs. Nash, with an unceremonious "Excuse me, Madam!" he -advanced with both hands extended. - -"My dear, dear lady, I am so glad to see you!" - -The lady reached out her hand, smiling and cordial. "You, here?" she -answered, shaking her head, "and alone, ah truant!" - -"It wasn't my fault; I was deluded off--kidnapped--but by the best -fellow in the world; I will tell you all about it." With a hurried bow -to the party he was about to leave. The youth placed himself in a -position to converse with Mrs. Gordon, as she passed with her previous -escort, quite unconscious of her triumph, or of the rage it had -occasioned. The lady bent her head with matronly grace, and resumed her -walk. "And so you have run away from the good tutor?" she said. - -"Run away? oh, nothing of the sort; he consented to let me come. -Leicester can do anything with him. A deuced clever fellow, that -Leicester; you know him of course! Everybody knows Leicester, I believe. -Ha, what is the matter? Did I tread on your dress?" - -"No no! you were saying something of--" - -"Yes, yes, of Leicester--a wonderful fellow--we have only known him a -week or two, and he can do anything with my tutor--got me off up here -like magic!" - -"And do you like him?" - -"Well, now, you'll confess it's rather hard to like a man who has won -ten thousand dollars from you, in one night; but I do rather fancy him, -in spite of it." - -"Has he won this money from you?" inquired the lady, in a low -voice--"you, a minor!" - -"_Entre nous_, yes; but it was all above-board, and in the most -gentlemanly manner." - -"Is Mr. Leicester at the hotel? Has he ever presented himself in the -drawing-room?" - -"No; he thinks the ladies a bore. I thought so myself, ten minutes ago; -but now, with an old friend, it is different. The sight of you brought -me back to Florence. You were kind to me there: I shall never, never -forget the days and nights of that terrible fever; but for you, I must -have died." - -"I was used to sickness, you know," answered the lady, in a faltering -voice. - -"I remember," answered the earl, "that lovely girl--your relative, I -believe--did she recover in Florence?" - -"She died there," was the low reply. - -"As I might have done, but for you," he answered, with feeling. "It was -the first idea I ever had of a mother's kindness." - -"And do you really feel this little service so much?" - -"I only wish it were in my power to prove how much!" - -"You can, easily." - -"How, lady?" - -"Return to your tutor in the morning--break off all acquaintance with -this gentleman." - -"What--Leicester?" - -"Yes, Leicester." - -"That is easy; he left for New York this evening, and I go forward to -Canada. Is there nothing more difficult by which I can prove my -gratitude?" - -"Yes; tell me all that has passed between you and this Mr. Leicester, -but not here--let us walk down into the drawing-room." - -A few moments after, Mrs. Sykes drew softly up to Mrs. Nash, with one of -her sweetest smiles: "His lordship, after all, glides back to his own -countrywomen; we Americans stand no chance," she said. - -Mrs. Nash bit her lip, and gave the folds of her gold-colored moire a -backward sweep with her hand. - -"I fancy the earl is not anxious to extend his attention beyond its -present limit; I always said she was worth knowing. Mrs. Gordon seems an -old acquaintance. We may, perhaps, now find out who she really is; I -will ask him in the morning." - -"Do!" cried half a dozen voices--"we always thought her somebody, but -really, she quite patronises the earl himself: do ask all about her, -when his lordship comes back." - -It was a vain request--the young earl had left the ball-room for good; -and long before the persons grouped around Mrs. Nash had left their beds -in the morning, he was passing up Lake Champlain, sleepily regarding the -scenery along its shore. - -That same morning, Mrs. Gordon left Saratoga, so early that no one -witnessed her departure. But two or three young men, who had finished up -their fancy ball in the open air, reported that she was seen at -daybreak, on the colonnade, talking very earnestly to her tall, awkward -serving-man, for more than half an hour. - -Mrs. Gordon--for thus the lady continued to be known--came to New York -early in the autumn, and in the great emporium began a new phase of her -erratic and brilliant life. - -A mansion, in the upper part of the city, had been in the course of -erection during the previous year. It was a castellated villa in the -very suburbs, standing upon the gentle swell of a hill, and commanding a -fine view both of the city, and the beautiful scenery that lies upon the -North and East Rivers. - -A few ancient trees, rooted when New York was almost a distant city, -stood around this dwelling, sheltering with their old and leafy branches -the glowing flowers and rare shrubbery with which grounds of -considerable extent were crowded. - -This dwelling, so graceful in its architecture, so fairy-like in its -grounds, had risen as if by magic among those old trees. Lavish was the -cost bestowed upon it; rich and faultless was the furniture that arrived -from day to day after the masons and artists had completed their work. -Statues of Parian marble, rich bronzes, antique carvings in wood, and -the most sumptuous upholstery were arranged by the architect who had -superintended the building, and who acted under directions from some -person abroad. - -When all was arranged, drawing-rooms, library, ladies' boudoir and -sleeping chambers, that might have sheltered the repose of an Eastern -princess, the house was closed. Those who passed it could now and then -catch a glimpse of rich fresco paintings, upon the walls, through a -half-fastened shutter; and through the hot-house windows might be seen -a little world of exotic plants, dropping their rich blossoms to waste; -while the walls beyond were laden with fruit ripening in the artificial -atmosphere. Grapes and nectarines fell from bough and vine, untasted, or -only to be gathered stealthily by the old man who had temporary charge -of the grounds. - -Thus everything remained close and silent, like some enchanted palace of -fairy land, week after week, till the autumn came on. Since the -architect left it, no person save the old gardener, had ever been -observed to enter even the delicate iron railing that encompassed the -grounds. True, the neighbors, to whom this dwelling had become an object -of great interest, were heard to assert that at a time, early in the -summer, lights had been observed one stormy night, in the second-story, -and even high up in the principal tower. Some even persisted that before -it was quite dark, a close carriage had been driven up to the door and -away again, leaving two or three persons, who certainly entered the -house. After that, carriage wheels had more than once been heard above -the storm, rolling to and fro, as if people were coming and going all -night. - -The next morning, when all the neighborhood was alive with curiosity, -this dwelling stood as before--stately and silent, amid the old forest -trees. The shutters were closed; the gate locked. Not a trace could be -found proving that any human being had entered the premises. So the -whole story was generally set down as an Irish fiction, though the -servant girl, who originated it, persisted stoutly that she had not only -seen lights and heard the wheels, but had caught glimpses of a cashmere -shawl within the door; and of a little barefooted girl, with a basket on -her arm, coming out half an hour after, and alone. But there stood the -closed and silent house--and there was the talkative old gardener in -contradiction of this marvellous tale. Besides, carriages were always -going up and down the avenue upon which the dwelling stood, and out of -this the girl had probably found material for her fiction. Certain it -was, that from this time till October no being was seen to enter the -silent palace. - -Then, in the first golden flush of autumn, the house was flung open. -Carriages came to and fro almost every hour. Saddle horses, light -phaetons, and an equipage yet more stately, drove in and out of the -stables. The windows, with all their wealth of gorgeously tinted glass, -were open to the hazy atmosphere; grooms hung around the stables; -footmen glided over the tesselated marble of the entrance-hall. - -Conspicuous among the rest, was one tall, awkwardly-shaped man, who came -and went apparently at pleasure. His duties seemed difficult to define, -even by the curious neighbors. Sometimes he drove the carriage, but -never unless the lady of the mansion rode in it. Sometimes he opened the -door. Again he might be seen in the conservatory, grouping flowers with -the taste and delicacy of a professed artist; or in the hot-houses, -gathering fruit and arranging it in rich masses for the table. It was -marvellous to see the beautiful effect produced by those great, awkward -hands. The very japonicas and red roses seemed to have become more -glowing and delicate beneath his touch. But after the first week this -man almost wholly disappeared from the dwelling. Sometimes he might be -seen stealing gently in at nightfall, or very early in the morning; but -his active superintendence was over; he seemed to be no longer an -inmate, but one who came to the place occasionally to inquire after old -friends. - -But the mistress of all this splendor--the beautiful woman who sometimes -came smilingly forth to enter her carriage, who sauntered now and then -into the conservatory, blooming as the flowers that surrounded her, -mature in her loveliness as the fruit that hung upon the walls bathed in -the golden sunshine--who was this woman, with her unparalleled -attractions, her almost fabulous wealth? The world asked this question -without an answer, for the Mrs. Gordon of Saratoga, and the Ada -Leicester of our story, satisfied no curiosity regarding her personal -history. She visited no one who did not first seek her companionship, -and thus deprived society of its right to question her. - -We, who know this woman by her right name, and in her true -character--that of a disappointed, erring, but still affectionate -being--might wonder at her bloom, her smiling cheerfulness, her easy and -gentle repose of look and manner; but human nature is full of such -contradictions, teeming with serpents, absolutely hidden and bathed in -the perfume of flowers. - -If Ada Leicester smiled, she was not the less sad at heart. If her -manners were easy and her voice sweet, it was habit--the necessity of -pleasing others--that had rendered these things a second nature to her. -With one great, and, we may add, almost holy object at heart, she -pursued it earnestly, while all the routine of life went on as if she -had no thought but for the world, and no pleasure or aim beyond the -luxurious life which seemed to render her existence one continued gleam -of Paradise. - -Hitherto we have seen this woman in the agony of perverted -love--perverted, though legal, for its object was vile; and worship of a -base thing is hideous according to its power. We have seen her bowed -down with grief, grovelling to the very soil of her native valley, in -passionate agony. But these were phases in her life, and extremes of -character which seldom appeared before the world. - -It is a mistake when people fancy that any life can be made up of -unmitigated sorrow. Even evil has its excitement and its gleams of wild -pleasure, vivid and keen. The sting of conscience is sometimes -forgotten; the viper, buried so deeply in flowers that his presence is -scarcely felt, till, uncoiling with a fling, he dashes them all aside, -withered by his hot breath and spotted with venom. This heart-shock, -while it lasts, is terrible; but those who have no strength to cast -forth the serpent bury him again in fresh flowers, and lull him to a -poisonous sleep in some secret fold of the heart, till he grows restless -and fierce once more. - -With all her splendor, Ada Leicester was profoundly unhappy. The deep -under-current of her heart always welled up bitter waters. Let the -surface sparkle as it would, tears were constantly sleeping beneath. -There is no agony like that of a heart naturally pure and noble, which -circumstance, weakness, or temptation has warped from its integrity. To -know yourself possessed of noble powers, to appreciate all the sublimity -of goodness, and yet feel that you have undermined your own strength, -and cast a veil over the beautiful through which you can never see -clearly, this is deep sorrow--this is the darkness and punishment of -sin. If we could but know how evil is punished in the heart of the -evil-doer, charity would indeed cover a multitude of sins. - -Ada Leicester was unhappy--so unhappy that the beggar at her gate might -have pitied her. The pomp, the adulation which surrounded her, had -become a habit; thus all the zest and novelty of first possession was -gone, and these things became necessary, without gratifying the hungry -cry of her soul. - -At this period of her life she was utterly without objects of -attachment; and what desolation is equal to this in a woman's heart? The -thwarted affections and warm sympathies of her nature became clamorous -for something to love. Her whole being yearned over the blighted -affections of other days; maternal love grew strong within her. She -absolutely panted to fold the child, abandoned in a delirium of -passionate resentment, once more to her bosom. But that child could -nowhere be found. Her parents, too--that noble, kind old man, who had -loved her so--that meek and loving woman, her mother--had the earth -opened and swallowed them up? was she never to see them more?--to what -terrible destitution might her sin have driven them. - -The time had been when this proud woman shrunk from meeting persons so -deeply injured--but oh, how fervently loved! Now she absolutely panted -to fling herself at their feet, and crave forgiveness for all the shame -and anguish her madness had cast upon them. In all this her exertions -had been cruelly thwarted; parents, child, everything that had loved her -and suffered for her, seemed swept into oblivion. The past was but a -painful remembrance, not a wreck of it remained save in her own mind. - -Another feeling more powerful than filial or maternal love--more -absorbing--more ruthlessly adhesive, was the love she could not conquer -for the man who had been the first cause of all the misery and wrong -against which she was struggling. It was the one passion of a -life-time--the love of a warm, impulsive heart--of a vivid intellect, -and, say what we will, this is a love that never changes--never dies. It -may be perverted--it may be wrestled with and cast to the earth for a -time; but such love once planted in a woman's bosom, burns there so long -as a spark is left to feed its vitality; burns there, it may be, for -ever and ever, a blessing or a curse. - -To Ada Leicester it was a curse, for it outlived scorn. It crushed her -self-respect--it fell like a mildew upon all the good resolutions that, -about this time, began to spring up and brighten in her nature. You -would not have supposed that proud, beautiful woman so humble in her -love--her hopeless love--of a bad man, and that man the husband whom she -had wronged! Yet so it was. Notwithstanding the past: notwithstanding -all the perfidy and cruel scorn with which he had deliberately urged her -on to ruin, she would have given up anything, everything for one -expression of affection, such as had won the love of her young heart. -But even here, where the accomplishment of her wish would surely have -proved a punishment, her affections were flung rudely back. - -And now, when all her efforts were in vain, when no one could be found -to accept her penitence, or return some little portion of the yearning -tenderness that filled her heart, she plunged recklessly into the world -again. The arrow was in her side; but she folded her silken robes over -it, and strove to feed her great want with the husks of fashionable -life; alas, how vainly! To persons of her passionate nature, the very -attempt thus to appease the soul's hunger is a mockery. Ada Leicester -felt this, and at times she grew faint amid her empty splendor. She had -met with none of the usual retributions which are the coarser and more -common result of faults like hers. No disgrace clung to her name: she -had wealth, beauty, position, homage. But who shall say that the -punishment of her sin was not great even then? for there is no pain to -some hearts so great as a consciousness of undeserved homage. Still this -was but the silver edging to the cloud that had begun to rise and darken -over her life. Her own proud, warm heart was doomed to punish itself to -the utmost. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THE MORNING LESSON. - - Like some poor cherub gone astray, - From out his native paradise, - Her gentle soul had lost its way, - And fed itself on tears and sighs. - - -Jacob Strong was alone in Mr. Leicester's chamber. His master had gone -out hurriedly, and left the room in considerable disarray. Papers were -scattered about loose upon the table. The small travelling desk, which -usually stood upon it, was open, and on the purple lining lay an open -letter, bearing a Southern post-mark, that had evidently arrived by the -morning mail. - -We do not pretend to justify our friend Jacob, though he is an especial -favorite, in the course he pursued on that occasion. His reasons may -possibly be deemed justifiable by the reader, but in our minds there -still rests a doubt. Be this as it may, Jacob took up the open letter, -and glanced hurriedly over its contents: then he read it more -deliberately, while a new and singular expression stole over his -features. This did not seem sufficient gratification of his curiosity, -for he even opened a compartment of the desk, and pursued his research -among notes, visiting cards, bills and business papers, for a good half -hour, dotting down a hasty memorandum now and then, with a gold and -amethyst pen, which he took from Leicester's inkstand. Then he read the -open letter a third time, muttering over the words as if anxious to fix -them on his mind by the additional aid of sound. - -"That will do--that will clinch the matter; he will never let this -escape!" he said, at last, replacing the letter. "Cautious, subtle as he -is, this temptation will be too strong. Then, then--" - -Jacob's eyes flashed; he pressed the knuckles of one large hand hard -upon the desk, and firmly shut his teeth. - -That moment a stealthy tread was heard near the door. Jacob instantly -commenced making a terrible noise and confusion among the chairs, and -while he was occupied in setting things right, after his awkward -fashion, Leicester glided into the chamber. Remembering the letter, he -had hurried back to secure it from the possible curiosity of his -servant. But Jacob was busy with the furniture, muttering his discontent -against the untidy chamber-maid, and seemed so completely occupied with -an old silk handkerchief, which he was flourishing from one object to -another, that all suspicion forsook Leicester. He quietly closed the -desk, therefore, and placing the letter in his pocket, sunk into an easy -chair, which Jacob had just left clouded in a dusky haze, while he -commenced operations on a neighboring sofa. - -Something more exciting than usual must have occupied Leicester's -thoughts; or, with his fastidious habits, he would not for a moment have -endured the perpetual clouds of dust that floated over his hair and -clothes, whenever Jacob discovered a new object upon which to exercise -his handkerchief. As it was, he sat lost in thought, apparently quite -unconscious of the annoyance, or of the keen glances which the servant -now and then cast upon him. - -"It will do," thought Jacob, gathering the duster up in his hand, with -an eager clutch; and while he seemed looking around for something to -employ himself with, those keen grey eyes were bent upon Leicester's -face. "I was sure of it; he has almost made up his mind. Let me hear the -tone of his voice, and I shall know how." - -Jacob had not long to wait. After a reverie that was disturbed by many -an anxious thought, Leicester turned in his chair, opened the little -travelling desk, and began to write, pausing now and then, as if the -construction of his language was more than usually difficult. The note -did not please him. He tore it in two, and casting the fragments upon -the hearthrug, selected another sheet from the perfumed paper that lay -at his elbow. This time he was more successful. The note was carefully -folded, secured with a little antique seal, and directed in a light and -flowing hand. Leicester smiled as he wrote, and his face brightened as -if he had flung off a load of annoying doubts. "Here," he said, holding -the letter over his shoulder with a carelessness that was certainly more -than half assumed, "take this note, and observe how it is received. You -understand?" - -Jacob took the snowy little billet, and bent over it wistfully, as if -the direction could only be made out with great effort. - -"Well!" said Leicester, turning sharply upon him, "what keeps you? -Surely you understand enough to make out the address?" - -"Well, yes!" answered Jacob, holding the note at arm's length, and -eyeing it askance; "it's rather too fine, that are handwriting; but then -I can manage to cipher it out if you give me time enough." - -"Very well--you have had time enough. Go! and remember to observe all -that passes when you deliver it." - -Jacob took up his drab beaver, planted it firmly on the back of his -head, and disappeared, holding the note between his thumb and finger. - -While our friend Jacob is making his way up town, we will precede him, -and enter the pretty cottage which, with its fairy garden, has before -been an object of description. - -In the parlor of this beautiful but monotonous dwelling sat Florence -Craft. Cold as it was becoming, she still wore the pretty morning dress -of fine India muslin, with its profusion of soft lace, but over it was a -scarf of scarlet cashmere, that gave to her cheek its rosy shadow, as a -crimson camilla sometimes casts a trace of its presence on the marble -urn against which it falls. But for this warm shadow her face was coldly -white, and even traced with mournful lines, as if she had been suffering -from illness or some grief unnatural to her youth, and weighing sadly -upon her gentle nature. Her soft brown eyes seemed misty and dulled by -habitual tears, and the long curling lashes flung a deeper shadow on the -cheek just beneath; for a faint circle, such as disease or grief often -pencils, was becoming definitely marked around those sad and beautiful -eyes. The imprint of many a heavy heart-ache might have been read in -those shadowy circles, and the paler redness of a mouth that smiled -still--but oh, how mournfully! - -Florence sat by a sofa-table, one foot, too small now for the satin -slipper that had so beautifully defined its proportions a little while -before, rested upon the richly carved supporter. She had become -painfully fragile, and the folds of her dress fell around her drooping -form like a white cloud, so transparent that but for the red scarf, you -might have defined the slender arms and marble neck underneath with -startling distinctness. She was occupied with her drawing lesson, but -even the pencil seemed too heavy for the slender and waxen fingers that -guided it; and to one that understood the signification, there was -something ominous in the bright, feverish tinge that spread over her -palm, as if she had been crushing roses in that little hand, and might -not hope to wash the stain away. - -Robert Otis leaned over the unhappy girl. He too was changed, but not -like her. The flesh had not wasted from his limbs; the fire of youth had -not burned out prematurely in those bright eyes; but his look was -unsettled, restless, nay, sometimes wild. His very smile was hurried and -passed quickly away; all its soft, mellow warmth was gone. The change -was different, but terribly perceptible both in the youth and the young -girl. - -It was no boyish passion which marked the features of that noble face as -it bent lower and lower over the drooping girl. Tenderness, keen, deep -sympathy was there, but none of the ardent feeling that had fired his -whole being when only the semblance of that beautiful form first met his -eye. If Robert Otis loved Florence Craft, it was with the tender -earnestness of a brother, not with the fiery ardor natural to his age -and temperament. - -"You seem tired; how your hand trembles; rest awhile, Miss Craft. This -stooping posture must be oppressive," said Robert, gently attempting to -remove the pencil from the fair hand that could really guide it no -longer. - -"No, no," said Florence, raising her eyes with a sad smile, "you do not -give lessons every day, now, and we must improve the time. When Mr. -Leicester comes he should find me quite an artist, I must not disgrace -you with my idleness. He would feel hurt if we did not meet his -expectations. Don't you think so?" - -"Perhaps, I cannot exactly tell. Mr. Leicester is so unlike other men, -it is difficult to decide what his wishes really are," said Robert. "He -certainly did take great interest in your progress at first!" - -"And now that interest has ceased! Is that what you mean to say, -Robert?" questioned the young girl, and even the scarlet reflection of -her shawl failed to relieve the deadly paleness of her countenance. - -"No, I did not say that!" answered Robert, gently, "he questions me of -your progress often." - -Florence drew a deep breath, and now there was something more than a -scarlet reflection on her cheek. - -"But then," continued Robert, "he contents himself with questions; he -does not come to witness the progress you are making." - -"You have noticed it, then?--you have thought it strange?" said -Florence, while the red upon her cheek began to burn painfully, and -tears rushed to her eyes. "Yet you do not know--you cannot even guess -how hard this is to bear!" - -"Perhaps I can guess," answered Robert, casting down his eyes and -trembling visibly. - -Florence started from her chair, and stood upright. In the violence of -her agitation, she lost the languid, willowy stoop of frame that had -become habitual. For a moment the full energies of her nature were -lighted up, stung into sharp vitality by surprise and terror. But she -did not speak, she only stood upright a single moment, and then sunk to -the couch helplessly and sobbing like a child. Robert knelt by her -greatly agitated, for he had anticipated no such violent effect from his -words. - -"Do not weep, Miss Craft, I did not intend to pain you thus. What have I -said?--what have I done that it should bring so much grief?" - -She looked at him earnestly, and whispered in a low voice, while the -lashes fell over her eyes, sweeping the tears downward in fresh gushes. -"What was it that you said? Something that you could guess, was not that -it? Now tell me all you guess. What is it that you think?" - -"Nothing that should overwhelm you in this manner," said Robert, -struggling against the convictions her agitation was calculated to -produce. "I thought--I have long thought--that you were greatly attached -to Mr. Leicester, more than a ward usually is to her guardian." - -"You are with him so much--surely you did not think that my love--for I -do not deny it, Robert--was unwelcome or unsought?" - -Robert hesitated; he could not find it in his heart to give utterance to -his thoughts. - -"No, I did not think that," he said; "but Mr. Leicester is a strange -man, so much older than we are--so much wiser. I can fathom neither his -motives nor his feelings." - -"And I--I have felt this so often--that is, of late," said Florence, "at -times I am almost afraid of him, and yet this very fear has its -fascination." - -"Yes," answered Robert, thoughtless of the meaning that might be given -to his words, "the bird shivers with fear even as the serpent lures it, -and in this lies some subtle mystery; for while the poor thing seems to -know its danger, the knowledge yields it no power of resistance. Here -lies the serpent with its eyes burning and its jaws apart, exposing all -its venom; but the spell works in spite of this." - -"Hush! hush!" said Florence, with a look of terror, "this is a cruel -comparison. It makes me shudder!" - -"I did not intend it as a comparison," answered Robert. "With you it can -never be one, and with me such ideas would be very ungrateful, applied -to my oldest friend. I wish to heaven, no thought against him would ever -enter my head again." - -"Conquer them--never breathe them even to yourself!" said Florence, with -sudden impetuosity. "They have killed me--those weary, base -suspicions--not mine! not mine! Oh, I am so thankful that they were not -formed in my heart?--they were whispered to me--forced on me. I would -not believe them--but the evil thing is here. I have no strength to cast -it out alone, and he never comes to help me." - -"Perhaps he does not know how deeply you feel for him," said Robert, -anxious to console her. - -Florence shook her head, and leaning forward, shrouded her eyes with one -hand. After a while, she turned her gaze upon Robert, and addressed him -more quietly. - -"You must not think ill of him," she said, with a dim smile. "See what -suspicion and pining thoughts can do, when they have crept into the -heart." The poor girl drew up the muslin sleeve from her arm, and Robert -was startled to see how greatly the delicate limb was attenuated. Tears -came into his eyes, and bending down he touched the snowy wrist with his -lips. "I must tell him that you are ill--that you suffer--surely he -cannot dream of this!" - -"Not yet--we must not importune him; besides, I am becoming used to this -desolate feeling. You will come oftener now. It is something to know -that he has been near you--touched your clothes--held your hand--the -atmosphere of his presence hangs about your very garments, and does me -good. This seems childish, does it not? but it is true. Sometime, when -you have given up your being to another, this will appear less strange. -Oh, how I sometimes envy you!" - -"I might have loved, young as you think me, even as you love this man," -said Robert, annoyed, spite of his sympathy, by the words which she had -unconsciously applied to his youth; "but that which has wounded you, -saved me. You do not know, Miss Craft, all that I have felt since the -evening when Mr. Leicester brought me here. What I saw that night awoke -me from the first sweet dream of passion I ever knew. I could have loved -you then, even as you loved Mr. Leicester." - -"_Me!_" said Florence, and a momentary smile lighted her eyes--as if the -very thought of his young love amused her, sad as she was; "how strange! -to me you seemed so young and embarrassed--a mere boy--now----" - -"Now I am changed, you would say--now I am a different person--older, -firmer, more self-possessed; yet it is only a few months ago. I may seem -older and less timid--for in this little time I have thought and -suffered--but then, I was more worthy of your love, for I had not -learned to distrust my oldest friend. Like you, I have struggled against -suspicion--and like you, I have failed to cast it forth. It has withered -your gentle nature--mine it has embittered." - -"Ah! but you had not my temptation. It was not his own mother who -poisoned your mind against him." - -"His mother? I did not know that either of his parents were living." - -"That quiet, cold lady; the woman whom you have seen here! Did he never -tell you that she was his mother?" - -"He never even hinted it!" said Robert, greatly surprised. - -"She told me so with her own lips: she warned me against him--she, his -mother." - -"Indeed!" said Robert, thoughtfully. "Yet with what coldness she -received him!" - -"It is not her nature," answered Florence, and her eyes filled with -grateful tears. "To me, her kindness has been unvaried; there is -something almost holy in her calm, sweet affection: but for this I had -not been so unhappy. Had I detected prejudice, temper, anything selfish -mingled with her words, they would never have reached my heart; but now, -I cannot turn from her. With all her stately coldness she had something -of his power--I dare not doubt her. But I will not believe the warning -she gave me." - -Robert walked up and down the room. New and stern thoughts were making -their way in his mind. Gratitude is a powerful feeling, but it possesses -none of the infatuation and blindness which characterizes the grand -passion. Suspicions that had haunted his conscience like crimes, were -beginning to shape themselves into stubborn facts. Still he would not -yield to them. Like the gentle girl, drooping before his eyes, he dared -not believe anything against William Leicester. Humiliation, nay, almost -ruin, lay in the thought. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -A WEDDING FORESHADOWED. - - When her heart was all dreary and burdened with fears, - Hope came like a seraph and touched it with light, - Like sunshine or rain-drops it kindled her tears - Till they trembled like stars 'mid her soul's quick delight. - - -Florence had taken up her pencil again, but still remained inactive, -gazing wistfully through the lace curtains, at the little fountain -flinging up a storm of spray amid flowers gorgeous with autumn tints and -the crisp brown that had settled on the little grass-plat. -Notwithstanding the dahlias were in a glow of rich tints, and the -chrysanthemums sheeted with white, rosy, and golden blossoms, there was -a tinge of decay upon the leaves, very beautiful, but always productive -of mournful feelings. Florence had felt this influence more than usual -that morning, and now to her excited nerves there was something in the -glow of those flowers, and the soft rush of water-drops, that made her -heart sink. - -If the autumn and summer had been so dreary, with all the warmth and -brightness of sunshine and blossoms, what had the winter of promise to -her? Spite of herself she looked down to the thin, white hand that lay -so listlessly on the paper, and gazed on it till tears swelled once more -against those half-closed eye-lids. "How desolate to be buried in the -winter, and away from all----" These were the thoughts that arose in -that young heart. The objects that gave rise to them were flowers, -autumn flowers, the richest and most beautiful things on earth. Thus it -often happens in life, that lovely things awake our most painful and -bitter feelings, either by a mocking contrast with the sorrow that is -within us, or because they are associated with the memory of wasted -happiness. - -As Florence sat gazing upon the half veiled splendor of the garden -flowers, she saw a man open the little gate, and move with a slow, heavy -step toward the door. The face was unfamiliar, and the fact of any -strange person seeking that dwelling was rare enough to excite some -nervous trepidation in a young and fragile creature like Florence. - -"There is some one coming," she said, addressing Robert, who was -thoughtfully pacing the room, with a tone and look of alarm quite -disproportioned to the occasion. "Will you go to the door, I believe -every one is out except us?" - -Robert shook off the train of thought that had made him unconscious of -the heavy footsteps now plainly heard in the veranda, and went to the -door. - -Jacob Strong did not seem in the least embarrassed, though nothing could -be supposed further from his thoughts than an encounter with the young -man in that place. Perhaps he lost something of the abruptness -unconsciously maintained during his walk, for his mien instantly assumed -a loose, almost slouching carelessness, such as had always characterized -it in the presence of Leicester or his protege. - -"Well, how do you do, Mr. Otis? I didn't just expect to find you here! -Hain't got much to do down at the store, I reckon?" - -"Never mind that, Mr. Strong," answered the youth, good-humoredly, "but -tell me what brought you here. Some message from Mr. Leicester, ha!" - -"Well, now, you do beat all at guessing," answered Jacob, drawing forth -the billet-doux with which he was charged. "Ain't there a young gal -a-living here, Miss Flo--Florence Craft? If that ain't the name, I can't -cipher it out any how!" - -"Yes, that is the name--Miss Craft does live here," said Robert. "Let me -have the note--I will deliver it." - -"Not as you know on, Mr. Otis," replied Jacob, with a look of shrewd -determination. "Mr. Leicester told me to give this ere little concern -into the gal's own hand, and I always obey orders though I break owners. -Jest be kind enough to show me where the young critter is, and I'll do -my errand and back again in less than no time." - -"Very well, come this way; Miss Craft will receive the note herself." - -Florence was standing near the window, her bright, eager eyes were -turned upon the door, she had overheard Leicester's name, and it -thrilled through every nerve of her body. - -Jacob entered with his usual heavy indifference. He looked a moment at -the young girl, and then held out the note. Robert fancied that a shade -of feeling swept over that usually composed face, but the lace curtains -were waving softly to a current of air let in through the open doors, -and it might be the transient shadows thus flung upon his face. Still -there was something keen and intelligent in the glance with which Jacob -regarded the young girl while she bent over the note. - -Suddenly he bent those keen, grey eyes, now full of meaning, and almost -stern in their searching power, upon the youth himself. Robert grew -restless beneath that strict scrutiny, the color mounted to his -forehead, and as a relief he turned toward Florence. - -She was busy reading the note, apparently unconscious of the person, -but oh, how wildly beautiful her face had become! Her eyes absolutely -sparkled through the drooping lashes; her small mouth was parted in a -glowing smile--you could see the pearly edges of her teeth behind the -bright red of lips that seemed just bathed in wine. She trembled from -head to foot, not violently, but a blissful shiver, like that which -stirs a leaf at noonday, in the calm summer time, wandered over her -delicate frame. Twice--three times, she read the note, and then her soft -eyes were uplifted and turned upon Robert, in all their glorious joy. - -"See!" she said, and her voice was one burst of melody--"Oh, what -ingrates we have been to doubt him!" In her bright triumph, she held -forth the note, but as Robert advanced to receive it, she drew back. "I -had forgotten," she said, "I alone was to know it; but you can -guess--you can see how happy it has made me." - -Robert Otis turned away, somewhat annoyed by this half confidence. -Florence, without heeding this, sat down by the table, and, with the -open note before her, prepared to answer it, but her excitement was too -eager--her hand too unsteady. After several vain efforts, she took the -note and ran up stairs. - -Thus Jacob and Robert were left alone together. The youth, possessed by -his own thoughts, seemed quite unconscious of the companionship forced -upon him. He sat down on the couch which Florence had occupied, and, -leaning upon the table, supported his forehead with one hand. Jacob -stood in his old place, regarding the varied expressions that came and -went on that young face. His own rude features were greatly disturbed, -and at this moment bore a look that approached to anguish. Twice he -moved, as if to approach Robert--and then fell back irresolute; but at -last, he strode forward, and before the youth was aware of the movement, -a hand lay heavily upon his shoulder. - -"So you love her, my boy?" - -Robert started. The drawling tone, the rude Down East enunciation was -gone. The man who stood before him seemed to have changed his identity. -Rude and uncouth he certainly was--but even in this, there was something -imposing. Robert looked at him with parted lips and wondering -eyes--there was something even of awe in his astonishment. - -"Tell me, boy," continued Jacob, and his voice was full of -tenderness--"tell me, is it love for this girl, that makes you -thoughtful? Are you jealous of William Leicester?" - -Robert lost all presence of mind--he did not answer--but sat motionless, -with his eyes turned upon the changed face bending close to his. - -"Will you not speak to me, Robert Otis? You may--you should, for I am an -honest man." - -"I believe you are!" said Robert, starting up and reaching forth his -hand--"I know that you are, for my heart leaps toward you. What was the -question? I will answer it now. Did you ask if I loved Florence Craft?" - -"Yes, that was it--I would know; otherwise events may shape themselves -unluckily. I trust, Robert, that in this you have escaped the snare." - -"I do not understand you, but can answer your question a great deal -better than I could have done three days ago. I do love Miss Craft as it -has always seemed to me that I should love a sister, had one been made -an orphan with me: I would do any thing for her, sacrifice anything for -her. Once I thought this love, but now I know better. There was another -question--am I jealous of William Leicester? I do not know; my heart -sinks when I see them together--I cannot force myself to wish her his -wife, and yet this repugnance is unaccountable to myself. He is my -friend--she something even dearer than a sister; but my very soul -revolts at the thought of their union. It was this that made me -thoughtful: I do not love Florence in your meaning of the word; I am not -jealous of Mr. Leicester; but God forgive me! there is something in my -heart that rises up against him! There, sir, you have my answer. I may -be imprudent--I may be wrong; but it cannot be helped now." - -"You have been neither imprudent nor wrong," answered Jacob, laying his -hand on the bent head of the youth. "I am a plain man, but you will find -in me a safer counsellor than you imagine--a wiser one--though not more -sincere--than your good aunt." - -"Then you know my aunt?" cried Robert, profoundly astonished. - -"It would have been well had you confided even in her, on Thanksgiving -night, when you were so near confessing the difficulties that seem so -terrible to you. A few words then, might have relieved all your -troubles." - -"Then Mr. Leicester has told--has betrayed me to--to his servant, I -would not have believed it!" Robert grew pale as he spoke; there was -shame and terror in his face; deep bitterness in his tone; he was -suffering the keen pangs which a first proof of treachery brings to -youth. - -"No, you wrong Mr. Leicester there--he has not betrayed you, never will, -probably, nor do I know the exact nature of your anxieties." - -"But who are you then? An hour ago I could have answered this question, -or thought so. Now, you bewilder me; I can scarcely recognize any look -or tone about you--which is the artificial? which the real?" - -"Both are real; I _was_ what you have hitherto seen me, years ago. I -_am_ what you see now; but I can at will throw off the present and -identify myself with the past. You see, Robert Otis, I give confidence -when I ask it--a breath of what you have seen or heard to-day, repeated -to Mr. Leicester, would send me from his service. But I do not fear to -trust you!" - -"There is no cause of fear--I never betrayed anything in my life--only -convince me that you mean no evil to him." - -"I only mean to prevent evil! and I will!" - -"All this perplexes me," said Robert, raising one hand to his -forehead--"I seem to have known you many years; my heart warms toward -you as it never did to any one but my aunt." - -"That is right; an honest heart seldom betrays itself. But hush! the -young lady is coming; God help her, _she_ loves that man." - -"It is worship--idolatry--not love; that seems but a feeble word; it -gives one the heart-ache to witness its ravages on her sweet person." - -"And does she feel so much?" said Jacob, with emotion. - -Before Robert could answer, the light step of Florence was heard on the -stairs; when she entered the room, Jacob stood near the window, holding -his hat awkwardly between both hands, and with his eyes bent upon the -floor. - -"You will give this to Mr. Leicester," she said, still radiant and -beautiful with happiness, placing a note in Jacob's hand--"here is -something for yourself, I only wish it could make you as happy -as--as--that it may be of use, I mean." Blushing and hesitating thus in -her speech, she placed a small gold coin upon the note. Poor girl, it -was a pocket-piece given by her father, but in her wild gratitude she -would have cast thousands upon the man whose coming had brought so much -happiness. - -Jacob received the coin, looked at her earnestly for a moment, half -extended his hand, and then thrust it into his pocket. - -"Thank you, ma'am, a thousand times--I will do the errand right off!" -and putting on his hat, Jacob strode from the house, muttering, as he -cast a hurried glance around the little garden, "It seems like shooting -a robin on her nest--I must think it all over again." - -Robert would have followed Jacob Strong, for his mind was in tumult, and -he panted for some more perfect elucidation of the mystery that -surrounded this singular man. But Florence laid her hand gently on his -arm, and drew him into the window recess: her face was bright with -smiles and bathed in blushes. "You were ready to go without wishing me -joy," she said; "and yet you must have guessed what was in that -precious, precious note!" - -Robert felt a strange thrill creep through his frame. He turned his eyes -from the soft orbs looking into his, for their brilliancy pained him. - -"No," he said, almost bitterly, "I cannot guess--perhaps I do not care -to guess!" - -"Oh, Robert! you do not know what happiness is; no human being ever was -so happy before. How cold--how calm you are! You could feel for me when -I was miserable, but now--now it is wrong: he charged me to keep it -secret, but my heart is so full, Robert; stoop and let me whisper -it--tell nobody, he would be very angry--but this week we are to be -married!" - -"Now," said Robert, drawing a deep breath, and speaking in a voice so -calm that it seemed like prophecy--"now I feel for you more than ever." - -The little, eager hand fell from his arm, and in a voice that thrilled -with disappointment, Florence said, - -"Then you will not wish me joy!" - -Robert took her hand, grasped it a moment in his, and flinging aside the -cloud of lace that had fallen over them, left the room. Florence -followed him with her eyes, and while he was in sight a shade of sadness -hung upon her sweet face--but her happiness was too perfect even for -this little shadow to visit it more than a moment. She sunk upon an -ottoman in the recess, and, with her eyes fixed upon the autumn flowers -without, subsided into a reverie, the sweetest, the brightest that ever -fell upon a youthful heart. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -THE MOTHER'S APPEAL. - - Wrong to one's self but wrongs the world; - God linketh soul so close to soul, - That germs of evil, once unfurled, - Spread through the life and mock control. - - -Pen, ink, and paper lay upon the table. The curtains were flung back, -admitting the broad sunshine that revealed more clearly than the usual -soft twilight with which Leicester was in the habit of enveloping -himself, the lines which time and passion sometimes allowed to run wild, -sometimes curbed with an iron will, had left on his handsome features. -Papers were on the table, not letters, but scraps that bore a business -aspect, some half printed, others without signature, but still in legal -form, as notes of hand or checks are given. - -Leicester took one of these checks--a printed blank--and gazed on it -some moments with a fixed and thoughtful scrutiny. He laid it gently -down, took up a pen, and held the drop of ink on its point up to the -light, as if even the color were an object of interest. He wrote a word -or two, merely filling up the blank before him, but simple as the act -seemed, that hand, usually firm as marble, quivered on the paper, -imperceptibly, it is true, but enough to render the words unsteady. His -face, too, was fiercely pale, if I may use the term, for there was -something in the expression of those features that sent a sort of hard -glow through their whiteness. It was the glow of a desperate will -mastering fear. - -With a quick and scornful quiver of the lip, he tore the half-filled -check in twain, and cast the fragments into the fire. "Am I growing -old?" he said aloud, "or is this pure cowardice? Fear!--what have I to -fear?" he continued, hushing his voice. "It _cannot_ be brought back to -me. A chain that has grown, link by link, for years, will not break with -any common wrench. Still, if it could be avoided, the boy loves -me!--well, and have not others loved me? Of what use is affection, if it -adds nothing to one's enjoyments? If the old planter had left my pretty -Florence the property at once, why then--but till she is of age--that is -almost two years--till she is of age we must live." - -Half in thought, half in words, these ideas passed through the brain and -upon the lip of William Leicester. When his mind was once made up to the -performance of an act, it seldom paused even to excuse a sin to his own -soul, but this was not exactly a question of right and wrong: that had -been too often decided with his conscience to admit of the least -hesitation. There was peril in the act he meditated--peril to -himself--this made his brow pale and his hand unsteady. During a whole -life of fraud and evil-doing, he had never once placed himself within -the grasp of the law. His instruments, less guilty, and far less -treacherous than himself, had often suffered for crimes that his keen -intellect had suggested. For years he had luxuriated upon the fruit of -iniquities prompted by himself, but with which his personal connection -could never be proved. But for once his subtle forethought in selecting -and training an agent who should bear the responsibility of crime while -he reaped the benefit, had failed. The time had arrived when Robert Otis -was, if ever, to become useful to his teacher. But evil fruit in that -warm, generous nature had been slow in ripening. With all his subtle -craft, Leicester dared not propose the fraud which was to supply him -with means for two years' residence in Europe. - -There was something in the boy too clear-sighted and prompt even for his -wily influence, and now, after years of training worthy of Lucifer -himself, Leicester, for the first time, was afraid to trust his chosen -instrument. Robert might be deluded into wrong--might innocently become -his victim, but Leicester despaired of making him, with his bright -intellect and honorable impulses, the principal or accomplice of an act -such as he meditated. - -A decanter of brandy stood upon the table--Leicester filled a goblet and -half drained it. This in no way disturbed the pallor of his countenance, -but his hand grew firm, and he filled up several of the printed checks -with a rapidity that betrayed the misgivings that still beset him. - -He examined the papers attentively after they were written, and, -selecting one, laid it in an embroidered letter-case which he took from -his bosom; the others he placed in an old copy-book that had been lying -open before him all the time; it was the same book that Robert Otis had -taken from his aunt's stand-drawer on Thanksgiving night. - -When these arrangements were finished, Leicester drew out his watch, -and seemed to be waiting for some one that he expected. - -Again he opened the copy-book and compared the checks with other papers -it contained. The scrutiny seemed to satisfy him, for a smile gleamed in -his eyes as he closed the book. - -Just then, Robert Otis came in. His step had become quiet, and the rosy -buoyancy of look and manner that had been so interesting a few months -before, was entirely gone. There was restraint--nay, something amounting -almost to dislike in his air as he drew a seat to the table. - -"You are looking pale, Robert; has anything gone amiss at the -counting-house?" said Leicester, regarding his visitor with interest. - -"Nothing!" - -"Are you ill then?" - -"No, I am well--quite well!" - -"But something distresses you; those shadows under the eye, the rigid -lines about the mouth--there is trouble beneath them. Tell me what it -is--am I not your friend?" - -Robert smiled a meaning, bitter smile, that seemed strangely unnatural -on those fresh lips. Leicester read the meaning of that silent reproach, -and it warned him to be careful. - -"Surely," he said, "you have not been at F---- street, without your -friend?--you have not indulged in high play, and no prudent person to -guide you?" - -"No!" said Robert, with bitter energy--"that night I did play--how, why, -it is impossible for me to remember. Those few hours of wild sin were -enough--they have stained my soul--they have plunged me into debt--they -have made me ashamed to look a good man in the face." - -"But I warned, I cautioned you!" - -Robert did not answer, but by the gleam of his eyes and the quiver of -his lips, you could see that words of fire were smothered in his heart. - -"You would have plunged into the game deeper and deeper, but for me." - -"Perhaps I should--it was a wild dream--I was mad--the very memory -almost makes me insane. I, so young, so cherished, in debt--and how--to -what amount?" - -"Enough--I am afraid," said Leicester, gently--"enough to cover that -pretty farm, and all the bank stock your nice old aunt has scraped -together. But what of that?--she is in no way responsible, and gambling -debts are only debts of honor--no law reaches them?" - -"I will not make sin the shelter of meanness," answered the youth, with -a wild flash of feeling; "these men may be villains, but they did not -force themselves upon me. I sought them of my own free choice; no--I -cannot say that either, for heaven knows I never wished to enter that -den!" - -"It was I that invited, nay, urged you!" - -"Else I had never been there!" - -"But I intended it as a warning--I cautioned you, pleaded with you." - -"Yes, I remember--you said I was ignorant, awkward, a novice--Mr. -Leicester; your advice was like a jeer--your caution a taunt; your words -and manner were at variance; I played that night, but not of my own free -will. I say to you, it was _not_ of my free will!" - -"Is it me, upon whom your words reflect?" said Leicester, with every -appearance of wounded feeling. - -Robert was silent. - -"Do you know," continued Leicester, in that deep, musical tone, that was -sure to make the heart thrill--"do you know, Robert Otis, why it is that -you have not been openly exposed?--why this debt has not been demanded -long ago?" - -"Because the note which I gave is not yet due!" - -"The note--a minor's note--what man in his senses would receive a thing -so worthless? No, Robert--it was my endorsement that made the paper -valuable. It is from me, your old friend, Robert, that the money must -come to meet the paper at its maturity." - -Tears gushed into the young man's eyes--he held out his hand across the -table--Leicester took the hand and pressed it very gently. - -"You know," he said, "this note becomes due almost immediately." - -"I know--I know. It seems to me that every day has left a mark on my -heart; oh, Mr. Leicester, how I have suffered!" - -"I will not say that suffering is the inevitable consequence of a wrong -act, because that just now would be unkind," said Leicester, with a soft -smile, "but hereafter you must try and remember that it is so." - -Robert looked upon his friend; his large eyes dilated, and his lips -began to tremble; you could see that his heart was smitten to the core. -How he had wrought that man! Tears of generous compunction rushed to his -eyes. - -"It will be rather difficult, but I have kept this thing in my mind," -said Leicester. "To-morrow I shall draw a large sum; a portion must -redeem your debt, but on condition that you never play again!" - -Robert shuddered. "Play again!" he said, and tears gushed through the -fingers which he had pressed to his eyes. "Do you fear that a man who -has been racked would of his own free will seek the wheel again? But how -am I to repay you?" - -"Confide in me; trust me. Robert, the suspicions that were in your heart -but an hour since--they will return." - -Robert shook his head, and swept the tears from his eyes. - -"No, no! even then I hated myself for them: how good, how forgiving, how -generous you are! I am young, strong, have energy. In time this shameful -debt can be paid--but kindness like this--how can I ever return that?" - -"Oh! opportunities for gratitude are never wanting: the bird we tend -gives back music in return for care, yet what can be more feeble? Give -me love, Robert, that is the music of a young heart--do not distrust me -again!" - -"I never will!" - -Leicester wrung the youth's hand. They both arose. - -"If you are going to the counting-room, I will accompany you," he said, -"my business must be negotiated with your firm." - -"I was first going to my room," said Robert. - -"No matter, I will walk slowly--by the way, here is your old copy-book; -I have just been examining it. Those were pleasant evenings, my boy, -when I taught you how to use the pen." - -"Yes," said Robert, receiving the book, "my dear aunt claims the old -copies as a sort of heir-loom. I remembered your wish to see it, and so -took it quietly away. I really think she would not have given it up, -even to you." - -"Then she did not know when you took it?" - -"No, I had forgotten it, and so stole down in the night. She was sound -asleep, and I came away very early in the morning." - -"Dear old lady," said Leicester, smiling; "you must return her treasure -before it is missed. Stay; fold your cloak over it. I shall see you -again directly." - -Leicester's bed-chamber communicated with another small room, which was -used as a dressing-closet. From some caprice he had draped the entrance -with silken curtains such as clouded the windows. Scarcely had he left -the room when this drapery was flung aside, revealing the door which had -evidently stood open during his interview with Robert Otis. - -Jacob Strong closed the door very softly, but in evident haste; dropped -the curtains over it, and taking a key from his pocket, let himself out -of the bed-chamber. He overtook Robert Otis, a few paces from the hotel, -and touched him upon the shoulder. - -"Mr. Otis, that copy-book--my master wishes to see it again--will you -send it back?" - -"Certainly," answered Robert, producing the book. "But what on earth can -he want it for?" - -"Come back with me, and I will tell you!" - -"I will," said Robert; "but remember, friend, no more hints against Mr. -Leicester, I cannot listen to them." - -"I don't intend to _hint_ anything against him now!" said Jacob, dryly, -and they entered the hotel together. - -Jacob took the young man to his own little room, and the two were locked -in together more than an hour. When the door opened, Jacob appeared -composed and awkward as ever, but a powerful change had fallen upon the -youth. His face was not only pale, but a look of wild horror disturbed -his countenance. - -"Yet I will not believe it," he said, "it is too fiendish. In what have -I ever harmed him?" - -"I do not ask you to _believe_, but to know. Keep out of the way a -single week, it can do harm to no one." - -"But in less than a week this miserable debt must be paid!" - -"Then pay it!" - -Robert smiled bitterly. - -"How? by ruining my aunt? Shall I ask her to sell the old homestead?" - -"She would do it--she would give up the last penny rather than see you -disgraced, Robert Otis!" - -"How can you know this?" - -"I do know it, but this is not the question. Here is money to pay your -debt, I have kept it in my pocket for weeks." - -Robert did not reach forth his hand to receive the roll of bank-notes -held toward him, for surprise held him motionless. - -"Take the money, it is the exact sum," said Jacob, in a voice that -carried authority with it. "I ask no promise that you never enter -another gambling hall--you never will!" - -"Never!" said Robert, receiving the money; "but how--why have you done -this?" - -"Ask me no questions now; by-and-bye you will know all about it; the -money is mine. I have earned it honestly; as much more is all that I -have in the world. No thanks! I never could bear them, besides it will -be repaid in time!" - -"If I live," said Robert, with tears in his eyes. - -"This week, remember--this week you must be absent. A visit to the old -homestead, anything that will take you out of town." - -"I will go," said Robert, "it can certainly do no harm." - -And they parted. - -Ada Leicester fled from the keen disappointment which almost crushed her -for a time, and sought to drown all thought in the whirl of fashionable -life. Her reception evenings were splendid. Beauty, talent, wit, -everything that could charm or dazzle gathered beneath her roof. She -gave herself no time for grief. Occasionally a thought of her husband -would sting her into fresh bursts of excitement--sometimes the memory of -her parents and her child passed over her heart, leaving a swell behind -like that which followed the angels when they went down to trouble the -still waters. Her wit grew more sparkling, her graceful sarcasm keener -than ever it had been. She was the rage that season, and exhausted her -rich talent in efforts to win excitement. She did not hope for happiness -from the homage and splendor that her beauty and wealth had secured; -excitement was all she asked. - -When all other devices for amusement failed to keep up the fever of her -artificial life, she bethought her of a new project. Her talent, her -wealth must achieve something more brilliant than had yet been dreamed -of, she would give a fancy ball, something far more picturesque than had -ever been known in Saratoga or Newport. - -At first Ada thought of this ball only as a something that should pass -like a rocket through the upper ten thousand; but as the project grew -upon her, she resolved to make it an epoch in her own inner life. The -man whom she had loved, the husband who had so coldly trampled her to -the earth in her seeming poverty--he should witness this grand gala--he -should see her in the fall blaze of her splendid career. There was -something of proud retaliation in this; she fancied that it was -resentful hate that prompted this desire to see and triumph over the man -who had scorned her. Alas! poor woman, was there no lurking hope?--no -feeling that she dared not call by its right name in all that wild -excitement? - -She sent for Jacob, and besought him to devise some means by which -Leicester should be won to attend the ball, without suspecting her -identity. - -"Let it be superb--let it surpass everything hitherto known in -elegance," she said--"he shall be here--he shall see the poor governess, -the scorned wife in a new phase." - -There was triumph in her eyes as she spoke. - -"You love this man, even now, in spite of all that he has done?" said -Jacob Strong, who stood before her while she spoke. - -"No," she answered--"no, I hate--oh! how I do hate him!" - -Jacob regarded her with a steady, fixed glance of the eye; he was afraid -to believe her. He would not have believed her but for the powerful wish -that gave an unnatural impulse to his faith. - -"He may be dazzled by all this splendor; the knowledge of so much wealth -will make him humble--he will be your slave again!" - -Ada glanced around the sumptuous array of her boudoir. Her eyes -sparkled; her lip quivered with haughty triumph. - -"And I would spurn him even as he spurned me in that humble room -over-head--that room filled with its wealth of old memories." - -Jacob turned away to hide the joy that burned in his eyes. - -"Oh! my mistress, say it again. In earnest truth, you hate this man; do -not deceive yourself. Have you unwound the adder from your heart? Did -that night do its work?" - -Ada Leicester paused; she was ashamed to own, even before that devoted -servant, how closely the adder still folded himself in her bosom. She -turned pale, but still answered with unfaltering voice, "Jacob, I hate -him!" - -"Not yet--not as you ought to hate him," answered Jacob, regarding her -pallid face so searchingly that his own cheek whitened, "but when you -see him in all his villany, as I have seen him; when you know all!" - -"And do I not know all? What is it you keep from me? What is there to -learn more vile--more terrible than the past?" - -"What if I tell you that within a month, William Leicester, your -husband, will be married to another woman?" - -"Married! married to another!--Leicester--my----" she broke off, for her -white lips refused to utter another syllable. After a momentary struggle -she started up--"does he think that I am dead?--does he hope that night -has killed me?" - -"He knows that you are living; but thinks you have returned to England." - -"But this is crime--punishable crime." - -"I know that it is." - -A faint, incredulous smile stole over her lips, and she waved her hand. -"He will not violate the law; never was a bad man more prudent." - -"He will be married to-morrow night." - -"And to that girl? Does he love her so much? Is her beauty so -overpowering? What has she to tempt Leicester into this crime?" - -"Her father is dead. By his will a large property falls to this poor -girl. The letter came under cover to Leicester; he opened it. After the -marriage they will sail for the north of Europe--there the letter will -follow them, telling the poor orphan of her father's death. How can she -guess that her husband has seen it before!" - -"But I--I am not dead!" - -"You love him, he knows that better than you do. Death is no stronger -safeguard than that knowledge. In your love or in your death he is -equally safe." - -"God help me; but I will not be a slave to this abject love forever. If -this last treachery be true, my soul will loathe him as he deserves." - -"It is true." - -"But my ball is to-morrow night. He accepted the invitation. You are -certain that he will come?" - -"He accepted the invitation eagerly enough," said Jacob, dryly; "but -what then?" - -"Why, to-morrow night--this cannot happen before to-morrow night--then I -shall see him; after that--no, no, he dare not. You see, Jacob, it is in -order to save him from deeper crime; we must not sit still and allow -this poor girl to be sacrificed; that would be terrible. It must be -prevented." - -"Nothing easier. Let him know that the brilliant, the wealthy Mrs. -Gordon, is his wife; say that she has millions at her disposal; this -poor girl has only one or two hundred thousand, the choice would be soon -made." - -"Do you believe it? can you think it was belief in my poverty, and -not--not a deeper feeling that made him so cruel that night? would he -have accepted me for this wealth?" - -A painful red hovered in Ada's cheek, as she asked this question; it was -shaping a humiliating doubt into words. It was exposing the scorpion -that stung most keenly at her heart. - -Jacob drew closer to his mistress; he clasped her two hands between his, -and his heavy frame bent over her, not awkwardly, for deep feeling is -never awkward. - -"Oh, my mistress, say to me that you will give up this man--utterly give -him up; even now you cannot guess how wicked he is; do not, by your -wealth, help him to make new victims; do not see him and thus give him a -right over yourself and your property--a right he will not fail to use; -give up this ball; leave the city--this is no way to find that poor old -man, that child----" - -"Jacob! Jacob!" almost shrieked the unhappy woman, "do you see how such -words wound and rankle? I may be wild--the wish may be madness--but once -more let me meet him face to face----" - -Jacob dropped her hands; two great tears left his eyes, and rolled -slowly down his cheeks. - -"How she loves that man!" he said, in a tone of despondency. - -"Remember, Jacob, it is to serve another. What if, thinking himself -safe, he marries that poor girl?" said Ada, in an humble, deprecating -tone. - -"Madam," answered Jacob, "do you know that the law gives this man power -over you--a husband's power--if he chooses to claim it?" Jacob broke -off, and clenched his huge hand in an agony of impatience, for his words -had only brought the bright blood into that eloquent face. Through those -drooping lashes he saw the downcast eyes kindle. - -"She hopes it! she hopes it!" he said, in the bitterness of his thought; -"but I will save her--with God's help I will save them both!" - -When Ada Leicester looked up to address her servant, he had left the -room. - -Among other things, Jacob had been commissioned to procure a quantity of -hot-house flowers; for the conservatories at Mrs. Gordon's villa were to -be turned into perfect bowers. Besides, Ada was prodigal of flowers in -every room of her dwelling, even when no company was expected. In order -to procure enough for this grand gala evening, Jacob had resource to -Mrs. Gray, who trafficked at times in everything that has birth in the -soil. - -Mrs. Gray was delighted with this commission, for it promised a rich -windfall to her pretty favorite, Julia Warren. So, after the market -closed that day, she went up to Dunlap's, and bargained for all the -exotics his spacious greenhouse could produce. She informed Julia of her -good luck, and returned home with a warmth about the heart worth half a -dozen Thanksgiving suppers, bountiful as hers always were. - -The next day Julia was going up town, with a basket loaded with exotics -on her arm. It was late in the afternoon, for the blossoms had been left -on the stalk to the latest hour, that no sweet breath of their perfume -should be wasted before they reached the boudoir they were intended to -embellish. - -It was a sweet task that Julia had undertaken. With her love of flowers, -it was a delicious luxury to gaze down upon her dewy burden, as she -walked along, surrounded by a cloud of fragrance invisible as it was -intoxicating. A life of privation had rendered her delicate organization -keenly susceptible of this delicate enjoyment. It gratified the hunger -of sensations almost ethereal. She loitered on her way, she touched the -flowers with her hands, that, like the blossoms, were soon bathed in -odor. Rich masses of heliotrope, the snowy cape jessamine, clusters of -starry daphne, crimson and white roses, with many other blossoms strange -as they were sweet, made every breath she drew a delight. A glow of -exquisite satisfaction spread over her face, her dreamy eyes were never -lifted from the blossoms, except when a corner was to be turned or an -obstacle avoided. - -"Where are you going, girl? Are those flowers for sale?" - -Julia started and looked up. She was just then before a cottage house, -laced with iron balconies and clouded with creeping vines, red with the -crimson and gold of a late Indian summer. The garden in front was -gorgeous with choice dahlias and other autumn flowers that had not yet -felt the frost, and on the basin of a small marble fountain in the -centre stood several large aquatic lilies, from which the falling -water-drops rained with a constant and sleepy sound. - -Julia did not see all this at once, for the glance that she cast around -was too wild and startled. She clasped the basket of flowers closer to -her side, and stood motionless. Some potent spell seemed upon her. - -"Can't you speak, child? Are those flowers for sale?" - -Julia remained gazing in the man's face; her eyes, once fixed on those -features, seemed immoveable. He stood directly before her, holding the -iron gate which led to the cottage open with his hand. - -"No--no--if you please, sir, they are ordered. A lady wants them." - -"Then they are not paid for--only ordered. Come in here. There is a lady -close by who may fancy some of those orange blossoms." - -"No, no, sir--the other lady might be angry!" - -"Nonsense! I want the flowers--not enough to be missed, though--just a -handful of the white ones. Here is a piece of gold worth half your load. -Let me have what I ask, and I dare say your customer will give just as -much for the rest." - -"I can't, sir--indeed I can't," said Julia, drawing a corner of her -little plaid shawl over the basket; "but if you are not in a hurry--if -the lady can wait an hour--I will leave these and get some more from the -greenhouse." - -The man did not answer, but, placing his hand on her shoulder, pushed -the frightened child through the open gate. - -"Let your customer wait--during the next hour you must stay here. It is -not so much the flowers that I want as yourself!" - -"Myself!" repeated poor Julia, with quivering lips. - -"Go in--go in--I want nothing that should frighten you. Stay--just now I -remember that face. Do you know I am an old customer?" - -"I remember," answered Julia, and tears of affright rushed into her -eyes. - -"Then you recognise me again?--it was but a moment--how can you remember -so long and so well?" - -"By my feelings, sir. I wanted to cry then--I can't help crying now!" - -"This is strange! Young ladies are not apt to be so much shocked when I -speak to them. No matter. I want both your flowers and your services -just now: oblige me, and I will pay you well for the kindness." - -Julia had no choice, for as he spoke the gentleman closed the gate, and -completely obstructed her way out. - -"Pass on--pass on!" he said, with an imperative wave of the hand. - -Julia obeyed, walking with nervous quickness as he drew close to her. -The gentleman rang, a faint noise came from within, and the door was -opened by a quiet old lady in mourning. - -"Then you have come; you persist!" she said, addressing the gentleman! - -"Step this way a moment," he answered in a subdued voice, opening the -parlor door; "but first send this little girl up to Florence; if you -still refuse, she must answer for a witness. Besides, she has flowers in -her basket, and my sweet bride would think a wedding ominous without -them!" - -"Ominous indeed!" said the lady, pointing with her finger that Julia -should ascend the stairs. "William, I will not allow this to go on; to -witness the sin would be to share it." - -"Mother," answered Leicester, gently taking the lady's hand, while he -led her to the parlor, "tell me your objections, and I will answer them -with all respect. Why is my marriage with Florence Craft opposed?" - -"You have no right to marry--you are not free--cannot be so while Ada -lives." - -"But Ada is dead! Mother, say now if I am not free to choose a wife?" - -"Dead! Ada Wilcox dead! Oh William, if this be true!" - -"If! It is true. See, here are letters bearing proof that even you must -acknowledge." - -He held out some letters bearing an European post-mark. The old lady -took them, put on her glasses, and suspiciously scrutinized every line. - -"Are you convinced, mother, or must I go over sea, and tear the dead -from her grave before your scruples yield?" - -The old lady lifted her face; a tear stole from beneath her glasses. - -"Go on," she said, in a deep solemn voice--"go on, add victim to victim, -legally or illegally, it scarce matters--that which you touch dies. But -remember--remember, William, every new sin presses its iron mark hard on -your mother's heart, the weight will crush her at length." - -"Why is maternal love so strong in your bosom that Scripture is revised -in my behalf? Must my iniquities roll back on past generations?" said -the son, with a faint sneer. - -"No, it is because my own sin originates yours. Your father was a bad -man, William Leicester, profligate, treacherous, fascinating as you are. -I married him; wo, wo upon the arrogant pride; I married him, and said, -in wicked self-confidence--'My love shall be his redemption." My son--my -son, you cannot understand me; you cannot think how terrible iniquity is -when it folds you in its bosom. There is no poison like the love of a -profligate; the fang of an adder is not more potent. It spreads through -the whole being; it lives in the moral life of our children. I said 'My -love is all powerful, it shall reform this man whom I love so madly.' I -made the effort; I planted my soul beneath the Upas tree, and expected -not only to escape but conquer the poison. Look at me, William; can you -ever remember me other than I am, still, cold, hopeless? Yet I only -lived with your father three years. Before that I was bright and joyous -beyond your belief. - -"He died as he had lived. Did the curse of my arrogance end there? No, -it found new life in his son--his son and mine. In you, William--in you -my punishment embodied itself. Still I hoped and strove against the evil -entailed upon you. Heaven bear me witness, I struggled unceasingly; but -as you approached maturity, with all the beauty and talent of your -father, the moral poison revealed itself also. - -"Then the love that I felt for you changed to fear, and as one who has -turned a serpent loose among the beautiful things of earth, I said, 'Let -my life be given to protect society from the evil spirit which my -presumption has forced upon it.' It was an atonement acceptable of God. -How many deserted victims my roof has sheltered you know--how many I -have saved from the misery of your influence it is needless to say. This -one, so gentle, so rich in affection, I hoped to win from her -enthralment, or, failing that, resign her to the arms of death, more -merciful, more gentle than yours. I have pleaded with her, warned her, -but she answers as I answered when those who loved me said of your -father, 'It is a sin to marry him!' Must she suffer as I have suffered? -Oh! William, my son, turn aside this once from your prey. She is -helpless--save her young heart from the stain that has fallen upon -mine!" - -"Nay, gentle mother, this is scarcely a compliment--you forget that I -wish to marry the young lady." - -How cold, how insulting were the tones of his voice--how relentless was -the spirit that gleamed in his eyes! The unhappy mother stood before -him, her pale hands clasped and uplifted, and words of thrilling -eloquence hushed upon her lips, that no syllable of his answer might be -lost. It came, that dry, insolent rejoinder; her hands fell; her figure -shrunk earthward. - -"I have done!" broke from her lips, and she walked slowly from the room. - -"Madam, shall we expect you at the ceremony?" said Leicester, following -her to the door. - -She turned upon the stairs, and gave him a look so sad, so earnest, that -even his cold heart beat slower. - -"It is not important!" he muttered, turning back; "we can do without -her. This little girl and the servant must answer, though I did hope to -trust no one." - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -THE BRIDAL WREATH. - - The wreath of white jasmines is torn from her brow, - The bride is alone, and, oh, desolate now. - - -Julia Warren mounted the stairs in wild haste, as the caged bird springs -from perch to perch when terrified by strange faces. Then she paused in -her fright, doubtful where to turn or what room to enter. As she stood -thus irresolute, a door was softly pushed open, and a fair young face -looked out. The eyes were bent downward; the cheek and temples shaded -with masses of loose ringlets, that admitted snowy glimpses of a -graceful neck and shoulders, uncovered save by these bright tresses and -a muslin dressing-down, half falling off, and huddled to the bosom with -a fair little hand. - -Imperceptibly the door swung more and more open, till Julia caught the -outline of a figure, slender, flexible, and so fragile in its beauty, -that to her excited imagination it seemed almost ethereal. Like a spirit -that listens for some kindred sympathy, the young creature bent in the -half-open door. The faint murmur of voices from below rose and fell upon -her ear. No words could be distinguished; nothing but the low, deep -tones of a voice, familiar and dear as the pulsations of her own heart, -blended with the strangely passionate accents of another. The gentle -listener could hardly convince herself that some strange woman had not -entered the house, so thrilling and full of pathos was that voice, -usually so calm and frigid. - -Julia stood motionless, holding her breath. She saw nothing but the -outline of a slender person, the shadowy gleam of features through -masses of wavy hair, but it seemed as if she had met that graceful -vision before--it might be in a dream--it might be--stay, the young girl -lifted her head, and swept back the ringlets with her hand. A pair of -dark, liquid eyes fell upon the flower girl, and she knew the glance. -The eyes were larger, brighter, more densely circled with shadows than -they had been, but the tender expression, the soft loveliness, nothing -could change that. - -The hand dropped from among the ringlets it held, away from that pale -cheek, and a glow, as of freshly-gathered roses, broke through them as -Florence drew her form gently up, and stood with her eyes fixed upon the -intruder. - -Julia came forward, changing color with every step. - -"A gentleman--the lady, I mean--I--I was sent up here. If they want the -flowers for you, I would not mind, though the other lady has spoken for -them!" - -Florence cast her eyes on the basket of flowers; a bright smile kindled -over her face, and drawing the girl into the chamber, she took the heavy -basket in her arms, and, overpowered by its weight, sunk softly down to -the carpet, resting it in her lap. Thus, with the blossoms half buried -in the white waves of her dressing-gown, she literally buried her face -in them, while her very heart seemed to drink in the perfume that -exhaled again in broken and exquisite sighs. - -"And he sent them?--how good, how thoughtful! Oh! I am too--too happy!" - -She gathered up a double handful of the blossoms, and rained them back -into the basket. Their perfume floated around her; some of the buds fell -in the folds of her snowy muslin, that drooped like waves of foam over -her limbs. She was happy and beautiful as an angel gathering blossoms in -some chosen nook of Paradise. - -There was something contagious in all this--something that sent the dew -to Julia's eyes, and a glow of love to her heart. - -"I am glad--I am almost glad that he made me come in," she said, -dropping on her knees, that she might gather up some buds that had -fallen over the basket. "How I wish you could have them all! He offered -a large gold piece, but you know I could not take it. If we--that is, if -grandpa and grandma were rich, I never would take a cent for flowers; it -seems as if God made them on purpose to give away." - -"So they are not mine, after all?" said Florence, with a look and tone -of disappointment. - -"Yes--oh, yes, a few. That glass thing on the toilet, I will crowd it -quite full, the prettiest too--just take out those you like best." - -"Still he ordered them--he tried to purchase the whole, in that lies -happiness enough." The sweet, joyous look stole back to her face again; -that thought was more precious than all the fragrance and bloom she had -coveted. - -The door-bell rang. Florence heard persons coming from the parlor, she -started up leaving the basket at her feet. - -"Oh, I shall delay him--I shall be too late; will no one come to help -me?" she exclaimed. "I dare not ask her, but you, surely you could stay -for half an hour?" - -"I must stay if you wish it; he will not let me go; but indeed, indeed, -I am in haste. It will be quite dark." - -"I do not wish to keep you by force," said Florence, gently; "but you -seem kind, and I have no one to help me dress. Besides, she, his mother, -will not stay in the room, and the thought of being quite alone, with no -bridesmaid--no woman even for a witness--it frightens me!" - -"What--what is it that you wish of me?" questioned Julia while a sudden -and strange thrill ran through her frame. - -"I wish you to stay a little while to help to put on my dress, and then -go down with me. You look very young, but no one else will come near me, -and it seems unnatural to be married without a single female standing -by." - -Florence grew pale as she spoke; there was indeed something lonely and -desolate in her position, which all at once came over her with -overwhelming force. Julia, too, from surprise or some deeper feeling, -seemed struck with a sudden chill; her lips were slightly parted, the -color fled from her cheek. - -"Married! married!" she repeated, in a voice that fell upon the heart of -Florence like an omen. - -"To-night, in an hour, I shall be his wife!" How pale the poor bride was -as these words fell from her lips! How coldly lay the heart in her -bosom! She bent her head as if waiting for the guardian angel who should -have kept better watch over a being so full of trust and gentleness. - -"His wife! _his!_" said Julia, recoiling a step, "oh! how can you--how -can you!" - -A crimson flush shot over that pale forehead, and Florence drew up her -form to its full height. - -"Will you help me--will you stay?" - -"I dare not say no!" answered the child; "I would not, if I dare." - -Again the door-bell rang. "Hush!" said Florence, breathlessly; "it is -the clergyman; that is a strange voice, and he--Leicester--admits him. -How happy I thought to be at this hour; but I am chilly, chilly as -death; oh, help me, child!" - -She had been making an effort to arrange her hair, but her hands -trembled, and at length fell helplessly down. She really seemed -shivering with cold. - -"Sit down, sit down in this easy-chair, and let _me_ try," said Julia, -shaking off the chill that had settled on her spirits, and wheeling a -large chair, draped with white dimity, toward the toilet. Lights were -burning in tall candlesticks on each side of a swing mirror, whose frame -of filagreed and frosted silver gleamed ghastly and cold on the pale -face of the bride. - -"How white I am; will nothing give me a color?" cried the young -creature, starting up from the chair. "Warmth--that is what I want! My -dress--let us put on that first; then I can muffle myself in something -while you curl my hair." - -She took up a robe of costly Brussels lace. "Isn't it beautiful?" she -said, with a smile, shaking out the soft folds. "He sent it." She then -threw off her dressing-gown, and arrayed herself in the bridal robe; the -exertion seemed to animate her; a bright bloom rose to her cheek, and -her motions became nervous with excitement. - -"Some orange blossoms to loop up the skirt in front," she said, after -Julia had fastened the dress; "here, just here!" and she gathered up -some folds of the soft lace in her hand, watching the child as she fell -upon one knee to perform the task. Florence was trembling from head to -foot with the wild, eager excitement that had succeeded the chill of -which she had complained, and could do nothing for herself. When the -buds were all in place, she sunk into the easy-chair, huddling her snowy -arms and bosom in a rose-colored opera cloak; for, though her cheeks -were burning, cold shivers now and then seemed to ripple through her -veins. The soft trimming of swan's down, which she pressed to her bosom -with both hands, seemed devoid of all warmth one moment, and the next -she flung it aside glowing with over-heat. There was something more than -agitation in all this, but it gave unearthly splendor to her beauty. - -"Now--now," said Julia, laying the last ringlet softly down upon the -neck of the bride; "look at yourself, sweet lady, see how beautiful you -are." - -Florence stood up, and smiled as she saw herself in the mirror; an angel -from heaven could not have looked more delicately radiant. Masses of -raven curls fell upon the snowy neck and the bridal dress. Circling her -head, and bending with a soft curve to the forehead, was a light wreath -of starry jessamine flowers, woven with the deep, feathery green of some -delicate spray, that Julia selected from her basket because it was so -tremulous and fairy-like. All at once the smile fled from the lips of -Florence Craft; a look of mournful affright came to her eyes, and she -raised both hands to tear away the wreath. - -"Did you know it? Was this done on purpose?" she said, turning upon the -child. - -"What--what have I done?" - -"This wreath--these jessamines--you have woven them with cypress -leaves." Florence sunk into the chair shuddering; she had no strength to -unweave the ominous wreath from her head. - -"I--I did not know it," said the child greatly distressed; "they were -beautiful--I only thought of that. Shall I take them off, and put roses -in the place?" - -"Yes! yes--roses, roses--these make me feel like death!" - -That instant there was a gentle knock at the chamber door; Julia opened -it, and there stood Mr. Leicester. The child drew back: he saw Florence -standing before the toilet. - -"Florence, love, we are waiting!" - -He advanced into the chamber and drew her arm through his. She looked -back into the mirror, and shuddered till the cypress leaves trembled -visibly in her curls. - -"My beautiful--my wife!" whispered Leicester, pressing her hand to his -lips. - -What woman could withstand that voice--those words? The color came -rushing to her cheek again, the light to her eyes; she trembled, but not -with the ominous fear that possessed her a moment before. Those -words--sweeter than hope--shed warmth, and light, and joy where terror -had been. - -"Follow us!" said Leicester addressing the child. - -Julia moved forward: a thought seemed to strike the bridegroom; he -paused-- - -"You can write--at least well enough to sign your name?" he said. - -"Yes, I can write," she answered, timidly. - -"Very well--come!" - -The parlor was brilliantly illuminated, every shutter was closed, and -over the long window, hitherto shaded only with lace, fell curtains of -amber damask, making the seclusion more perfect. - -A clergyman was in the room, and Leicester had brought his servant as a -witness. This man stood near the window, leaning heavily against the -wall, his features immovable, his eyes bent upon the door. Julia started -as she saw him, for she remembered the time they had met before upon the -wharf, on that most eventful day of her life. His glance fell on her as -she came timidly in behind the bridegroom and the bride; there was a -slight change in his countenance, then a gleam of recognition, which -made the child feel less completely among strangers. - -It was a brief ceremony; the clergyman's voice was monotonous; the -silence chilling. Julia wept; to her it seemed like a funeral. - -The certificate was made out. Jacob signed his name, but so bunglingly -that no one could have told what it was. Mr. Leicester did not make the -effort. Julia took the pen, her little hand trembled violently, but the -name was written quite well enough for a girl of her years. - -"Now, sir--now, please, may I go?" she said, addressing Leicester. - -"Yes, yes--here is the piece of gold. I trust your employer will find no -fault--but first tell me where you live?" - -Julia told him where to find her humble abode, and hurried from the -room. Her basket of flowers had been left in the chamber above; she ran -up to get it, eager to be gone. In her haste she opened the nearest -door; it was a bed-room, dimly lighted, and by a low couch knelt the old -lady she had seen in the hall. Her hands were clasped, her white face -uplifted; there was anguish in her look, but that tearless anguish that -can only be felt after the passions are quenched. Julia drew softly -back. She found her basket in the next room, and came forth again, -bearing it on her arm. She heard Leicester's voice while passing through -the hall, and hurried out, dreading that he might attempt to detain her. - -Scarcely had the child passed out when Leicester came forth, leading -Florence by the hand. He spoke a few words to her in a low voice: "Try -and reconcile her, Florence. She never loved me, I know that, but who -could resist you? To-morrow, if she proves stubborn, I will take you -hence, or, at the worst, in a few days we will be ready for our voyage -to Europe." - -Florence listened with downcast eyes. "My father, my kind old father! he -will not be angry; he must have known how it would end when he gave me -to your charge. Still it may offend him to hear that I am married, when -he thinks me at school." - -"He will not be angry, love," said Leicester, and he thought of the -letter announcing old Mr. Craft's death. "But the good lady up stairs; -you must win her into a better mood before we meet again; till then, -sweet wife, adieu!" - -He kissed her hand two or three times--cast a hurried glance up stairs, -as if afraid of being seen, and then pressed her, for one instant, to -his bosom. - -"Sweet wife!" the name rang through and through her young heart like a -chime of music. She held her breath, and listened to his footsteps as he -left the house, then stole softly up the stairs. - -The clergyman went out while Julia was up stairs in search of her -flowers. Jacob Strong left the parlor at the same time, but instead of -returning, he let the clergyman out, and, moving back into the darkened -extremity of the hall, stood there, concealed and motionless. He -witnessed the interview between Leicester and Florence, and, so still -was everything around, heard a little of the conversation. - -Before Florence was half way up the stairs he came out of the darkness -and spoke to her. - -"Only a little while, dear lady, pray come back; I will not keep you -long." - -Florence, thinking that Leicester had left some message with his -servant, descended the stairs and entered the parlor. Jacob followed her -and closed the door; a few minutes elapsed--possibly ten, and there came -from the closed room a wild, passionate cry of anguish. The door was -flung open--the bride staggered forth, and supported herself against the -frame-work. - -"Mother! mother! oh, madam!" Her voice broke, and ended in gasping sobs. - -A door overhead opened, and the old lady whom Julia had seen upon her -knees came gliding like a black shadow down the stairs. - -"I thought that he had gone," she said, and her usually calm accent was -a little hurried. "Would he kill you under my roof? William Leicester!" - -"He is not here--he is gone," sobbed Florence, "but that man----" She -pointed with her finger toward Jacob Strong, who stood a little within -the door. He came forward, revealing a face from which all the stolid -indifference was swept away. It was not only troubled, but wet with -tears. - -"It is cruel--I have been awfully cruel," he said, addressing the old -lady--"but she must be told. I could not put it off. She thought herself -his wife." - -"I am his wife!--I am his wife!--_his wife_, do you hear?" almost -shrieked the wretched girl. "He called me so himself. _You_ saw us -married, and yet dare to slander him!" - -"Lady, she is not his wife!" said Jacob, sinking his voice, but speaking -earnestly, as if the task he had undertaken were very painful. "He is -married already!" - -"He told me--and gave me letters from abroad to prove that Ada, his -wife, was dead." The old lady spoke in her usual calm way, but her face -was paler than it had been, and her eyes were full of mournful -commiseration as she bent them upon the wretched bride. - -"Then he _was_ married--he has been married before!" murmured Florence, -and her poor, pale hands, fell helplessly down. The old lady drew close -to her, as if to offer some comfort, but she had so long held all -affectionate impulses in abeyance, that even this action was constrained -and chilling, though her heart yearned toward the poor girl. - -"Madam, did you believe him when he said his wife was no more?" -questioned Jacob Strong. - -The old lady shook her head, and a mournful smile stole across her thin -lips; pain is fearfully impressive when wrung from the heart in a smile -like that. Florence shuddered. - -"And you--you also, his mother!" burst from her quivering lips. - -"God forgive me! I am," answered the old lady. - -"Then," said Jacob Strong, turning his face resolutely from the poor, -young creature, whose heart his words were crushing: "Then, madam, you -have seen his wife--you would know her again?" - -"Yes, I should know her." - -"This night, this very night, you shall see her then. Come with me; this -poor young lady will not believe what I have said. Come and be a witness -that Mrs. Ada Leicester is alive--alive with his knowledge. Two hours -from this you shall see them together--Leicester and his wife, the -mother of his child. Will you come? there seems no other way by which -this poor girl can be saved." - -"I--I will go! let me witness this meeting," cried Florence, suddenly -arousing herself, and standing upright. "I will not take his word nor -yours; you slander him, you slander him! If he has a wife, let me look -upon her with my own eyes." - -The old lady and Jacob looked at each other. Florence stood before -them, her soft eyes flashing, her cheeks fired with the blood grief had -driven from her heart. - -"You dare not--I know it, you dare not!" - -Still her auditors looked at each other in painful doubt. - -"I knew that it was false!" cried Florence, with a laugh of wild -exultation. "You hesitate, this proves it. To-morrow, madam, I will -leave this roof--I will go to my husband. The very presence of those who -slander him is hateful to me. To-night; yes, this instant, I will go." - -"Let her be convinced," said the old lady. - -The strong nerves of Jacob gave way. He looked at that young face, so -beautiful in its wild anguish, and shrunk from the consequences of the -conviction that awaited her. - -"It would be her death," he said. "I cannot do it!" - -"Better death than that which might follow this unbelief." - -The old lady placed her hand upon Jacob's arm, and drew him aside. They -conversed together in low voices, and Florence regarded them with her -large, wild eyes, as a wounded gazelle might gaze upon its pursuers. - -"Come!" said Leicester's mother, attempting to lay her hand upon the -shrinking arm of the bride; "it needs some preparation, but you shall -go. God help us both, this is a fearful task!" - -Florence was strong with excitement. She turned, and almost ran up the -stairs. Jacob went out, and during the next two hours, save a slight -sound in the upper rooms, from time to time, the cottage seemed -abandoned. - -At length a carriage stopped at the gate. Jacob entered, and seating -himself in the parlor, waited. They came down at last, but so changed, -that no human penetration could have detected their identity. The old -lady was still in black, but so completely enveloped in a veil of glossy -silk, that nothing but her eyes could be seen. A diamond crescent upon -the forehead, a few silver stars scattered among the sombre folds that -flowed over her person, gave sufficient character to a dress that was -only chosen as a disguise. - -Florence was in a similar dress, save that everything about her was -snowy white. A veil of flowing silk had been cast over her bridal array, -glossy and wave-like, but thick enough to conceal her features. Gleams -of violet and rosy tulle floated over this, like the first tints of -sunrise and the morning star, sparkling with diamonds, gathered up the -veil on her left temple, leaving it to flow, like the billows of a -cloud, over her form, and downward till it swept her feet. Without a -word the three went forth and entered the carriage. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -AN HOUR BEFORE THE BALL. - - The child stands, meekly, by her mother. - Look, woman, in those earnest eyes! - Say, canst thou understand, or smother - The deep maternal mysteries - - That rise and swell within thy breast; - That throb athwart thy aching brain, - Till, with deep tenderness oppressed, - Hope, thought, and feeling turn to pain? - - -We take the reader once more to the residence of Ada Leicester--not as -formerly, when the tempest raged around its walls, and darkness slept in -its sumptuous rooms--when the wail of tortured hearts and sobs of -anguish alone broke the gloomy stillness--not as then do we revisit this -stately mansion. Now it is lighted up like a fairy palace; through the -richly stained sashes, from the gables, and the ivy-clad tower, clouds -of tinted light kindle the bland autumnal atmosphere to a soft golden -haze. The tall old trees that surround the mansion seem bending beneath -a fruitage of stars, so thickly are they beset with lamps that light up -the depths of their ripe foliage. So broad is the illumination, so rich -the tinted rays, you might see to gather fall flowers from the ground, -even to their shaded extremity. White dahlias are amber-hued in that -mellow light; wax balls hang like drops of gold in the thickets; the ivy -leaves about the narrow windows of the tower seem dripping with -starlight; and a woodbine that has crept up one of the young maples, a -little way off, glows out along the golden foliage so vividly, that the -branches seem absolutely on fire. - -Julia Warren approached this mansion with wonder. It seemed like -something she had read of in a fairy tale--the lamps gleaming among the -trees and in the thickets; the foliage so strangely luminous; the crisp -grass tinged with a brownish and golden green; all these things were -like enchantment to the child whose life had been spent in a comfortless -basement. She looked around in delighted bewilderment; the very basket -upon her arm seemed filled with strange blossoms as she entered the -lofty vestibule, and changed the richly hued atmosphere, without for the -flood of pure gas-light that filled the dwelling. - -"Oh! here she is at last--why, child, what has kept you?" - -A pretty young woman, in a jaunty cap and pink ribbons, made this -exclamation, while Julia stood looking about for some one to address. -Her manner, her quick but graceful movements, had an imposing effect -upon the child. - -"Are you the lady?" she said. - -"No--no!" answered the girl, with a pretty laugh, for the compliment -pleased her. "Come up stairs--quick, quick--my lady has been _so_ -impatient." - -They went up a flight of steps, the waiting-maid exchanging words with a -footman who passed them, Julia treading lightly under her load of -flowers. Her little feet sunk into the carpet at every step; once only -in her life had she felt the same elastic swell follow her tread. Yet -nothing could be more unlike than the dark mansion that rose upon her -memory, and the vision-like beauty of everything upon which her eyes -rested. The floors seemed literally trodden down with flowers. Rich -draperies of silk met her eye wherever she turned. A door swung open to -the touch of the waiting-maid. Julia remembered the room which they -entered--the couch of carved ivory and azure damask--the lace curtains -that hung against the windows like floating frost-work, and the rich -blue waves that fell over them. Clearer than all she recognised the -marble Flora placed near the couch, bending from its pedestal, with pure -and classic grace, and gazing so intently on the white lilies in its -hand, as if it doubted that the flowers were indeed but a beautiful -mockery of nature. - -Julia drew a quick breath as she recognised all these objects, but the -waiting maid gave her but little time even for surprise. She crossed the -room and opened a door on the opposite side. They entered a -dressing-room, leading evidently to a sumptuous bed-chamber, for through -the open door Julia could see glimpses of rose-colored damask sweeping -from the windows, and a snow white bed, over which masses of embroidered -lace fell in transparent waves to the floor. The dressing-room -corresponded with the chamber, but Julia saw nothing of its splendor. -Her eyes were turned upon a toilet richly draped with lace, and littered -with jewels; a standing-glass set in frosted silver, was lighted on each -side by a small alabaster lamp, which hung against the exquisite chasing -like two great pearls, each with perfumed flame breaking up from its -heart. - -It was not the sight of this superb toilet, though a fortune had been -flung carelessly upon it, that made the child's heart beat so -tumultuously, but the lady who stood before it. Her back was toward the -door, but Julia _felt_ who she was, though the beautiful features were -only reflected upon her from the mirror. - -The lady turned. Her eyes were bent upon the diamond bracelet she was -attempting to clasp on her arm. Oh! how different was that face from the -tear-stained features Julia had seen that dark night. How radiant, how -more than beautiful she was now! Every movement replete with grace; -every look brilliant with flashes of exultant loveliness! - -How great was the contrast between that superb creature, in her robe of -rich amber satin, heightened by the floating lustre of soft Brussels -lace, which fell around her like a web of woven moonlight, and the -humble child who stood there so motionless, with the flower-basket at -her feet. The pink hood, faded with much washing, shaded her eyes; her -hands were folded beneath the little plaid shawl that half concealed her -cheap calico dress. Notwithstanding this contrast between the proud and -mature beauty of the woman and the meek loveliness of the child, there -was an air, a look--something indeed indescribable in one, which -reminded you of the other. Ada turned suddenly, and moved a step toward -the child; a thousand rainbow gleams flashed from the folds of her lace -overdress as she moved; a massive wreath of gems lighted up the golden -depths of her tresses, but its brilliancy was not more beautiful than -the smile with which she recognized the little girl. - -"And so you have found me again," she said, untying the pink hood, and -smoothing the bright hair thus exposed with her two palms, much to the -surprise of the waiting-maid. "Look, Rosanna, is she not lovely, with -her meek eyes and that smile?" - -The waiting-maid turned her eyes from the lady to the child. - -"Beautiful! why, madam the smile is your own." - -"Rosanna!" cried the lady, "this is flattery; never again speak of my -resemblance to any one, especially to a child of that age. It offends, -it pains me!" - -"I did not think to offend, madam; the little girl is so pretty--how -could I?" - -Ada did not heed her; she was gazing earnestly on the little girl. The -smile had left her face, and this made a corresponding change in the -sensitive child. She felt as if some offence had been given, else why -should the lady look into her eyes with such earnest sadness? - -"What is your name?" - -The question was given in a low and hesitating voice. - -"Julia--Julia Warren." - -"That is enough. Rosanna, never speak in this way again!" - -"Never, if madam desires it. But the flowers: see what quantities the -little thing has brought. No wonder she was late--such a load." - -"True, we were waiting for the flowers; here, fill my bouquet -holder--the choicest, remember--and let every blossom be fragrant." - -Rosanna took a bouquet-holder, whose delicate network of gold seemed too -fragile for all the jewels with which it was enriched, and kneeling upon -the floor, began to arrange a cluster of flowers. Her active fingers had -just wound the last crimson and white roses together, when a footman -knocked at the door. She started up, and went to see what was wanted. - -"Madam, the company are arriving; two carriages have set down their -loads already." - -Ada had been too long in society for this announcement to confuse or -hurry her, had no other cause of excitement arisen; as it was, the -superb repose, usual to her manner, was disturbed. - -"Who are they? have you seen them before?" she asked. - -"Yes, madam, often." - -"No stranger--no gentleman who never came before--you are certain?" - -"None, madam." - -There was something more in this than the usual anxiety of a hostess to -receive her guests. - -"I am insane to loiter here," she murmured, drawing on her gloves; "he -might come and I not there; for the universe I would not miss his first -look. The bouquet, Rosanna, and handkerchief--where is my handkerchief?" - -"Is this it, ma'am?" said Julia, raising a soft mass of gossamer cambric -and costly lace from the carpet, where it had fallen. - -This drew Ada's notice once more to the child. - -"Oh! I had forgotten," she said, going back to the toilet and taking up -a purse that lay among the jewel cases; "I have not time to count it; -take the money, but some day you must bring back the purse--remember." - -She took her bouquet hastily from the waiting-maid, and went out, -leaving the purse in Julia's hand. After crossing the boudoir, she -turned back. - -"Remember, the flowers are for these rooms," she said, addressing the -maid, and waving her hand, with a motion that indicated the bed-chamber -and boudoir. "Let me find them everywhere." - -With this command, she disappeared, leaving the doors open behind her. - -Julia drew a deep breath, as the wave of her garments was lost in -descending the stairs; turning sorrowfully away, her eyes fell upon the -purse; several gold pieces gleamed through the crimson net work. - -"What shall I do--these cannot be all mine? the flowers did not cost -half so much." - -"No matter," was the cheerful reply; "she gave it to you. It is her way; -keep it." - -The child still hesitated. - -"If you think it is not all right, say so when you bring back the -purse," said the maid, good naturedly. "Who knows but it may prove a -fairy gift? I'm sure her presents often do." - -Julia was not quite convinced, even by this kind prophecy. Still, she -had no choice but obedience, and so, bidding pretty Rosanna a gentle -good night, she stole through the boudoir and away through the front -entrance, for she knew of no other; and folding her shawl closer, as she -encountered crowds of brilliantly dressed people she passed through the -vestibule. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -THE FORGED CHECK. - - Secure in undiscovered crime - The callous soul grows bold at length. - Stern justice sometimes bides her time, - But strikes at last with double strength. - - -Leicester went to the Astor House after his marriage, for though he had -accepted an invitation to Mrs. Gordon's fancy ball, which was turning -the fashionable world half crazy, matters more important demanded his -attention. Premeditating a crime which might bring its penalty directly -upon his own person, he had made arrangements to evade all possible -chance of this result, by embarking at once for Europe with his falsely -married bride. In order to prepare funds for this purpose, the project -for which Robert Otis had been so long in training, had been that day -put in action. The old copy-book, with its mass of evidence, was, as he -supposed, safe in Robert's apartment. The check, forged with marvellous -accuracy, which we have seen placed in his letter case, passed that -morning into the hands of his premeditated victim, and at night the -youth was to meet him with the money. Thus everything seemed secure. -True, his own hands had signed the check, but Robert had presented it at -the bank, _he_ would draw the money. When the fraud became known, _his_ -premises would be searched, and there was the old copy-book bearing -proofs of such practice in penmanship as would condemn any one. Over and -over again might the very signature of that forged check be found in the -pages of this book, on scraps of loose paper, and even on other checks -bearing the same imprint, and on the same paper. With proof so strong -against the youth, how was suspicion to reach Leicester? Would the -simple word of an accused lad be taken? And what other evidence existed? -None--none. It was a fiendishly woven plot, and at every point seemed -faultless. Still Leicester was ill at ease. The consciousness that the -act of this day had placed him within possible reach of the law, was -unpleasant to a man in whom prudence almost took the place of -conscience. The hour had arrived, but Robert was not at Leicester's -chamber when he returned. This made the evil-doer anxious and restless. -He walked the room, he leaned from the window and looked out upon the -crowd below. He drank off glass after glass of wine, and for once -suffered all the fierce tortures of dread and suspense which he had so -ruthlessly inflicted on others. - -At this time Robert Otis was in the building, waiting for Jacob Strong. -That strange personage came at last, but more agitated than Robert had -ever seen him. Well he might be; an hour before he had left Leicester's -wretched bride but half conscious of her misery, and making -heart-rending struggles to disbelieve the wrong that had been practised -upon her. In an hour more he was to conduct her where she would learn -all the sorrow of her destiny. Jacob had a feeling heart, and these -thoughts gave him more pain than any one would have deemed possible. - -"Here is the money; go down at once and give it to him; I heard his step -in the chamber," he said, addressing Robert. "The count is correct, I -drew it myself from the bank this morning." - -"Tell me, is this money yours?" questioned the youth, "I would do -nothing in the dark." - -"You are right, boy; no, the money is not mine, I am not worth half the -sum. I have no time for a long story, but there is one--a lady, rich -beyond anything you ever dreamed of--who takes a deep interest in this -bad man." - -"What, Florence--Miss Craft?" exclaimed Robert. - -"No, an older and still more noble victim. I had but to tell her the -money would be used for him, and, behold, ten thousand dollars--the sum -he thought enough to pay for your eternal ruin. My poor nephew!" - -"Nephew, did you say, nephew, Jacob?" - -"Yes, call me Jacob--Jacob Strong--Uncle Jacob--call me anything you -like, for I have loved you, I have tried you--kiss me! kiss me! I -haven't had you in my arms since you were a baby--and I want something -to warm my heart. I never thought it could ache as it has to-night." - -"Uncle Jacob--my mother's only brother--I do not understand it, but to -know this is enough!" - -The youth flung himself upon Jacob's bosom, and for a moment was almost -crushed in those huge arms. - -"Now that has done me lots of good!" exclaimed the uncle, brushing a -tear from his eyes with the cuff of his coat, a school-boy habit that -came back with the first powerful home feeling. "Now go down and feed -the serpent with this money. You won't be afraid to mind me now." - -"No, if you were to order me to jump out of the window I would do it." - -"You might, you might, for I would be at the bottom to catch you in my -arms! Here is the money, I will be in the drawing-room as a witness: it -won't be the first time, I can tell you." - -Leicester started and turned pale, even to his lips, as Robert entered -his chamber, for a sort of nervous dread possessed him; and in order to -escape from this, his anxiety to obtain means of leaving the country -became intense. He looked keenly at Robert, but waited for him to speak. -The youth was also pale, but resolute and self-possessed. - -"The bank was closed before I got there," he said, in a quiet, business -tone, placing a small leathern box on the table, and unlocking it, "but -I found a person who was willing to negotiate the check. He will not -want the money at once, and so it saves him the trouble of making a -deposit." - -Leicester could with difficulty suppress the exclamation of relief that -sprang to his lips, as Robert opened the box, revealing it half full of -gold; but remembering that any exhibition of pleasure would be out of -place, he observed, with apparent composure-- - -"You have counted it, I suppose? Were you obliged to exchange bills -with any of the brokers, as I directed, to get the gold?" - -"No, it was paid as you see it," answered the youth, moving toward the -door; for his heart so rose against the man, that he could not force -himself to endure the scene a moment longer than was necessary. - -"Stay, take the box with you," said Leicester, pouring the gold into a -drawer of his desk; "I will not rob you of that." - -Robert understood the whole; a faint smile curved his lip, and taking -the box, he went out. - -"No evidence--nothing but pure gold," muttered Leicester, exultingly, as -he closed the drawer. "It is well for you, my young friend, that the -holder of that precious document does not wish to present his check at -once. Liberty is sweet to the young, and this secures a few more days of -its enjoyment for you--and for me! Ah, there everything happens most -fortunately. Why, a good steamer will put us half over the Atlantic -before this little mistake is suspected." - -Leicester was a changed man after this; his spirits rose with unnatural -exhilaration. - -"Now for this grand ball," he said aloud, surveying his fine person in -the glass. "Surely a man's wedding garments ought to be fancy dress -enough. Another pair of gloves, though. This comes of temptation. I must -finger the gold, forsooth." - -The ruthless man smiled, and muttered these broken fragments of thought, -as he took off the scarcely soiled gloves, and replaced them with a pair -still more spotlessly white. He was a long time fitting them on his -hand. He fastidiously rearranged other portions of his dress. All sense -of the great fraud, that ought to have borne his soul to the earth, had -left him when the gold appeared. You could see, by his broken words, how -completely lighter fancies had replaced the black deed. - -"This Mrs. Gordon--I wonder if she really is the creature they represent -her to be. If it were not for this voyage to Europe, now, one -might--no, no, there is no chance now; but I'll have a sight at her." -Thus muttering and smiling, Leicester left the hotel. - -The evening was very beautiful, and Leicester always loved to enter a -fashionable drawing-room after the guests had assembled. He reflected -that a quiet walk would bring him to Mrs. Gordon's mansion about the -time he thought most desirable, and sauntered on, resolved, at any rate, -not to reach his destination too early. But sometimes he fell into -thought, and then his pace became unconsciously hurried. He reached the -upper part of the city earlier than he had intended, and had taken out -his watch before a lighted window, to convince himself of the time, when -a timid voice addressed him-- - -"Sir, will you please tell me the name of this street?" - -He turned, and saw the little girl whom he had forced to become a -witness to his marriage. She shrunk back, terrified, on recognizing him. - -"I did not know--I did not mean it," she faltered out. - -"What, have you lost your way?" said Leicester, in a voice that made her -shiver, though it was low and sweet enough. - -"Yes, sir, but I can find it!" - -"Where do you live?--oh, I remember. Well, as I have time enough, what -if I walk a little out of my way, and see that nothing harms you?" - -"No, no--the trouble!" - -"Never mind the trouble. You shall show me where you live, pretty one; -then I shall be certain where to find you again." - -Still Julia hesitated. - -"Besides," said Leicester, taking out his purse, "you forget, I have not -paid for robbing your basket of all those pretty flowers." - -"No!" answered the child, now quite resolutely. "I am paid. The poor -young lady is welcome to them." - -Leicester laughed. "The poor young lady!--my own pretty bride! Well, I -like that." - -Julia walked on. She hoped that he would forget his object, or only -intended to frighten her. But he kept by her side, and was really amused -by the terror inflicted on the child. He had half an hour's time on his -hand--how could he kill it more pleasantly? Besides, he really was -anxious to know with certainty where the young creature lived. She was -one of his witnesses. She had, in a degree, become connected with his -fate. Above all, she was terrified to death, and like Nero, Leicester -would have amused himself with torturing flies, if no larger or fiercer -animal presented itself. His evil longing to give pain was insatiable as -the Roman tyrant's, and more cruel; for while Nero contented himself -with physical agony, Leicester appeased his craving spirit with nothing -but keen mental feeling. The Roman emperor would sometimes content -himself with a fiddle; but the music that Leicester loved best was the -wail of sensitive heart-strings. - -"I live here," said Julia, stopping short, before a low, old house, in a -close side street, breathless with the efforts she had made to escape -her tormentor. "Do not go any farther, Grandpa never likes to see -strangers." - -"Go on--go on," answered Leicester, in a tone that was jeeringly -good-natured; "grandpa will be delighted." - -Julia ran desperately down the area steps. She longed to close the -basement door after her and hold it against the intruder, but as this -idea flashed across her mind, Leicester stood by her side in the dark -hall. She ran forward and opened the door of that poor basement room -which was her home. Still he kept by her side. The basement was full of -that dusky gloom which a handful of embers had power to shed through the -darkness; for the old people, whose outlines were faintly seen upon the -hearth, were still too poor for a prodigal waste of light when no work -was to be done by it. - -"Is it you, darling, and so out of breath?" said the voice of an old -man, who rose and began to grope with his hand upon the mantel-piece. -"What kept you so long? poor grandma has been in a terrible way about -it." While he spoke, the grating of a match that would not readily -ignite, was heard against the chimney piece. - -"The gentleman, grandpa--here is a gentleman. He would come!" cried the -child, artlessly. - -This seemed to startle the old man. The match would not kindle; he -stooped down and touched it to a live ember; as he rose again the pale -blue flames fell upon the face of his wife, and rose to his own -features. The illumination was but for a moment--then the wick began to -fuse slowly into flame, but it was nearly half a minute before the -miserable candle gave out its full complement of light. The old man -turned toward the open door, shading the candle with his hand. - -"Where, child? I see no gentleman." - -Julia looked around. A moment before, Leicester had stood at her side. -"He is gone--he is gone," she exclaimed, springing forward. "Oh, -grandma--oh, grandpa, how he did frighten me; it was the man I saw on -the wharf, that day!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -NIGHT AND MORNING. - - We think to conquer circumstance, and sometimes win - A hold upon events that seemeth power. - But nothing stable waiteth upon sin; - God holds the cords of life, and in an hour - The strongest fabric built by human mind - Falls with a crash, and leaves a wreck behind. - - -Splendid beyond anything hitherto known in American life, was the ball, -of which our readers have obtained but partial glimpses. At least a -dozen rooms, some of them palatial in dimensions, others bijoux of -elegance, were thrown open to the brilliant throng that had begun to -assemble when the flower-girl left the mansion. The conservatory was -filled with blossoming plants, and lighted entirely by lamps, placed in -alabaster vases, or swinging-like moons, from the waves of crystal that -formed the roof. Masses of South American plants sheeted the sides with -blossoms. Passion flowers crept up the crystal roof, and drooped their -starry blossoms among the lamps. Trees, rich with the light feathery -foliage peculiar to the tropics, bent over and sheltered the blossoming -plants. An aquatic lily floated in the marble basin of a tiny fountain, -spreading its broad green leaves on the water, and sheltering a host of -arrowy, little gold-fish, that flashed in and out from their shadows. -The air was redolent with heliotrope, daphnes, and cape-jessamines. Soft -mosses crept around the marble basin, and dropped downward to the -tesselated floor. It was like entering fairy land, as you came into this -star-lit wilderness of flowers, from a noble picture-gallery, which -divided it from the reception room. It was one of Dunlap's -master-pieces. No artist ever arranged a more noble picture--no peri -ever found a lovelier paradise. The silken curtains that divided the -picture-gallery from the reception rooms were drawn back; thus a vista -was formed down which the eye wandered till the perspective lost itself -in the star-lighted masses of foliage; and on entering the first -drawing-room, which was flooded with gas-light, a scene was presented -that no European palace could rival, save in extent. Each of the tall, -stained windows, had a corresponding recess, filled with mirrors that -multiplied and reflected back every beautiful object within its range. -Fresco paintings gleamed from the ceilings, but so delicately managed -and enwrought in the light golden scrolls, that all over-gorgeousness -was avoided. Each room possessed distinct colors, and had its own style -of ornament; but natural contrasts were so strictly maintained, and -harmonies so managed, that the rooms, when all thrown open, presented -one brilliant whole, that might have been studied like the work of a -great artist, and always found to present new beauties. - -The rooms filled rapidly. The fancy dresses gave new eclat to the rooms. -No royal court day ever presented a scene of greater magnificence. The -flash of jewels--the wave of feathers--the glitter of brocades, had -something regal in it, quite at variance with the simple republican -habits with which our young country began its career among the nations -of the earth. But in all this dazzling throng, our story deals more -particularly with the four persons toward whom destiny was making rapid -strides through all this glitter and gaiety. - -William Leicester entered among the latest guests. The evening had been -so full of events, that even his iron nerves were shaken, and he entered -the mansion with pale cheeks and glittering eyes, as if conscious that -he was rushing forward to his fate. - -What was it that prompted the tantalizing wish to follow that young girl -home, till she led him into the presence of that old couple, cowering -over the fire in that dark basement? What evil spirit was crowding -events so closely around him? He began to feel a sort of self-distrust; -something like superstition crept over him, and he panted to place the -Atlantic between himself and all these haunting perplexities. - -A few distinguished persons had been allowed to attend the ball in -citizens' dress, and among these, was Leicester, who appeared in the -elegant but unostentatious suit worn at his wedding ceremony. - -"Why, Leicester, you are pale! Has anything happened; or is it only the -effect of that white vest?" said a young Turk, who stood near the -entrance, removing his admiring eyes from the point of his own -embroidered slipper, to regard his friend. - -"Pale! No, I am only tired, making preparations for Europe, you know." - -"A great bore, isn't it?" answered the young man, adjusting his cashmere -scarf. "Isn't Mrs. Gordon beautiful to-night; the handsomest woman in -the room, not to speak of uncounted pyramids! She'd be a catch--even for -you, Leicester." - -"She must have demolished some of her pyramids, before this paradise was -created, I fancy," answered Leicester, looking down the vista of open -rooms, now crowded with life and beauty. - -"Yes, three at least," replied the juvenile Turk, planting one foot -forward on the carpet, that he might admire the flow of his ample -trousers; "one hundred and fifty thousand never paid for a place like -this." - -"So you, young gentleman, set fifty thousand down as a pyramid. Now, -what if a lady chances to have only the half of that sum; how do you -estimate her?" - -"Twenty-five thousand!" repeated the exquisite; "a woman with no more -than that isn't worth estimating; at any rate, till after a fellow gets -to be an old fogy of two or three and twenty." - -A quiet, mocking smile curved Leicester's lip. Though rather sensitive -regarding his own age, he was really amused by this specimen of Young -America. - -"So, this widow, with so many pyramids--you think she would be a match -worth looking after. What if I make the effort?" - -"If you were twenty or twenty-five years younger, it might do." - -Leicester laughed outright. - -"Well, as I am too old for a rival, perhaps you will show me where the -lady is; I have never seen her yet." - -"What--never seen Mrs. Gordon, the beautiful Mrs. Gordon! I thought you -old chaps were keener on the scent. I know half a hundred young -gentlemen dead in for it." - -"Then there is certainly no chance for me." - -"I should rather think not," replied the youth, smiling complacently at -his own reflection in an opposite mirror; "especially without costume. A -dress like this, now, is a sort of thing that takes with women." - -Leicester was getting weary of the youth. - -"Well," he said, "if you will not aid me, I must find the lady myself." - -"Oh, wait till the crowd leaves us an opening. There, the music strikes -up--they are off for the waltz; now you have a good view; isn't she -superb?" - -For one moment a cloud came over Leicester's eyes. He swept his gloved -hand over them, and now he saw clearly. - -"Which--which is Mrs. Gordon?" he said in a sharp voice, that almost -startled the young exquisite out of his oriental propriety. - -"Why, how dull you are--as if there ever existed another woman on earth -to be mistaken for her." - -"Is that the woman?" questioned Leicester, almost extending his arm -toward a lady dressed as Ceres, who stood near the door of an adjoining -room. - -"Of course it is. Come, let me present you, while there is a chance, -though how the deuce you got here without a previous introduction, I -cannot tell. Come, she is looking this way." - -"Not yet," answered Leicester, drawing aside, where he was less liable -to observation. - -"Why, how strangely you look all at once. Caught with the first glance, -ha?" persisted his tormentor. - -Leicester attempted to smile, but his lips refused to move. He would -have spoken, but for once speech left him. - -"Come, come, I am engaged for the next polka." - -"Excuse me," answered Leicester, drawing his proud figure to its full -height; "I was only jesting; Mrs. Gordon and I are old acquaintances." - -"Then I will go find my partner," cried the Turk, half terrified by the -flash of those fierce eyes. - -"Do," said Leicester, leaning upon the slab of a music table that stood -near. - -And now, with a fiend at his heart and fire in his eye, William -Leicester stood regarding his wife. - -Ada had given this ball for a purpose. It was here, surrounded by all -the pomp and state secured by position and immense wealth, that she -intended once more to meet her husband. What hidden motive lay in the -depths of her mind, I do not know. Perhaps--for love like hers will -descend to strange humiliations--she expected to win back a gleam of his -old tenderness, by the magnificence which she knew he loved so well. -Perhaps she really intended to startle him by her queenly presence, load -him with scornful reproaches, and so separate forever. This, probably, -was the reason she gave to her own heart; but I still think a dream of -reconciliation slept at the bottom of it all. - -At another time Ada would have been dressed with less magnificence under -her own roof: for her taste was perfect, and the elegant simplicity of -her style was at all times remarkable. But now she had an object to -accomplish--a proud soul to humble to the dust; and she loaded herself -with pomp, as a warrior encases himself in armor just before a battle. - -The character of Ceres, in which she appeared, was peculiarly adapted to -the perfection of her beauty and the natural grace of her person. In -order to increase the magnificence of this costume, she had ordered all -her jewels to be reset at Ball & Black's, in wreaths, bouquets, and -clusters, adapted to the character; and as Leicester gazed upon her from -the distance, his eyes were absolutely dazzled with flashes of rainbow -light that followed every movement of her person. - -Her over-skirt of fine Brussels point was gathered up in soft clouds -from the amber satin dress, by clusters of fruit, grass, and leaves, all -of precious stones. Cherries, the size of life, cut from glowing -carbuncles; grapes in amethyst clusters, or amber hued, from the -Oriental topaz; stems of ruby currants; crab-apples, cut from the red -coral of Naples; with wheat ears, barbed with gold, and set thick with -diamond grain; all mingled with leaves and bending grass, lighted with -emeralds, were grouped among the gossamer lace, whence the light came -darting forth with a thousand sunset glories. - -Her fair, round arms were exposed almost to the shoulder, where a -quantity of soft lace, that fell like a mist across her bosom, was -gathered up with clusters of fruit-like jewels. Her hair, arranged after -the fashion of a Greek statue, flowed back from the head in waves and -ringlets, and was crowned by a garland of jewels that shot rays of -tinted light through all her golden tresses. The choicest jewels she -possessed had been reserved for this garland, wreathed in both fruit and -flowers. Here diamond fuschias, veined with rubies, and forget me-nots -of torquoise, each with a yellow pearl at the heart, were grouped with -diamond wheat ears and stems of currants, some heavy with ruby fruit, -others beset with yellow diamonds. The grape leaves that fell around her -temples were green with emeralds, and a single cluster of cherries, -formed from carbuncles, that seemed to have a drop of wine floating at -the heart, drooped over her white forehead. Great diamond drops were -scattered like dew over these dazzling clusters, and fell away down the -ringlets of her hair. - -Ada stood beneath the blaze of a chandelier, that poured its light over -the singular wreath, and struck the jewels of her girdle, till they sent -it back in broken flashes. Waves of lace were gathered beneath this -girdle, as we find the drapery around those antique statues of Ceres, -still existing in fragments at Athens. - -Leicester stood motionless, gazing upon his wife. Every gem about her -person seemed to fix its value upon his mind. This surprise had -overpowered him for a moment, but no event had the power to disturb him, -even for the brief time he had been regarding her. - -His resolution was taken. Self-possessed, and, but for a wild brilliancy -of the eyes and a slight paleness about the mouth, tranquil as if they -had parted but yesterday, he moved down the room. - -The crowd was drawn off toward the dancing saloon, and at that moment -the reception room, in which Ada stood, was somewhat relieved of the -glittering crowd that had pressed around her but a moment before. - -Still several persons were grouped near her, glad to seize upon every -disengaged moment of the hostess; for never in her brightest mood had -she been half so brilliant as now. Her lips grew red with the flashes -of wit that passed through them. Her eyes flashed with animation, and a -warm scarlet flush lay upon her cheek, burning there like flame, but -growing more and more brilliant as the evening wore on. Sometimes she -would pause in the midst of a sentence, and look searchingly in the -crowd. Then a frown would contract her forehead, as if the jewelled -garland were beset with hidden thorns that pierced her temples; but when -reminded of this her smile grew brilliant again, and some flash of wit -displaced the impression her countenance had made the moment before. - -She had just made some laughing reply to a gentleman who stood near her, -and turning away, cast another of those anxious looks over the room. She -gave a faint start; her eye flashed, and drawing her form up to its full -height, she stood with curved lips and burning cheeks, ready to receive -her husband. He came down the room, slowly moving forward with his usual -noiseless grace. He paused now and then as the crowd pressed on him, and -it was a full minute after she first saw him, before he approached her -near enough to speak. - -"My dear lady, I shall never forgive myself for coming so late," he -said, reaching forth his hand. "Why did not your invitations say at once -that we were invited to paradise?" - -For one moment Ada turned pale and lost her self-possession. The -audacious coolness of the man astonished her. She had expected to take -him by surprise, and promised herself the enjoyment of his confusion; -but before his speech was finished the blood rushed to her cheek, her -lips grew red again, and her eyes seemed showering fire into his. He had -taken her hand, while speaking, and pressed it gently, but with a -meaning that aroused all the pride of her nature. - -Did he hope to practice his old arts upon her? Was she a school girl to -be won back by a pressure of the hand and frothy compliments to her -dwelling? The crafty man had mistaken her for once. She withdrew her -hand with a laugh. - -"So you were ignorant that the goddess of plenty reigned here." - -There was meaning in the light words, and for an instant Leicester's -audacious eyes fell beneath the glance of hers; but he recovered himself -with a breath. - -"The character is badly chosen. I could have selected better." - -"What, pray--what would you have selected?" she asked, with breathless -haste. - -He stooped forward, and with a smile upon his lips, as if he had been -uttering a compliment, whispered "A Niobe." - -The tone in which this was uttered, more than the words, stung her. - -She drew back with a suddenness that scattered the light like sunbeams -from her jewelled garland. - -"Everything that Niobe loved turned to stone. In that we are alike," she -said, in a suppressed voice that trembled with feeling. - -He bent his head and was about to answer in the same undertone, but she -drew back with a low defiant laugh. - -"No--no. It is a sad character, and I have long since done with tears," -she answered, turning to a gay group that had gathered around her, "What -say you, gentlemen, our friend here prefers a mournful character; do I -look like a woman who ever weeps?" - -"Not unless the angels weep," answered one of the group. - -"Angels do weep when they leave the homes assigned to them," whispered -Leicester, again bending towards her, "and it is fitting that they -should." - -She did not recoil that time. His words rather stung her into strength, -and strange to say, Leicester seemed less hateful to her while uttering -these covert reproaches, than his first adroit compliment had rendered -him. A retort was on her lip, but that instant a group came in from the -dancing saloon, laughing and full of excitement. - -"Oh, Mrs. Gordon, such a droll character!" cried a flower girl, pressing -her way to the hostess; "a postman with bundles of letters, real -letters; you never saw anything like it. I'm sure Mr. Willis and some -other poets here, that I could point out, have had a hand in getting up -this mail, for some of the letters are full of delightful poetry. Only -look here, isn't this sweet?" - -The girl held up an open paper, in which half a dozen lines of poetry -were visible. - -"Read it aloud--read it aloud," cried several voices at once. "No one -has secrets here!" - -"Oh, I wouldn't for anything," answered the young lady, tossing the -flowers about in her basket, with a simper; "Mrs. Gordon won't insist, I -am sure." - -Ada saw what was expected of her, and held the letter aloof, when the -young lady made feints at snatching it away. - -"But what if Mrs. Gordon does insist?" she said. "The postman has no -business to bring letters here that are not for the public amusement." - -"Well, now, isn't it too bad," cried the flower girl, striving to -conceal her satisfaction with a pout. "I am sure it's not my fault." - -"Read, read," cried voices from the crowd. - -"No," said Ada, weary with the scene, and mischievously inclined to -punish the girl for her affectation; "all amusement must be voluntary -here." - -The young lady took her note with a pout that was genuine, this time, -and hid it in her basket. - -During this brief scene, Leicester had glided from the room unobserved, -and two strange characters took his place. This would hardly have been -remarked in so large an assembly, but the costumes in which these -persons appeared, were so arranged that they amounted to a disguise. One -was robed as Night, the other as Morning; but the cloud-like drapery -that fell around them, was of glossy, Florence silk, which allowed them -to see what was passing, while their own features were entirely -concealed. Neither of them spoke, and their presence cast a restraint -upon the crowd close around the hostess. They seemed conscious of this, -and gradually drew back, stationing themselves at last close by a -pillar, that separated two rooms directly behind Ada and the group that -surrounded her. - -Leicester had only been to the gentleman's dressing-room, which was at -that hour quite empty. He seemed hurried and somewhat agitated on -entering. Going up to a light he took a letter-case from his bosom, and -hastily shuffling over some papers it contained, selected one from the -parcel. He opened this hurriedly, glanced at the first lines, and then -looked around the room, as if in search of something. - -Evidently the letters and poems from which the mock postman was -supplied, had been arranged there, for a writing table stood in one -corner littered with pens, fancy note-paper and envelopes. - -"How fortunate," broke from Leicester, as he saw these accommodations; -and he began to search among the envelopes for one of the size he -wanted. Having accomplished this, he placed the paper taken from his -letter-case open upon the table; and the light of a wax taper, that -stood ready for use, revealed a tress of hair that lay curled within it. - -Leicester pushed the curl aside with his finger, while he directed the -envelope, refering to the paper every other letter, as if to compare his -work with the writing it contained. - -When this was accomplished and his hand removed, the light fell upon his -own name written in a feminine running hand. He smiled as if satisfied -with the address, replaced the lock of hair in the paper, and folded -both in the envelope, which he carefully sealed. He left the room with a -crafty smile on his lip, and beckoned to an attendant. - -"Take this and give it to the postman you will find somewhere in the -second drawing-room. Tell him Mrs. Gordon wishes him to deliver it when -she is present; you understand." - -"Oh, yes," said the French servant, charmed with a mission so congenial -to his taste, "I've had a good many to carry down before to-night." - -"Do this quietly--you understand--and here is something for the -postage." - -"Monsieur is magnificent," said the man, taking the piece of gold with -a profound bow. "He shall see how invisible I shall become." - -Leicester stole back to the reception rooms again, and glided into the -group that still surrounded the hostess, unobserved as he thought; but -those who watched Ada closely, would have seen the apathy, that had -crept over her during his absence, suddenly flung off, while her manner -and look became wildly brilliant once more. At this moment Night and -Morning drew closer to the pillar, and sheltered themselves behind it. - -"Here he comes--here comes the postman," cried half a dozen young ladies -at once; "who will get a letter now? Mrs. Gordon, of course!" - -One of the first lawyers of the State entered the room, acting the -postman with great diligence and exactitude. He carried a bundle of -letters on his arm, and held some loose in his hands. There was a great -commotion among the young ladies when he presented himself, a flirting -of fans and waving of curls that might have tempted any man from his -course. He turned neither to the right nor left, but marching directly -up to Leicester, presented a letter with "Two cents, sir, if you -please." - -Leicester as gravely took the letter, drew a five-cent piece from his -pocket, and placed it in the outstretched hand of the postman, with, -"The change, if you please." - -A burst of laughter followed this scene; but the postman, no way -disconcerted, placed the five-cent piece between his teeth, while he -searched his pocket for the change. Drawing forth three cents, he -counted them into Leicester's palm, and strode on again, as if every -mail in the United States depended on his diligence. Leicester stood a -moment with the letter in his hand, smiling and seemingly a little -embarrassed about opening it! - -Ada glanced sharply from the letter to his face. Even then she was -struck with a jealous pang that made her recoil with self-contempt. - -"No! no--that will never do," called out voices all around, as -Leicester seemed about to place the note in his pocket--"All letters are -public property here--break the seal--break the seal!" - -With a derisive smile on his lip, as if coerced into doing a silly -thing, he broke the seal and unfolded the missive. A tress of golden -hair dropped to his feet, which he snatched up hurriedly, and grasped in -his hand. A burst of gay laughter followed the act. - -"Read--read--it is poetry--we can see that--give us the poetry!" broke -merrily around him. - -"Spare me," said Leicester, apparently annoyed; "but if the fair lady -chooses to enlighten you, she has my consent." - -Ada reached forth her hand for the paper. A strange sensation crept over -her, with the first sight of it in the mock postman's hand, and it was -with an effort that she conquered this feeling sufficiently to open the -paper, with her usual careless ease. - -She glanced at the first line. Her lips moved as if she were trying to -speak; but they uttered no sound, and by slow degrees the red died out -from them. - -Leicester watched her closely with his half averted eyes, and those -around him looked on in gay expectation; for no one else observed the -change in her countenance. To the crowd, she seemed only gathering up -the spirit of the lines, before she commenced reading them aloud. The -paper contained a wild, impulsive appeal to him, after the first jealous -outbreak that had disturbed their married life. As usual, when a warm -heart has either done or suffered wrong, it matters little which, she -had been the first to make concessions, and lavish in self-blame, poured -forth her passionate regret, as if all the fault had been hers. In her -first jealous indignation, she had demanded a tress of hair, for which -he had importuned her one night at the old homestead. - -He rendered it coldly back without a word. Wild with affright, lest this -was the seal of eternal separation, she had sent back the tress of hair -now grasped in Leicester's hand, with the lines which, with the plotting -genius of a fiend, he had placed in her hand. - -Poor Ada, she was unconscious of the crowd. The days of her youth came -back--the old homestead--the pangs and joys of her first married life. -While she seemed to read, a life-time of memories swept through her -brain, which ached with the sudden rush of thought. - -Leicester stood regarding her with apparent unconcern; but it was as the -spider watches the fly in his net. - -"She cannot read it aloud--I thought so," he said inly, "let her -struggle--while her lips pale in that fashion she is mine; I knew it -would smite her to the heart. Let the fools clamor, she is struck dumb -with old memories." - -Unconsciously a cold smile of triumph crept over his lips, as these -thoughts gained strength from Ada's continued silence. With her eyes on -the paper, she still seemed to read. - -At length her guests became politely impatient. - -"We are all attention," cried a voice. - -She did not hear it; but others set in with laughing clamor; and at -length she looked up, as if wondering what all the noise was about. Her -eyes fell upon Leicester. She saw the smile of which he was probably -unconscious, and the present flashed back to her brain. - -"He hopes to crush me with these memories," she thought with lightning -intuition. - -The life came back to her eyes, the strength to her limbs, and without -hesitation or pause, her voice broke forth. As she went on, the fire of -a wounded nature flashed over her face. Her voice swelled out rich and -passionately. Her woman's heart seemed beating in every word. - - - Take back the tress! the broken chain, - Its fragile folds have linked around us, - May never re-unite again! - And every gentle tie that bound us, - The madness of a single hour-- - The madness of a word--has parted, - Leaving the marble in thy power: - And me, ah more than broken hearted. - - Take back the tress! I cannot bear - To hold the link my hand has scattered; - It mocks me, in my dark despair, - With scenes and hopes forever shatter'd; - It haunts me with a thousand things-- - A thousand words, half felt, half spoken-- - When thy proud soul with eagle wings - Stoop'd to the heart now almost broken. - - It haunts me with the deep, low tones, - That stir'd my soul to more than gladness - When we seemed in the world, alone, - And joy grew deep almost to sadness. - Is there no charm to win thee back, - To wake the love thy pride is crushing? - Has mem'ry left no golden track-- - No music which thy heart is hushing? - - Is there within this little tress - No thought but that which wakes thy scorning? - Oh say, was there no happiness - Within thy breast that summer morning, - When from my brow the curl was shred - With hand that shook in joy, and terror; - And love, half hush'd in trembling dread, - Shrunk back, as if to feel were error? - - My soul is filled with deep regret, - That I who loved thee so, could doubt thee! - Sweep back thy pride, forgive, forget! - Life is so desolate without thee. - I will not keep this tress of hair: - As ravens from their gloomy wings - Cast shadows, it but leaves despair - Upon the weary heart it wrings. - - Where hope, and life, and faith are given, - I send it back, perchance too late; - Go cast it to the winds of heaven, - If it but rouse more bitter hate. - _I_ will not rend a single thread - That binds my willing soul to thine: - Take then the task; if love has fled, - Despoil love's desolated shrine. - - -Her voice ceased to vibrate over the throng full half a minute, before -the listeners breathed freely. The mesmeric influence of her hidden -grief spread from heart to heart, till in its earnestness, the crowd -forgot to applaud. Thus it happened that for some moments after she had -done, there was silence all around her. The paper began to tremble in -her hand--she tossed it carelessly toward Leicester. - -"The lady is too much in earnest--she quite takes away my breath," she -said, with an air of gay mockery; "a grand passion like that must be -very fatiguing." - -A flash rose to Leicester's brow. He took the paper, and refolding the -curl of hair in it, placed both in his bosom. His manner was -grave--almost humble. She had baffled him for once. But the game was not -played out yet. - -The crowd that observed nothing but the surface of this scene, was still -somewhat subdued by it; but the ringing notes of a waltz that swept in -from the dancing saloon, set the gay current in motion again. - -"Who was it that engaged me for this waltz?" cried the hostess, glancing -around the throng of distinguished men that surrounded her. - -Half a dozen voices gaily answered the challenge; but still, with a -purpose at heart, she selected the most distinguished of the group, and -was followed to the dancing saloon. - -Leicester remained behind. Even his strong nerves were ready to break -down under the excitement crowded upon him that evening. Never had he -been placed in a position of such difficulty. With two important crimes, -perpetrated almost the same hour, urging immediate flight to Europe, he -found himself constrained to remain and secure the still richer prize, -the discovery of that evening seemed to place within his grasp. He -leaned against the pillar near which Ada had been stationed to receive -her guests, and made a prompt review of his position. - -"I must go," he thought, locking his teeth hard, as the necessity was -forced upon him; "they must have time to put the boy up in Sing-Sing. -The girl, too--fool that I was--she is the most troublesome part of the -business. I will get her over sea, at once--the witnesses are -nothing--she can't live over a few months--if she does----" - -A fiendish expression crept over his face, and after a moment, he -muttered, so audibly, that the two shrouded females close by the pillar -heard him; "But women's hearts never do break; if they did, Wilcox's -daughter would have been in her grave long ago." - -A faint sob close by him, drove these evil thoughts inward again. There -was a slight rustling near the pillar, and raising his eyes, he saw the -two characters, Night and Morning, gliding away toward the dancers. He -did not give the circumstance a second thought; but moved down the rooms -toward the conservatory, where he could plot and think alone. - -"Yes, I _must_ go off and find a safe place for Florence. Thanks to my -icy-hearted mother, who never had a visitor, there is no chance for -gossip. Robert will be snugly-housed when I come back, and my man shall -go with me." - -But a new obstacle arose in his mind--the flower-girl, his other -witness. The old people, whose faces he had so dimly seen--what if Ada -should learn all from them? The thought was formidable; but at last he -thrust it aside, as undeserving of anxiety. - -"They will not meet; she has been years searching for them, and in vain; -besides, I shall be back in a month or two. If that girl is obstinate -and won't die, let her stay behind--that will settle it probably--the -hectic is on her cheek now. But I must see this proud witch to-night. -Poor Ada, how much trouble she takes to prove her love--I see it all; -this grand display was for me--I was to be astonished, braved, taunted -awhile, and after a tragic scene or two, my lady is meek as a lamb once -more. The handsome wretch--she did outwit me with those lines; I thought -they would have touched her to the heart. It was our first love quarrel. -How the creature did go on then! Now I shall find her more difficult to -bring under; but the same heart is at the bottom. I didn't think she -could have read those lines aloud--so dauntlessly too. Jove! I almost -loved her as she did it. Fool that I was, to make this trip across the -ocean necessary. But for that, I might take possession now. Ada -Wilcox--my pretty rustic Ada, reigning here like a queen! Mrs. -Gordon--Mrs. Gordon! Faith, it's a capital joke. She's managed it -splendidly--out-generaled Mrs. Nash and Mrs. Sykes both. More than that, -she has half out-generaled Leicester too." - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -THE LAST INTERVIEW. - - Thy race is run--thy fate is sealed, - Trust not the ties that bound thee; - A thousand snares, still unrevealed, - Are woven close around thee. - - Nor strength, nor craft availeth now; - Thy stubborn will is riven; - The death drops hang upon thy brow, - There's justice yet in Heaven. - - -It was over at last. The saloon, the banquet hall, the conservatory, -sleeping in the moonlight shed from many a sculptured vase--all were -deserted; wax candles flared and went out in their silver sockets; -garlands grew dim and shadowy in the diminished light; half a dozen -yawning footmen glided about extinguishing wax lights, and turning off -gas, but they seemed ghost-like and dreary, wandering through the vast -mansion. - -But Ada Leicester felt no fatigue; she saw nothing of the gloom that -was so rapidly spreading over the splendor of her mansion. Her boudoir -was still lighted by those two pearl-like lamps. It was a dim, luxurious -twilight, that seemed hazy with the perfume stealing up from a dozen -snowy vases scattered through the dressing-room, the bed-chamber, and -the boudoir. The doors connecting these apartments were ajar, but closed -enough to conceal one room from the other. - -Ada entered the boudoir. Her step was imperious; her cheek burning. -Pride, anger and haughty scorn swelled in her bosom, as she seated -herself to wait. One of those mysterious revulsions of feeling that are -so frequent to a passionate and ill-disciplined nature, had swept over -her heart. For the first time in her life she felt disposed to sting the -foot that had trampled so ruthlessly upon her. In that moment, all the -strong love of a lifetime seemed kindling into a fiery hate. - -It was one of those hours when we defy destiny--defy our own souls. A -few hours earlier and she could not have met him thus with scorn on her -brow, rebellion in her heart. A few hours after she might repent in -tears, but now she waited his approach without a thrill of pleasure or -of fear. The very memory of former tenderness filled her with -self-contempt. The marble Flora stood over her--crimson roses and -heliotrope had been mingled with the sculptured lilies in its hand. A -few hours before she had stolen away from her guests, to place these -blossoms among the marble counterfeits, for they breathed his favorite -perfume; now, she sickened as the fragrance floated over her, and -tearing them from the statue, tossed them amid a bed of coals still -burning in the silver grate. - -She did not go back to the couch, but remained upon the ermine rug, with -one arm resting upon the jetty marble of the mantel-piece. No footstep -could be heard in that sumptuously carpeted house, but the proud spirit -within her seemed to know when he stole softly forth from the -conservatory, and approached the room where she was waiting. - -Leicester was self-possessed; he had a game to play, more intricate, -more difficult than his experience had yet coped with, but this only -excited his intellect. With a heart of stone the nerves hold no -sympathy, and are obedient to the will alone: what or who had ever -resisted Leicester's will! - -But she also was self-possessed, and this took him by surprise. He moved -toward the grate and leaned his elbow on the mantel-piece, directly -opposite her. She held a superb fan, half open, against her bosom: it -was fringed deep with the gorgeous plumage of some tropical bird, but no -tumult of the heart stirred a feather. She held it there, as she had -often done that evening, when homage floated around her, gracefully and -quietly waiting to be addressed. This mood was one he had not expected; -it deranged all his premeditated plan of attack. Instead of reproaching -him, with that passionate anger that pants for reconciliation, she was -silent. - -"Ada!" The name was uttered in a voice that no heart that had loved the -speaker could entirely resist. A faint shiver and an irregular breath -were perceptibly ruffling, as it were, the plumage of her fan, but the -proud woman only bent her head. - -"Was it delicate--was it honorable to deceive your husband thus?" he -said, "to grant him one interview after so many years, and then conceal -yourself from his search under this disguise? I have sought for you, -Ada, Heaven only knows how anxiously." - -She smiled a cold incredulous smile, for well she knew how he had -searched for her. - -"You do not believe me," said Leicester, attempting to take her hand; -but she drew back, pressing the fan harder to her bosom, till the -delicately wrought ivory broke. The demon of pride grew strong within -her. For the first time in her life she felt a knowledge of power over -the man who had been her fate. - -"Was I to seek you that your foot might be planted on my heart once -more? Was I to offer my bosom to the serpent fang again and again? Have -you forgotten our interview in the chamber overhead?--that chamber -where I had hoarded every thing connected with the only happy months you -ever permitted me to know--so full of precious memories? I thought they -would touch even your heart." - -He attempted to speak, but she would not permit him. "I did not know -you, notwithstanding past experience. Your heart has blacker shades than -I imagined! Not up there--not among objects holy from association with -my child, should I have taken you, but here! here! do not these things -betoken great wealth?" A scornful smile curved her lips, and she glanced -around the boudoir. - -There was one word in this speech that Leicester seized upon. "_Your_ -child, Ada. Great Heaven! would you exclude me from all share even in -the love of our child!" - -Even this did not soften her, though she was fearfully moved at the -mention of her lost infant. He saw this, and his manner instantly -changed. - -"Why should I plead with you--why waste words thus?" he said, casting -aside all affectation of tenderness:--"you are my wife--lawfully -married--the mother of my child. If you have property, by the laws of -this land that property is mine! I plead no longer, madam! Being the -master of this house, if it is yours, my province is to command. Tell -me, then! this wealth--for which people give their idol, _Mrs. Gordon_, -so much credit--this mansion; are they real?--are they yours?--and -therefore mine?" - -The scorn that broke over Ada's face was absolutely sublime. - -"Yes," she said, "this wealth is mine, yours, if the law makes it so; -but listen--then say if you will use it!" - -She bent forward; her lips and cheek were pale as death, but across the -snow of her forehead a crimson flush came and went, like an arrow -shooting back and again. - -"You asked me that night in the room above, if I had lived in Europe as -the governess of that man's daughter--the governess only--I answered -yes; a governess only. It was false! Every dollar of the millions I -possess comes from this man; he bequeathed them on his death-bed, that I -might not again become your slave!" The haughty air gave way as she -uttered this confession; her limbs trembled so violently that she was -obliged to lean on the mantel-piece to keep from sinking to the floor. -Pride, that treacherous demon, left her then, helpless as a child. - -"This," said Leicester, with a stern, clear enunciation, "this in no way -interferes with my claim on the property. Were it double, that would be -poor atonement for the outrage to my affections--the disgrace brought -upon my name." - -She did not speak, but listened in breathless silence, trying to -comprehend the moral enormity before her, with a confused sense that -even yet she had not fathomed the black depths of his heart. - -Leicester had paused, thinking that she would answer; but as she -remained silent he spoke again, still calmly, and with measured -intonation. - -"But that which you have confessed becomes important in another sense. -If the law gives me your property, it also enables me to divest it of -the only incumbrance that would be unpleasant. Your confession, madam, -entitles me to a divorce." - -"You would not--oh, Heavens, no!" gasped the wretched woman. - -"Now you seem natural--now you are meek again," he said with a laugh -that cut to the heart. "So, you thought to dazzle me with your -wealth--wither me with haughty pride--fool! miserable fool!" - -"Mercy, mercy! Will no one save me from this man?" shrieked the wretched -woman, flinging her clasped hands wildly upward. - -Leicester was about to speak again, something fearfully bitter--you -could see it in the curve of his lip--but her cry had reached other -ears, and while the taunt was yet unspoken, Jacob Strong entered the -boudoir. Leicester gazed upon him in utter amazement, for he advanced -directly toward Ada, and taking the clasped hands she held out in both -his, led her to the couch, trembling, and so faint that she was -incapable of uttering a word. - -"What is this? how came you here, fellow?" said Leicester, the moment he -could break from the astonishment occasioned by Jacob's presence. - -"My mistress called for help, and I came," was the steady answer. - -"Your mistress! where--who?" - -"This lady--your _first_ wife! the other----" - -"Villain! who are you?" - -Jacob looked into his master's eyes with a calm stare: "Look at me, Mr. -Leicester! I have grown since you saw me at old Mr. Wilcox's! No doubt -you have forgotten the awkward boy, who tended your horse, and pointed -out the best trout streams for you? But I--I shall never forget! No -angry looks--no frowns, sir! The rocks we climbed together would feel -them more than I do." - -"Go on--go on--I would learn more," said Leicester, paling fearfully -about the mouth. "You have been a spy in my service!" - -"Yes--a spy--a keeper of your most dangerous secrets! I read the letter -from Georgia--I have that old copy-book, which was to have sent Robert -Otis, my own nephew, to state prison. There is a check of ten thousand, -which I can lay my hand on at any moment--you comprehend! I saw it -written--I saw it pass from your hand to his. I was in the back room. -Villain! I am your master." - -The palor spread up from Leicester's mouth to his temples, leaving a -dusky ring around his eyes. For the first time in his life, this man of -evil and stern will was terrified. Yet wrath was stronger in his heart -than fear, even then. His white lips curled in fierce disdain. He turned -towards Ada, who lay with her face buried in the silken pillows, -conscious of nothing but her own unutterable wretchedness. She did not -feel the fiendish glance that he cast upon her; but Jacob saw it, and -his grey eyes kindled, till they seemed black as midnight: "If you wish -to see another, come in here--come, I say! Victims are plenty about you; -come in." - -Jacob looked terribly imposing in this burst of indignation. His awkward -form dilated into rude grandeur--his wrath, ponderous and intense, -rolled forth like some fathomless stream, whose very tranquillity is -terrible. He flung his powerful arm around Leicester, and drew him -forward as if he had been a child. - -Through the dressing-room, still flooded with soft light and redolent of -flowers, and into the bed-chamber beyond, Jacob strode, grasping his -companion firmly with one arm. He paused close by the bed. With an -upward motion of his arms, he flung aside the cloud of lace that fell -over it, and pointed to a form that lay underneath, pillowed, as it -were, upon a snow drift. "Look! here is another!" said Jacob, towering -above the man who had been his master--for there was no stoop in his -shoulders then--"look! it is your last victim--to all eternity, the -last!" - -Leicester did look, for his gaze was fascinated by the soft eyes lifted -to his from the pillow; the sweet, sweet smile that played around that -lovely mouth. It went to his soul--that impenetrable soul--that Ada's -anguish had failed to reach. - -"She heard it all. She saw everything that passed between you and your -wife," said Jacob. - -"What--and smiles upon me thus?" There was something of human feeling in -his voice. He stooped down, and put back some raven tresses that fell -over the eyes that were searching for his. - -Then the smile broke into a laugh so wild with insane glee, that even -Leicester shuddered and drew back. Florence started up in the bed. The -lace of her wedding garments was crushed around her form--her arms were -entangled in the rich white veil which still clung, torn and ragged, to -the diamond star fastened over her temple. The cypress and jessamine -wreath, half torn away, hung in fragments among her black tresses. She -saw that Leicester avoided her, and tearing the veil fiercely, set both -her arms free. She leaned half over the bed, holding them out, as a -child aroused from sleep, pleads for its mother. Leicester drew near, -for a fiend could not have resisted that look. She caught both his -hands, drew herself up to his bosom, and then began to laugh again. - -That moment a female, whose black garments contrasted gloomily with the -drift-like whiteness of the couch, came from the shadowy part of the -room, and taking Florence in her arms laid her gently back upon the -pillows. She had seen that of which Leicester and Jacob were -unconscious--Ada Leicester, standing in the gorgeous gloom of her -dressing-chamber, and watching the scene. - -"Mother, you here also!" exclaimed Leicester, and his voice had, for the -instant, something of human anguish in it. His mother pointed toward the -dressing-room, and only answered-- - -"Would you drive her mad also?" - -"Would to Heaven it were possible," answered Leicester, with a cold -sneer. He bowed low, and with a gesture full of sarcastic defiance moved -toward the dressing-room. Jacob followed him. - -"Stay," said Ada, standing before them--"what is this--who are the -persons you have left in my chamber?" - -"One of them," answered Leicester, with calm audacity, "one of them is -of little consequence, though you may find in her, my dear madam, an old -acquaintance. The other is a young lady, very beautiful, as you may see -even from here--to whom I had the honor of being married last evening. -How she became your guest I do not know, but treat her with all -hospitality, I beseech you, if it were only for the love that I bear -her--love that I never felt for mortal woman before." - -"Go," said Ada, stung into some degree of strength by his insolence, -"or, rather let me go, if you are indeed the master here." - -She took a shawl which had been flung across a chair, and folded it -around her. - -"Take everything, but let me go in peace. Jacob, oh, my friend, _you_ -will not abandon me now?" - -"No," answered Jacob, with a degree of respectful tenderness that gave -to his rude features something more touching than beauty. "Take off your -shawl, madam--he has lost all power to harm you--there is desperation in -his insolence, nothing more. His own crimes have disabled him." - -"How? how? Not that which he hinted--not marriage with another? Tell me, -that it was only bravado. Rather, much rather, could I go forth -penniless and bare-headed into the street." - -She approached Leicester, holding out her hands. He saw all the -unquenched love that shed anguish over that beautiful face, and took -courage. In this weakness, lay some hope of safety. - -"Ada let me see you alone," he said, with an abrupt change of voice and -manner. She looked at Jacob irresolutely. He saw the danger at once, and -taking her hand, led her with gentle force into the bed-chamber. "Look," -he said, pointing to Florence, who lay upon the couch--"ask her, she -will tell you what it means." - -Ada advanced toward the old lady, who came to meet her as one who -receives the mourners who gather to a funeral. - -"It is Leicester's mother," broke from the pale lips of Leicester's -wife. - -"My poor daughter," said the old lady, wringing the trembling hand that -Ada held out. - -"Will you--can you, call me daughter? oh madam, how long it is since -that sweet word has fallen on my ear." The pathos of her words--the -humility of her manner--melted the old lady almost to tears. She opened -her arms, and received the wretched woman to her bosom. - -Jacob went out and found Leicester in the boudoir. - -"Will she come? I am tired of waiting," he said, as Jacob closed and -locked the door leading to the dressing-room. - -"Expect nothing from her weakness--never hope to see her again. It is -with me--not a weak, loving, forgiving woman, you have to deal." - -"With you--her father's clownish farmer-boy--my own servant." - -"I have no words to throw away, and you will need them to defend -yourself," answered Jacob, with firm self-possession. "You have -committed, within the last twenty-four hours, two crimes against the -law. You have married a woman, knowing your wife to be alive. I am the -witness, I, her playmate when she was a little girl, her protector and -faithful servant in the trouble and sin which you heaped upon her after -she was a woman. I went with her to the hotel that night, I witnessed -all--all--to the scene last evening. Let that pass, for it _should_ -pass, rather than have her history connected with yours before the -world. But another crime. This forged check--this attempt to ruin as -warm-hearted and honest a boy as ever lived. In this, her name cannot, -from necessity, appear; for this you shall suffer to the extent of the -law; for this, you shall live year after year in prison, not from -revenge, mark, but that she, Ada Wilcox, may breathe in peace. Leave -this house, sir, quietly, for I must not have a felon arrested beneath -her roof. Go anywhere you like, for a few hours, not to the hotel, for -Robert Otis is waiting in your chamber with an officer; not to ferry, or -steamboat, in hopes of escaping; men are placed everywhere to stop you; -but till noon you are safe from arrest." - -"I will not leave this house without speaking with Ada," said Leicester, -in a whisper so deep and fierce, that it came through his clenched teeth -like the hiss of a wounded adder. - -"Five minutes you have for deliberation; go forth quietly, and as a -departing guest, or remain to be marshalled out by half a dozen men, -whom the chief of police has sent to protect the grounds--you -understand, to protect the grounds." - -Leicester did not speak, but a sharp, fiendish gloom shot into his eyes, -and he thrust one hand beneath his snowy vest, and drew it slowly out; -then came the sharp click of a pocket pistol. Jacob watched the motion, -and his heavy features stirred with a smile. - -"You forget that I am your servant; that I laid out your wedding dress, -and loaded the pistol; put it up, sir--as I told you before, when I play -with rattlesnakes, I take a hard grip on the neck." - -Leicester drew his hand up deliberately, and dashed the pistol in -Jacob's face. The stout man recoiled a step, and blood flowed from his -lips. It was fortunate for him that Leicester had found the revolver -which he was in the habit of wearing too heavy for his wedding garments. -As it was, he took out a silk handkerchief, and coolly wiped the blood -from his mouth, casting now and then a look at the tiny clock upon the -mantel-piece. The fiendish smile excited by the sight of his enemy's -blood was just fading from Leicester's lip, when Jacob put the -handkerchief back in his pocket. - -"You will save a few hours of liberty by departing at once," he said. -"To a man, who has nothing but prison walls before him, they should be -worth something." - -"Yes, much can be done in a few hours," muttered Leicester to himself, -and gently settling his hat, he turned to go. - -"Open the door," he said, turning coolly to Jacob; "your wages are paid -up to this time, at any rate." - -Jacob bowed gravely, and dropping into his awkward way, followed his -master down stairs. He opened the principal door, and Leicester stepped -into the street quietly, as if the respectful attendance had been real. - -The morning had just dawned, cold, comfortless, and humid; a slippery -moisture lay upon the pavements, dark shadows hung like drapery along -the unequal streets; Leicester threaded them with slow and thoughtful -step. For once, his great intellect, his plotting fiend, refused to -work. What should he do? how act? His hotel, the very street which he -threaded perhaps, beset with officers; his garments elegantly -conspicuous; his arms useless, and in his pockets only a little silver -and one piece of gold. Never was position more desperate. - -Hour after hour wore on, and still he wandered through the streets. As -daylight spread over the sky, kindling up the fog that still clung -heavily around the city, Leicester saw two men walking near him. He -quickened his pace, he loitered, turned again, down one street and up -another; with their arms interlaced, their bodies sometimes enfolded in -the fog, distinct or shadowy, those strange wanderers had a power to -make Leicester's heart quail within him. - -All at once he started, and stood up motionless in the street. That -child--those two old people! He had recognized them at once the night -before as Mr. Wilcox and his wife, poor, friendless; he had striven to -cast them from his mind, to forget that they lived. The after events of -that night had come upon him like a thunder-clap; in defending himself -or attacking others, he had found little time to calculate on the -discovery of his daughter and her old grand parents. Now, the thought -came to his brain like lightning. He would secure the young girl--Ada's -lost child. The secret of her existence was his; it should redeem him -from the consequence of his great crime. The old people were poor--they -would give up the child to a rich father, and ask no questions. With -this last treasure in his power, Ada would not refuse to bribe it from -him at any price. Her self-constituted guardian, too, that man of rude -will, and indomitable strength, he who had sacrificed a lifetime to the -mother of this child, who had tracked his own steps like a hound, could -he, who had given up so much, refuse to surrender his vengeance, also? -This humble girl, from whom Leicester had turned so contemptuously, how -precious she became as these thoughts flashed through his brain. - -Leicester proceeded with a rapid step to the neighborhood that he had -visited the previous night. He descended to the area, glided through the -dim hall, and entered the back basement just as old Mr. Warren, or -Wilcox we must now call him, was sitting down to breakfast with his wife -and grandchild. A look of poverty was about the room, warded off by care -and cleanliness, but poverty still. Leicester had only time to remark -this, when his presence was observed. Old Mr. Wilcox rose slowly from -his chair, his thin face grew pale as he gazed upon the elegant person -of his visitor, and the rich dress, so strongly at variance with the -place. A vague terror seized him, for he did not at once recognize the -features, changed by time, and more completely still, by a night of -agonizing excitement. At length he recognized his son-in-law, and -sinking to his chair, uttered a faint groan. - -Julia started up, and flung her arms around the old man's neck. -Leicester came quietly forward. - -"Have you forgotten me, sir?" he said, laying one hand softly upon the -table. - -"No," gasped the old man, "no." - -"And the little girl, she seems afraid of me, but when she knows--" - -"Hush," said the old man, rising, with one arm around the child, "not -another word till we are alone. Wife, Julia, leave the room." - -The old woman hesitated. She, too, had recognized Leicester, and dreaded -to leave him alone with her husband. Julia looked from one to the other, -amazed and in trouble. - -"As you wish. I have no time to spare. Send them away, and we can more -readily settle my demands and your claims." - -"Go!" replied the old man, laying his hand on Julia's head. - -That withered hand shook like a leaf. - -Julia and her grandmother went out, but not beyond the hall. There they -stood, distant as the space would permit, but still within hearing of -the voices within. Now and then a word rose high, and old Mrs. Wilcox -would draw Julia's head against her side, and press a hand upon her ear, -as if she dreaded that even those indistinct murmurs should reach her. - -While these poor creatures stood trembling in the hall, a strange, -fierce scene was going on over that miserable breakfast-table. Leicester -had been persevering and plausible at first; with promises of wealth, -and protestations of kindness, he had endeavored to induce the poor old -man to render up the child. When this failed, he became irritated, and, -with fiercer passions, attempted to intimidate the feeble being whom he -had already wronged almost beyond all hopes of human forgiveness. The -old man said little, for he was terrified, and weak as a child; but his -refusal to yield up the little girl was decided. "If the law takes her -away, I cannot help it," he said, "but nothing else ever shall." Tears -rolled down the old man's face as he spoke, but his will had been -expressed, and the man who came to despoil him saw that it was -immovable. - -Despairing at last, and fiercely desperate, Leicester rushed from the -basement. Julia and her grandmother shrunk against the wall, for the -palor of his face was frightful. He did not appear to see them, but went -quickly through the outer door and up to the side-walk. Here stood the -two men, arm-in-arm, ready to follow him. He turned back, and retraced -his steps, with a dull, heavy footfall, utterly unlike the elasticity of -his usual tread. Further and further back crowded the frightened -females. The old man was so exhausted that he could not arise from the -chair to which he had fallen. He looked up when Leicester entered the -room, and said, beseechingly, "Oh, let me alone! See how miserable you -have made us! Do let us alone!" - -"Once more--once more I ask, will you give up the child?" - -"No--no." - -A knife lay upon the table, long and sharp, one that Mrs. Wilcox had -been using in her household work. Leicester's eye had been fixed on the -knife while he was speaking. His hand was outstretched toward it before -the old man could find voice to answer. Simultaneous with the brief -"no," the knife flashed upward, down again, and Leicester fell dead at -the old man's feet. Mr. Wilcox dropped on his knees, seized the knife, -and tore it from the wound. Over his withered hands, over the white -vest, down to his feet, gushed the warm blood. It paralyzed the old man; -he tried to cry aloud, but had no power. A frightful stillness reigned -over him; then many persons came rushing into the room. - -A light shone in that pretty cottage--a single light from the chamber -where Julia had robed Florence Nelson in her bridal dress. A bed was -there, shrouded in drapery, that hung motionless, like marble, and as -coldly white; glossy linen swept over the bed, frozen, as it were, over -the outline of a human form. Death--death--the very atmosphere was full -of death. On one corner of the bed, crushing the cold linen, wrinkled -with her weight, Florence Nelson had seated herself, and with her black -ringlets falling over the dead, sung to him as no human being ever sung -before. Sometimes she laughed--sometimes wept. Every variation of her -madness was full of pathos, sweet with tenderness, save when there came -from the opposite room a pallid and grief-stricken creature, with -drooping hands, and eyes heavy with unshed tears. - -If this unhappy woman attempted to approach the bed, or even enter the -room, Florence would spring up with the fierce cry of a wounded eagle; -the song rose to a wail, then, with her waxen hands, she would gather up -the linen in waves, over the dead, and if Ada came nearer, shriek after -shriek rose through the cottage. Thus poor Ada Leicester, driven from -the death-couch of her husband, would creep back to where his mother -knelt in her calm, still grief. There, with her stately head bowed down, -her limbs prone upon the floor, she would murmur, "Oh, God help me! It -is just--but help me, help me! Oh, my God!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -THE CITY PRISON. - - He was a man of simple heart, - Patient and meek, the Christian part - Came to his soul as came the air - That heaved his bosom; hope, despair, - Were chastened by a holy faith!-- - Meek in his life he feared not death. - - -Perhaps in the whole world there is not a building where all the horror, -the wild poetry of sin and grief is so forcibly written out in black -shadows and hard stone, as in the city prison of New York. A stranger -passing that massive pile would unconsciously feel saddened, though -entirely ignorant of its painful uses, for the very atmosphere fills him -with a vague sensation of alarm. The Egyptian architecture, so heavy and -imposing; the thick walls which no sunshine can penetrate, and against -which cries of anguish might, unheard, exhaust themselves forever, chill -the very heart. The ponderous columns, lost in a perspective of black -shadows in the front entrance--piles of granite sweeping toward -Broadway, and interlocking with the black prison that rises up, like a -solid wall, gloomy, windowless, and penetrated only with loop-holes, -like a fort which has nothing but misery to protect--fills the -imagination with gloom. - -The moment you come in sight of the building, your breath draws heavily; -the atmosphere seems humid with tears--oppressive with sighs--a storm of -human suffering appears gathering around. The air seems eddying with -curses which have exhausted their sound against those walls; you feel as -if sin, shame, and grief were palpable spirits, walking behind and -around you; and all this is the more terrible, because the waves of life -gather close up to the building, swelling against its walls on every -side. - -The prison sits like a monster, crouching in the very heart of a great -city; the veins and arteries of social evil weave and coil close around -it, like serpents born in the same foul atmosphere with itself. Placed -on foundations lower than the graded walks, nestled in a dried up swamp -that has exchanged the miasma of decayed nature for the miasma of human -guilt; the neighborhood close at hand sunk, like this building, deep in -the grade of human existence; is there on earth another spot so eloquent -of suffering, so populous with sin? - -"The Tombs," this name was given to the prison years ago, when its -foundations were first sunk in the swampy moisture of the soil. Then you -could see the vast structure sinking, day by day, into its murky -foundations, and enveloped in clouds of palpable miasma. There the poor -wretches huddled within its walls, died like herds of poisoned cattle; -pine coffins were constantly passing in and out of those ponderous -doors. Pauper death-carts might be seen every day lumbering up Centre -street, on their road to Potter's Field. The man, innocent or guilty, -who entered those walls, breathed his death warrant as he passed in. - -This only continued for a season; it was not long before the tramp of -human feet, and the weight of that ponderous mass of stone crushed the -poisonous moisture from the earth, but the name which death had left -still remained--a name deeply and solemnly significant of the place to -all who deem moral evil and moral death as mournful as the physical -suffering which had baptized it. - -The main building, which fronts on Centre street, opens to a dusky and -pillared vestibule, that leads to various rooms, occupied by the courts -and officials connected with the prison. At the right, as you enter, is -the police court, a spacious apartment, with deep casements. A raised -platform, railed in from the people, upon which the magistrates sit, -contains a desk or two, and beyond are several smaller rooms, used for -private examinations. - -In one of these rooms, the smallest and most remote, sat a mournful -group, early one morning, before the magistrates had taken their seats -upon the bench. One was an old man, thin, haggard and care-worn, but -with a placid and even exalted cast of countenance, such as a stricken -man wears when he has learned "to suffer and be strong." He sat near a -round table covered with worn baize, upon which one elbow rested rather -heavily, for he had tasted little food for several days; and the languor -of habitual privation, joined to strong nervous reaction, after a scene -of horror, impressed his person even more than his face. That, as I have -said, was pale and worn, but tranquil and composed to a degree that -startled those who looked upon him, for the old man was waiting there to -be examined on a charge of murder, and men shuddered to see the calmness -upon his features. It seemed to them nothing but hardened indifference, -the composure of guilt that had ceased to feel its own enormity. - -Close by this man sat two females, an old woman and a girl, not weeping, -they had no tears left, but they sat with heavy, mournful eyes gazing -upon the floor. Marks of terrible suffering were visible in their faces, -and in the dull, hopeless apathy of their motionless silence. Now and -then a low sigh rose and died upon the pale lips of the girl, but it was -faint as that which exhales from a flower which has been trodden to -death, and the poor girl was only conscious that the pain at her heart -was a little sharper that instant than it had been. - -The woman, pale, still, and grief-stricken in every feature and limb, -did not even sigh. It seemed as if the breath must have frozen upon her -cold lips, she seemed so utterly chilled, body and soul. - -An officer of the police stood just within the room, not one of those -burly, white-coated characters we find always in English novels, but a -tall, slender and gentlemanly person, who regarded the group it had been -his duty to arrest with a grave and compassionate glance. True, he -searched the old man's face as those who have studied the human -lineaments strive to read the secrets of a soul in their expression--but -there was nothing rude either in his look or manner. - -After awhile the officer remembered that his prisoners had not tasted -food since the day previous, and, with a pang of self-reproach, he -addressed them. - -"You are worn out for want of food--I should have remembered this!" he -said, approaching the table; "I will order some coffee." - -The old man raised his head, and turned his grateful eyes upon the -officer. - -"Yes," he said, with a gentle smile, "they are hungry; a little coffee -will do them good." - -The young female looked up and softly waved her head; but the other -continued motionless, she had heard nothing. - -The officer whispered to a person outside the door, and then began to -pace up and down the room like a sentinel, but treading very lightly, as -if subdued by the silent grief over which he kept guard. - -Directly the coffee was brought in, with bread and fragments of cold -meat. - -"Come now," said the officer, cheerfully, "take something to give you -strength. The examination may be a long one, and I have seen powerful -men sink under a first examination--take something to keep you up, or -you will get nervous, and admit more than a wise man should." - -"Yes," said the old man, meekly, "you are right, they will want -strength--so shall I." He took one of the tin-cups which had been -brought half full of coffee, and reached it toward the woman. - -"Wife!" he said, bending toward her. - -The poor woman started, and looked at him through her wild, heavy eyes. - -"What is it, Wilcox? What is it you want of me?" - -"You observe she is almost beside herself," said the old man addressing -the officer, and his face grew troubled--"what can I do?" - -"Oh! these things are very common. She must be roused!" answered the -man, kindly. "Speak to her again." - -The old man stooped over his wife, and laid his hand gently upon hers. -She did not move. He grasped her thin fingers, and tears stood in his -eyes; still she did not move. He stood a moment gazing in her face, the -tears running down his cheeks. He hesitated, looked at the officer half -timidly, and bending down, kissed the old woman on the forehead. - -That kiss broke up the ice in her heart. She stood up and began to weep. - -"You spoke to me, Wilcox--what was it you wanted? I am better now--quite -well. What is it you wanted me to do?" - -"He only wishes you to eat and drink something," said the officer, -deeply moved. - -"Eat and drink--have we got anything to eat and drink? That is always -his way when we are short, urging us, and hungry himself." - -"But there is enough for all," said the old man. "See, I too will eat, -and Julia!" - -"Why, if there is enough we will all eat, why not," said the poor woman, -with a dim smile. - -She took the coffee, tasted it, and looked around the room with vague -curiosity. - -"What is all this?--where are we now, Wilcox?" she said, in a low, -frightened voice. - -The old man kept his eyes bent on hers, they were full of trouble, and -this stimulated her to question him again. - -"Where are we? I remember walking, wading, it seemed to me, neck deep -through a crowd, trying to keep up with you. Some one said they were -taking us to prison; that I had done nothing, and they would not keep -me. That you and Julia would stay, but I must go into the street, -because a wife could not bear witness against her husband, but a -grandchild could. Have I been crazy, or walking in my sleep, Wilcox?" - -"No, wife, you are worn out--frightened; drink some more of the coffee, -by and bye all will be clear to you." - -The old woman obeyed him, and drank eagerly from the cup in her hand. -Then she looked on her husband, on Julia, and the officer, as if -striving to make out why they were all together in that strange place. -All at once she set down the cup and drew a heavy breath. - -"I remember," she said, mournfully--"I remember now that dead man, with -his open eyes and white clenched teeth; I know who he was--I knew it at -first." - -The officer drew a step nearer and listened, the spirit of his vocation -was strong within him. There might be important evidence in her words, -and for a moment the humane man was lost in the acute officer. The -prisoner remarked this movement, and looked on the man with an -expression of mild rebuke. - -"Would you take advantage of her unsettled state, or of the words it -might wring from me?" he said. - -"No," answered the officer, stepping back, abashed. "No, I would not do -anything of the kind, at least deliberately." - -But this remonstrance had aroused distrust in the old woman, she drew -close to her husband, and whispered to him-- - -"I cannot quite make it out, Wilcox. The people--the crowd said over and -over again that they were taking us to prison. This is no prison! -carpets on the floor, chairs, window blinds, all so pretty and snug, -with us eating and drinking together. This is no prison, Wilcox, we have -not had so nice a home these ten years." - -"This is only a room in the prison, not the one they will give me by and -bye!" answered the old man with a faint smile, "that will be smaller -yet." - -"You say _me_!" said the wife, holding tight to the hand that clasped -hers. "Why do you not say that the room--let it be what it will--is -large enough for us both, husband? I say you did not mean that it will -not hold your wife too." - -The old man turned away from those earnest eyes; he could not bear the -look of mingled terror and entreaty that filled them. - -"Remember, Wilcox, we have not spent one night apart in thirty years!" - -"I know it," answered the old man with quivering lips. - -"And now will you let me stay with you?" - -"Ask him," said the old man, turning his face away, "ask him!" - -She let go her hold of the prisoner's hand with great reluctance, and -went up to the officer. - -"You heard what he said, you must know what I want. We have lived -together a great many years, more than your whole life. We have had -trouble--great trouble, but always together. Tell me--can we stay -together yet?" - -"I do not know," said the man, deeply moved. "Your husband is charged -with a crime that requires strict prison rules." - -"I know, he is charged with murder! but you see how innocent he is," -answered the wife, and all the holy faith, the pure, beautiful love born -in her youth and strengthened in her age, kindled over those wrinkled -features--"you see how innocent he is!" - -The man checked a slight wave of the head, for he would not appear to -doubt that old man's innocence, strong as the evidence was against him. - -"You will not send me away!" said the old woman, still regarding him -with great anxiety. - -"I have no power--it is not for me to decide--such things have been -done. In minor offences, I have known wives to remain in prison, but -never in capital cases that I remember." - -"But some one has the power. It is only for a little while--it cannot be -for more than a week or two that they will keep him, you know." - -"It may be--from my heart I hope so--but I can answer for nothing, I -have no power." - -"Who has the power?--what can we do?" - -It was the young girl who spoke now. The entreaties of her -grandmother--the tremulous voice of her grandsire, at length aroused her -feelings from the icy stillness that had crept over them. The mist -cleared away from her eyes, and though heavy with sleeplessness and -grief, they began to kindle with aroused animation. - -"No one at present, my poor girl--nothing can be done till after the -examination." - -Julia had drawn close to her grandmother, and grasped a fold of her -faded dress with one hand. The officer could not turn his eyes from her -face, so sad, so mournfully beautiful. He was about to utter some vague -words of comfort, but while they were on his lips a door from the -police-court opened, and a man looked through, saying in a careless, -off-hand manner, "bring the old man in." - -The court-room was crowded with witnesses ready to be examined, lawyers, -eager for employment, and others actuated by curiosity alone, all -crowded and jostled together outside the bar. As the prisoner entered, -the throng grew denser, pouring in through the open door, and spreading -out into the vestibule to the granite pillars, all pressing forward with -strained eyes to obtain a view of one feeble old man. - -They made a line for him to pass, crushing against each other with their -heads thrown back, and staring in the old man's face as if he had been -some wild animal, till his thin hand clutched the bar. There he stood as -meek as a child, with all those bright, staring eyes bent upon him. A -faint crimson flush broke through the wrinkles on his forehead; and his -hand stirred upon the railing with a slight shiver, otherwise his gentle -composure was unbroken. - -The crowd closed up as he passed, but the two females clinging together, -breathless and wild with fear, least they should be separated from him, -pressed close upon his steps, forcing their way impetuously one moment, -and looking helplessly around the next. Still resolutely following the -prisoner, they won some little space at each step, not once losing sight -of his grey head as it moved through the sea of faces, all turned, as -they thought, menacingly upon him. At length they stood close behind the -old man, and, unseen by the crowd, clung to his garments with their -hands. - -The judge bent forward in his leathern easy-chair, and looked in the -prisoner's face, not harshly, not even with sternness. Had a lighter -offence been charged upon the old man, his face might have borne either -of these expressions, but the very magnitude of the charge under -investigation gave dignity to the judge, and true dignity is always -gentle. - -He stooped forward, therefore, not smiling, but kindly in look and -voice, informed the prisoner of his right, and cautioned him not to -criminate himself ignorantly in any answer he might make to -interrogations of the court. - -The old man raised his eyes, thanked the judge in a low voice, and -waited. - -"Your name?" - -"I am known in the city as Benjamin Warren, but it is not my real name." - -"What is the real name then?" - -"I would rather not answer." - -The old man spoke mildly, but with great firmness. The judge bent his -head. A dozen pens could be heard at the reporters' desk taking down the -answer. A hush was on the crowd; every man leaned forward, breathless -and listening. Those even in the vestibule kept still while the old -man's reply ran among them in whispers. - -"Did you know the man who was found dead in your house on the nineteenth -of this month?" - -"Yes, I knew the man well!" - -"Where and when had you met before!" - -"I do not wish to answer!" - -"Did you see him on the evening of the eighteenth?" - -"No!" - -"Did evil feeling exist between you?" - -The old man turned a shade paler, and his hand shook upon the railing; -he hesitated as if at a loss for words which might convey an exact -answer. - -"I cannot say what his feelings were--but of my own I can speak, having -asked this same question of my soul many times. William Leicester had -wronged me and mine--but I forgave the wrong; I had no evil feeling -against him." - -"Were there not high words and angry defiance between you that -morning?" - -"He was angry--I was not; agitated, alarmed, I was--but not angry." - -"Were you alone with him?" - -"Yes!" - -"How long?" - -"Maybe ten minutes!" - -"Once more," said the judge; "once more let me remind you that in -another court these answers may be used to your prejudice. Now take -time, you have no counsel, so take time for reflection before you reply. -What business had Leicester with you?--what was the subject of -conversation between you?" - -The old man bent his forehead to the railing, and thus stood motionless -without answering. His own honest sense told him that every question -that he refused to answer gave rise to doubt, and kindled some new -prejudice against him. His obvious course was silence, or a frank -statement of the truth. He raised his head, and addressed the judge -gently as he might have consulted with a friend. - -"If I have a right to refuse answers to a part of what you ask me, may I -not, by the same right, remain silent?" - -"There is no law which forces you to answer where a reply will prejudice -your cause." - -"Will anything I can say help my cause?" - -"No!" - -"Then I will be silent. But I never lifted my hand against that -man--never, so help me God!" - -The judge felt this to be a wise conclusion, and a faint gleam of -satisfaction came to his lips. The meek dignity of that old men, the -beautiful pale face now and then peering out from behind his -poverty-stricken garments--the feeble old woman crowding close to his -side, all had aroused his sympathy. It was impossible to look on that -group and believe any one of those feeble creatures guilty of the blood -that had reddened their poverty-stricken hearth, and yet the evidence -had been fearfully strong before the coroner's inquest. - -Some commotion arose in the crowd after this. Men began to whisper -opinions to each other--now and then a rude joke or laugh rose from the -vestibule. People began to circulate in and out at the various doors, -and during all this several witnesses were examined. These persons had -seen a gentleman, well, nay, elegantly dressed, enter the miserable -basement occupied by the prisoner and his family, very early on the -morning of the nineteenth. One, a person who lived in the front -basement, testified to high words, and a sound as if some one had -stamped several times on the floor. Then he heard quick footsteps along -the entry; saw the stranger an instant in the front area, and then heard -him go back again. This excited considerable curiosity in the witness, -who opened the door of his own room and looked out. He caught a glimpse -of the stranger going, quickly, through the next door, and saw two -females. - -The old woman and girl now standing behind the prisoner were crouching -in the back end of the entry, apparently much frightened, for both were -pale; and the old woman wrung her hands while the girl wept bitterly. A -little after, perhaps two minutes, this man heard a sound from the next -room, as if of some heavy body falling; this was followed by a _hush_ -that made him shiver from head to foot. He went out and saw the two -females clinging together, and creeping pale and terror-stricken up to -the door, which the old woman tried to open, but could not, her hands -shook so violently. - -The witness himself turned the latch and looked in, leaning over the -females, who, uttering a low cry, stood motionless, blocking up the -entrance. He saw the stranger lying upon the floor, stretched back in -the agony of a fierce death pang; his teeth were clenched; his eyes wide -open; the chin protruded upward; and both hands were groping and -clutching at the bare boards. - -While the witness looked on, the limbs, half gathered up and strained -against the floor, gave way, and settled down like ridges of withered -grass. The room was badly lighted, but it seemed to the witness that -there was some faint motion, after this a shudder, or it might be a fold -of the dead man's clothes settling around him, but except this all signs -of life went out from the body. - -Then the witness had time to see the other objects in the room. The -first thing that his eyes fell upon was the face of old Mr. Warren, the -palest, the most deathly face he ever saw on a living man; he was -stooping over the corpse, grasping what seemed a handful of snow, -stained through and through with blood which he pressed down upon the -dead man's side. - -The witness grew wild with the terror of this scene. He pushed the two -females forward and went in. The prisoner looked up, still pressing his -hand upon the dead man; his lips moved, and he tried to speak, but could -not. On stooping down, the witness saw that the stained mass clenched in -the old man's fingers was one side of a white silk vest, clutched up -with masses of fine linen, which the dead man had worn. He also saw a -knife lying on the floor wet to the haft. After a minute or so, the -prisoner spoke, apparently feeling the body grow stiff under his hand; -he turned his head with a piteous look, and whispered--"What can we do?" - -The witness stated that his answer was "Nothing--the man is dead!" - -Then the old man got up, and went to a bed huddled on the floor in one -corner of the room, where his wife and grand-daughter had dropped, when -the witness pushed them with unconscious violence from the threshold. He -said something in a low voice to the woman, and she answered-- - -"Oh, Wilcox, tell me that you did not do it!" - -The prisoner looked at her--at first he seemed amazed as if some horrid -thought had just struck him, then he looked grieved, wounded to the -heart. The expression that came upon his face was enough to make one -cry, but his voice, when he spoke, was even worse than the look; it -seemed choked up with tears, that he could not shed. - -"My wife!" he said nothing more, but that was enough to make the old -woman cover her face with both hands and sob like a child. Julia, his -grandchild, who had been sitting white and still as death till then, -lifted her eyes to the old man's face, and you could see them deepen -with sorrowful astonishment, as if she too had been suddenly wounded. -The look of horror died on her features, leaving them full of -tenderness. She arose with the look of an angel, and clasping her hands -over the old man's arm, as he stood gazing mournfully upon his wife, -pressed her head against his side. - -"Grandfather, she did not think it. It was the terror that spoke, not -her, not my grandmother!" - -The old man would have laid his hand upon her head, but it was crimson -and wet. He saw this, and dropped it again. - -The dim light, the pale faces, the man stark and dead upon the floor, -made the scene too painful even for a strong man. The witness went out -and aroused the neighborhood. He did not go back; more courageous men -would have shrunk from the scene as he did. - -I have given this man's evidence, not in his own words. He was a German, -and spoke rude English; but the scene he described was only the more -graphic for that. It impressed the judges and the crowd; it gratified -that intense love of the horrible that is becoming a passion in the -masses, and yet softened it with touches of rude pathos, that also -gratified the populace. Here and there you saw a wet eye in the crowd. -Men who were strangers to each other, exchanged whispered wishes that -the prisoner might be found innocent. The old woman and her -grand-daughter became objects of unceasing curiosity. Men pressed -forward to get a sight at them. The reporters paused to study their -features, and to take an inventory of their poverty-stricken garments. - -Other witnesses were called, all testifying to like facts, that served -to fasten the appearances of guilt more closely upon that fallen old -man. When all had been examined but the grand-daughter, the excitement -became intense; the crowd pressed closer to the bar; those in the -vestibule rushed in, filling every corner of the room. - -The poor girl moved when her name was pronounced, and with difficulty -mounted the step which lifted her white face to a level with the judge. -The little hands grasped the railing till every drop of blood was driven -from the strained fingers; but for this she must have fallen to the -earth, for there was no strength in her limbs, no strength at her heart, -save that which one fixed solemn thought gave. There was something -deeper than the pallor of fear in those beautiful features--something -more sublime than sorrow in the clear violet eyes which she lifted to -the magistrate. He saw her lips move, and bent forward to catch the -sound of words that she seemed to be uttering,-- - -"I cannot answer any questions; don't ask me, sir, please don't!" - -He caught these words. He saw the look of meek courage that spoke even -more forcibly than the tremulous lips. No one saw the look, or heard the -voice, but himself, not even the prisoner; for age had somewhat dulled -his ear. The face, the look, the gentle bearing of this poor girl, -filled the judge with compassion. It is a horrible thing for any law to -force evidence from one loving heart that may cast another into the -grave. The magistrate had never felt the cruelty so much before. The -questions that he should have propounded sunk back upon his heart. It -seemed like torturing a lamb with all the flock looking on. - -Still, the magistrates of our courts learn hard lessons even of juvenile -depravity; not to be suspicious would, in them, be a living miracle. -This girl might be prompted by advice, and thus artfully acting as the -tool of some lawyer. You would not look in her eyes and believe it, but -soft eyes sometimes brood over falsehood that would make you tremble. No -one is better aware of this than the acute magistrate; still there is -something in pure simplicity that convinces the heart long before the -judgment has power to act. - -"Who told you not to answer my questions?" he said, in a low voice. - -"No one!" - -"Then why refuse?" - -"Because my grandfather never killed the man, but what I should say, -might make it seem as if he did." - -"But do you know that is contempt of court--a punishable offence." - -"I did not know it!" - -"That I have power to make you answer?" - -A faint beautiful smile flitted across her face. You might fancy a -youthful martyr smiling thus when threatened with death by fire. It -disturbed in no degree the humility of her demeanor, but that one gleam -of the strength within her satisfied the magistrate. - -Not even the reporters had been able to catch a word of the -conversation. His dignity was in no way committed. He resolved to waive -the cruel power, which would have wrung accusation from that helpless -creature unnecessarily; for the evidence that had gone before was quite -sufficient to justify a commitment. - -"We shall not require the evidence of this young girl," he said, -addressing a fellow-magistrate, who had been writing quietly during the -proceedings. - -"No," answered the magistrate, without checking his pen or raising his -head, "what is the use? The story of that German was enough. I should -have committed him after that. The poor girl is frightened to death. Let -her go!" - -"But in the other court, there she will be wanted!" - -"True, she must be kept safe. Anybody forthcoming with the bonds?" - -"I fear not. It seems hard to keep the poor thing in prison!" - -"Like caging a blackbird!" answered the man, racing over the paper with -his gold-mounted pen. "Hard, but necessary; bad laws must be kept the -same as good ones, my dear fellow! Disgrace to civilization, and all -that, but the majesty of the law must be maintained, even though it -does shut up nice little girls with the offscourings of the earth." - -"It goes against my heart!" answered the sitting magistrate with a sigh. -"It seems like casting newly fallen snow before a herd of wild animals. -I never hated to sign my name so much!" - -"Must be done though. You have stretched a point to save her. Just now, -the reporters were eyeing you. Another step of leniency, and down comes -the press!" - -"I shall act rightly according to my own judgment, notwithstanding the -press." - -"A beautiful sentiment, only don't let those chaps hear it. Would not -appreciate the thing at all!" - -The sitting magistrate spoke the truth. Never in his life had he signed -papers of commitment so reluctantly; but they were made out at length, -and handed to the officer. The old man was conducted from the bar one -way, and a strange officer took Julia by the hand, forcing her through -the crowd in another direction. At first she supposed that they were -going with her grandfather. When they were separated in the crowd, she -began to struggle; a faint wail broke from her lips, and the officer was -compelled to cast his arm around her waist, thus half carrying her -through the crowd. - -The woman had followed her husband and grandchild mechanically, but when -they were separated, the cry that broke from Julia's lips made her turn -and rush back; the crowd closed in around her; she cast one wild look -after the prisoner, another toward the spot whence the wail came. They -both were lost through a door in the dark vistas of the prison. She saw -an arm flung wildly up as if beckoning her, and rushed forward, blindly -struggling against the crowd. In the press of people, she was hurried -forth into the vestibule, and there leaning, in dreary helplessness, -against one of the massy stone pillars, she stood looking vaguely around -for her husband and child. It was a heart-rending sight, but every day -those ponderous walls witness scenes equally mournful. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE IMPRISONED WITNESS. - - When souls come freshly from their God, - They breathe the very air of Heaven! - To children on this earthly sod, - Angelic trusts are sometimes given. - - And like bright spirits wandering through - The haunted depths of tears and sin, - Their gentle words drop down like dew, - Where wisdom fails, they charm and win. - - -It is strange--nay, it is horrible--that so much of barbarism still -lingers in the laws and customs of a free land. Without crime or offence -of any kind, a person may be taken, here in the city of New York, and -confined for months among the most hideous malefactors; his self-respect -broken down; his associations brutalized; and all, that the law may be -fulfilled. What must that law be which requires oppression, that it may -render justice? - -In New York, the poor witness--a man who has the misfortune to know -anything of a crime before the courts, is himself exactly in the place -of a criminal. Like the malefactor, he must give bonds for his prompt -appearance on the day of trial, or lacking the influence to obtain -these, must himself share the prison of the very felon his evidence will -condemn. Strangers thus--sea-faring men, and persons destitute of -friends--are often imprisoned for months among the very dregs of -humanity; innocent, and yet suffering the severest penalties of guilt. - -This injustice, so glaring that a savage would blush to acknowledge it, -exists almost unnoticed in a city overrun with benevolent societies, -crowded with churches, and inundated with sympathies for the wronged of -every nation or city on earth. If ostentatious charity would, for a -time, give way to simple justice, New York like all the American cities -we know of, would obtain for itself more respect abroad and more real -prosperity at home. - -It was under this law that Julia Warren, a young creature, just -bursting into the first bloom of girlhood, pure, sensitive, and -guileless as humanity can be, was dragged like a thief into the city -prison. She had known the deepest degradation of poverty, and that is -always so closely crowded against crime in cities, that it seems almost -impossible to keep the dew upon an innocent nature. But Julia had been -guarded in her poverty by principle so firm, by love so holy, that -neither the close neighborhood of sin nor the gripe of absolute want had -power to stain the sweet bloom of a nature that seemed to fling off evil -impressions as the swan casts off waterdrops from its snowy bosom, -though its whole form is bathed in them. - -This young creature, in all her gentle innocence, without crime, without -even the suspicion of a fault, was now the inmate of a prison, the -associate of felons, hand-in-hand with guilt of a kind and degree that -had never entered even her imagination. - -At first, when the officer separated the poor girl from her -grandparents, she struggled wildly, shrieked for help, and at last fell -to imploring the man, with eyes so wild and eloquence so startling, that -he paused in one of the dark corridors leading from the court, and -strove to soothe her, supposing that she was terrified by the gloom of -the place. - -"No, no!" she answered. "It is not that. I did not see that it was dark. -I did not look at anything. My grandfather--poor grandma! Let me go with -them. I'm not afraid. I don't care for being in prison, only let me stay -where they are!" - -"Your grandmother is not here!" - -"Not here--not here!" answered the poor creature, wildly and aghast. -"Then what has become of her? Let me go--let me go, I say. She will -die!" - -Julia unlocked the hands that she had clasped, flung back the hair from -her face, and fled down the corridor so swiftly, that the keeper, taken -by surprise, was left far behind. An officer, coming in from the court, -seized her by the arm as she was passing him. - -"Not so fast, canary bird; not quite so fast. It takes swifter wings -than yours to get out of this cage." - -Julia looked at the man, breathless with affright. - -"What do you hold me for? Why can't I go?" she gasped forth. - -"Because you are a prisoner, little one!" - -"But I have done nothing!" - -"Nobody ever does anything that comes here," said this man, with a -contemptuous smile. "Never were so many innocent people crowded -together." - -As he spoke, the man tightened his hold on her arm, and moved forward, -forcing her along with him. - -The poor creature winced under the pain of his grasp. - -"You hurt my arm," she said, in a low voice. - -"Do I?" replied the man, affected by the despondency of her tone. "I did -not mean to do that; but it would be difficult to touch a little, -delicate thing like you without leaving a mark. Come, don't cry. I did -not hurt you on purpose." - -"I know it. It is not that," answered the girl, lifting her eyes, from -which the big tears were dropping like rain. - -"Well, well, go quietly to the women's department. They will not keep -you long, unless you have been stealing, or something of that sort." - -"Stealing!" faltered the girl, "stealing!" The color flashed into her -pale, wet cheeks; a faint, scornful smile quivered over her lips. - -The officer from whom she had fled now came up. "Come," he said, with a -shade of impatience, "I cannot be kept waiting in this way." - -"I am ready!" answered the poor girl, in a voice of utter despondency, -while her head dropped upon her bosom. "If I am a prisoner, take me -away. But what--what have I done?" - -"Never mind; settle that with the court. I am in a hurry, so come -along!" - -Julia neither expostulated nor attempted to resist. - -She gave her hand to the officer, who led her quickly forward. They -threaded the dim, vault-like passage, and paused before a grated door, -through which the trembling girl could see dark, squalid figures moving -about in the dusky twilight that filled the prison. Two or three faces, -haggard and fiend like, were pressed up against the bars. One was that -of a negro woman, scarred with many a street brawl, whose inflamed eyes -glared wickedly upon the innocent creature whom the laws had sent to be -her companion. - -"Get back--back with you!" commanded the officer, dashing his keys -against the grating. "Your hideous faces frighten the poor thing!" - -The faces flitted away, grinning defiance, and sending back a burst of -hoarse laughter that made Julia shiver from head to foot. She drew close -to the man, clinging to his garments, while he turned the heavy lock and -thrust the door half open. The dim vista of a hall, with cells yawning -on one side, and filled with gloomy light, through which wild, impish -figures wandered restlessly to and fro, or sat motionless against the -walls, met Julia's gaze. She shrank back, clinging desperately to her -conductor-- - -"Oh, mercy, mercy! Not here--not here!" she cried, pallid and shivering. - -The man raised her firmly in his arms, and passing through the door, set -her down. She heard the clank of keys; the shooting of a heavy bolt. She -saw the shadow of this, her last friend, fall across the grating; and -then, in dreary desolation, she sat down upon a wooden bench, and -leaning her cold cheek against the wall, closed her eyes. The tears -pressed through those long, dark eyelashes, and rolled, one by one, in -heavy drops, over her face. Her arms hung helplessly down; all the -energies of her young life seemed utterly prostrated. - -The hall was full of women of all ages, and bearing every stamp that -vice or sorrow impresses on the countenance. Some, old and hardened in -evil, stood aloof looking upon the heart-stricken girl with their stony, -pitiless eyes; others, younger, more reckless and fierce in their -sympathies, gathered around in a crowd, commenting upon her grief, some -mockingly, others with a touch of feeling. Black and white, all huddled -around the bench she occupied, pouring their hot breath out, till she -sickened and grew faint, as if the boughs of a Upas tree were drooping -over her. - -"She's sick--she's fainting away!" cried one of the women. "Bring some -water!" - -"No," cried another. "If we had a drop of brandy now. But water, bah!" - -"It's the horrors--see how she trembles," exclaimed a third, with a -chuckle and a toss of the head. - -"No such thing. She's too young--too handsome!" - -"Oh, get away! Don't I know the symptoms?" interrupted the first -speaker, with a coarse laugh. "Ain't I young--ain't I handsome? Who says -no to that? And yet haven't you heard me yell--haven't you heard me rave -with the horrors?" - -"That was because the doctor prescribes brandy," interposed a -sly-looking mulatto woman, folding her arms and turning her head saucily -on one side. "When that medicine comes, you are still enough." - -This retort was followed by a general laugh, in which the object joined, -till the tears rolled down her cheeks. - -In the midst of this coarse glee, Julia had fallen like a withered -flower, upon the bench. That moment, the huge negress, who had so -terrified the poor creature at the grating, plunged out from a cell in -the upper end of the hall, and came toward the group with a tin cup full -of water in her hand. - -Had a fiend come forth on an errand of mercy, it would not have seemed -more out of place than that hideous creature under the influence of a -kind impulse. She came down the hall as rapidly as her naked feet, -hampered by an old pair of slip-shod shoes, could move. The dress hung -in rents and festoons of dirty and faded calico around her gaunt limbs, -trailing the stone floor on one side, and lifted high above her clumsy -ankles on the other. - -The women scattered as she approached, giving her a full view of the -fainting girl. - -"So you've done it among you--smothered her. How dare you? Didn't you -see that I took a fancy to her, before she came in? Let her alone. I -want a pet, and she's mine." - -"Yours!" "Why, it was your face that frightened her to death. There -hasn't been a bit of color in her lips since she saw you," answered the -woman that had so eagerly recommended brandy, and who kept her place in -spite of the formidable negress. "Here, give me the water, and get out -of my sight." - -The negress pushed this woman roughly aside, and kneeling down by the -senseless girl, bathed her forehead with the water. Julia did not stir. -Her face continued deathly white; a faint violet tinge lay upon her lips -and around her eyes; her little hands fell down to the stone floor; her -feet dropped heavily from the bench. This position, more than the still -face even, was fearfully like death. - -"Call a keeper," cried half a dozen voices, "she is scared to death!" - -"The doctor!" urged as many more voices. "It will take a doctor to bring -her out of that fit!" - -"We won't have a doctor," exclaimed the old negress, stoutly. "He'd call -it tremens, and give her brandy or laudanum. I tell you, she isn't one -of that sort! Don't believe a drop of the ardent ever touched her lips!" - -Again a coarse laugh broke up from among the prisoners. - -The negress dashed a handful of water across the poor face over which -that laughter floated like the orgies of fiends around a death couch. -She rose to one knee, and turned her fierce eyes upon the scoffers. - -I have never stained a page in my life with profane language, even when -describing a profane person; never have placed the name of God -irreverently into the lips of an ideal character. Sooner would I feel an -oath burning upon my own soul, than register one where it might -familiarize itself to a thousand souls, surprised into its use by their -confidence in the author. Even here, where profanity is the common -language of the place, I will risk a feebler description in my own -language, rather than for one instant break through the rule of a life. -Yet amid language and scenes which I could not force this pen to write, -and creatures, most of them, brutalized by vice to a degree that I -shrink from describing, this young guileless creature was plunged by the -laws of an enlightened people. When she opened her eyes, that scarred, -black face, less repulsive from a touch of kindly feeling, but hideous -still, was the first object that greeted them. - -The woman, as I have said, had risen to one knee. The holy name of God -trembled on her coarse lips, prefacing a torrent of abusive -expostulation that broke from them in the rudest and most repulsive -language. - -"You needn't laugh, don't I know better--fifty times better than any of -you? Haven't I been here--this is the fifteenth time? Don't I go to my -country-seat on Blackwell's Island every summer of my life? How many -times have you been there, the best of you, I should like to ask? Twice, -three times. Bah! what should you know of life? Stand out of the way. -She's beginning to sob. You shan't stifle her again, I promise you. It -was the water did it. Which of you could be got out of a fit with -water--tell me that? Here, just come one of you and feel her breath, -while the tears are in it--sweet as a rose, moist as dew. I tell you, -she never tasted anything stronger than bread and milk in her life!" - -The woman clenched this truth with an imprecation on herself which made -the young girl start up and look wildly around, as if she believed -herself encompassed by a band of demons. - -"What is the matter? Are you afraid?" said the white prisoner, that had -formerly spoken, bending over her. - -"Get out of the way," said the negress, with another oath. "It's my pet, -I tell you." - -The terrible creature, whose very kindness was brutal, reached forth -her arm and attempted to draw Julia to her side, but the poor girl -recoiled, shuddering from the touch, and fell upon her knees, covering -her ears with both hands. - -"Are you afraid of _me_? Is that it?" shouted the negress, almost -touching the strained fingers with her mouth. - -"Yes, yes!" broke from her tremulous lips, and Julia kept her eyes upon -the woman in a wild stare. "I am afraid." - -"This is gratitude," said the woman, fiercely. "I brought her to, and -she looks at me as if I was a mad dog." - -Julia cowered under the fiery glance with which these words were -accompanied. This only exasperated her hideous friend, and with an angry -grip of the teeth, she seized one little hand, forcing it away from the -ear, that was on the instant filled with a fresh torrent of curses. - -"Oh, don't! Pray, pray. It is dreadful to swear so!" - -"Swear! Why, I didn't swear--not a word of it. Have been talking milk -and water all the time just for your sake. Leave it all to these ladies, -if I haven't!" said the woman, evidently impressed with the truth of her -assertion, and appealing, with an air of simple confidence, to her -fellow-prisoners: for profanity had become with her a fixed habit, and -she was really unconscious of it. - -A laugh of derision answered this singular appeal, and a dozen voices -gave mocking assurance that there had been a mistake about the matter, -saying, - -"Oh, no! old Mag never swore in her life." - -Tortured by the wild tumult, and driven to the very confines of -insanity, Julia could scarcely forbear screaming for help. She started -up, avoiding the negress with a desperate spring sidewise, and staggered -toward the grated door. It seemed to her impossible to draw a deep -breath, in the midst of those wretched beings! - -"Mamma, mamma!" said a soft, sweet voice, from one of the cells, and as -Julia turned her face, she saw through the narrow iron door-way the head -of a child, bending eagerly forward and radiant with joyous surprise. - -Julia paused, held forth both her trembling hands, and entered the -cell, smiling through her tears as if an angel had called. - -The child arose from the floor, for it had been upon its hands and -knees, and putting back its golden hair, that broke into waves and curls -in spite of neglect, with two soiled and dimpled hands, it gazed upon -the intruder in speechless disappointment. Julia saw this, and her heart -sank again. - -"It was not me you wanted," she said, laying her hand tremblingly on the -child's shoulder. "You are sorry that I came?" - -"Yes," answered the child, and his soft, brown eyes filled with tears. -"I thought it was mamma. It was dark, and I could not see, but it seemed -as if you were mamma." - -Julia stooped down and kissed the child. In that dim light, it was -difficult to say which of those beautiful faces seemed the most angelic. - -"But I love you. I am glad to see you," she said, in a voice that made -the little boy smile through his tears. He fixed his eyes upon her in a -long, earnest gaze, and then nestling close to her side, murmured, "And -I love you!" - -There was a narrow bed in the cell, and Julia sat down upon it, lifting -the child to her knee. In return, she felt a little arm steal around her -neck and a warm cheek laid against her own. The innocent nature of the -child blended with that of the maiden, as blossoms in a strange -atmosphere may be supposed to lean toward each other. - -"Do they shut up children in this wicked place? How came you here, -darling?" - -"I don't know!" answered the child, shaking its beautiful head. - -"But did you come alone?" - -"Oh, no! _She_ came with me." - -"Who--your mamma?" questioned Julia, so deeply interested in the child, -that for the moment, her own grief was forgotten. - -"No, not her. They call her my mamma, but she isn't. Come here, softly, -and I will let you see." - -He drew Julia to the entrance, and pointed with his finger toward a -female, who sat cowering by a stove a little distance up the passage. -There was something so picturesque in the bold, Roman outlines of this -woman's face, that it riveted Julia's attention. The large head was -covered with masses of dull, black hair, gathered up in a loose coil -behind, and falling down the cheeks in dishevelled waves. The nose, -rising in a haughty and not ungraceful curve; the massive forehead and -heavy chin, with a large mouth coral red and full of sensual expression, -gave to that head, bending downward with its side-face toward the light, -the interest and effect of some old picture, which, without real beauty, -haunts the memory like an unforgotten sin. - -This woman had evidently received some injury on the forehead, for a -scarlet silk handkerchief was knotted across it, the ends mingling -behind with the neglected braids of her hair, which, but for it, must -have fallen in coils over her neck and shoulders. - -Her dress, of blue barege, had once been elegant, if not rich; but in -that place, faded and soiled, with the flounces half torn away, and the -rents gathered rudely up with pins that she had found upon the -stone-floor of her prison, it had a look of peculiar desolation. Every -fold bespoke that flash poverty which profligacy makes hideous. - -A book with yellow covers, soiled and torn, lay open upon this woman's -lap; and with her large, full arms loosely folded on her bosom, she bent -over it with a look of gloating interest, that betrayed all the -intensity of her evil nature. You could see her black eyes kindle -beneath their inky lashes, as she impatiently dashed over a leaf, or was -molested in any way by the noise around. - -You could not look upon this woman for an instant without feeling the -influence which a strong character, even in repose, fixes upon the mind. -Powerful intellect and strong passions--the one utterly untrained, the -other curbless and fierce--broke through every curve of her sensual -person and every line of her face. - -As Julia stood in the cell-door, with one arm around the child, this -woman chanced to look up, and caught those beautiful eyes fixed so -steadily upon her. She returned the glance with a hard, impudent stare, -which filled the young creature with alarm, while it served to fascinate -her gaze. - -The woman seemed enraged that her glance had not made the stranger cower -at once. Crushing her book in one hand, she arose and came forward, -sweeping her way through the prisoners with that sort of undulating -swagger into which vice changes what was originally grace. She came up -to Julia with an oath upon her lips, demanding why she had been staring -at her so? - -Julia did not answer, but shrunk close to the child, who cringed against -her, evidently terrified by the menacing attitude and fierce looks that -his temerity had provoked. - -"Come here, you little wretch," exclaimed the termagant, securing him by -the arm, and jerking him fiercely through the cell-door. "How dare you -speak to anybody here without leave? Come along, or I'll break every -bone in your body." - -With a swing of the arm, that sent the child whirling forward in fierce -leaps, she landed him at her old seat, and sitting down, crowded the -beautiful creature between her and the hot stove, setting one foot, -bursting through a white slipper of torn and dirty satin, heavily in his -lap to hold him quiet, while she went on with her French novel. - -The poor little fellow bent his head, dropped his pretty hands on the -floor, each side of him, and sat motionless and meek, like some heavenly -cherub crushed beneath the foot of a demon. Once he struggled a little, -and made an effort to creep back, for the heat pouring from the huge -mass of iron which stood close before him, had become insupportable. - -The woman, without lifting her eyes from the book, put her hand down -upon his shoulder with a fierce imprecation, and ordered him to be -quiet. The poor infant dared not move again, though his face, his neck, -and his little arms became scarlet with the heat, and perspiration stood -upon his forehead like rain, saturating his golden hair, and even his -garments. He lifted his soft eyes, full of terror and of entreaty, to -the hard face above him, but it was gloating over one of those foul -passages with which Eugene Sue has cursed the world, and the innocent -creature shrank from the expression as he had cowered from the heat. -Tears now crowded into his eyes, and he turned them, with a look of -helpless misery, upon the young girl who stood regarding him, with looks -of unutterable pity. - -Julia Warren could not withstand this look. She was no longer timid; the -prison was forgotten now; her very soul went forth in compassion for the -one being more helpless than herself, whom she might have the power to -protect. She went softly up to the woman, and touched her upon the arm. -Compassion gave the young creature that exquisite tact which makes -generous impulses so beautiful. - -"Please, madam, let the child stay with me a little longer; I will keep -him very quiet while you read!" - -The meek demeanor, the soft, sweet tone in which this was uttered, fell -upon the sense like a handful of freshly gathered violets. The woman had -loved pure things once, and this voice started her heart as if a gush of -perfumed air had swept through it. She looked up suddenly, and fixing -her large, bold eyes upon the girl, seemed wondering alike at her -loveliness and courage in thus addressing her. - -Julia endured the gaze with gentle forbearance, but she could not keep -her eyes from wandering toward the child, who, seizing her dress with -one hand, was shrouding his face in the folds. - -"How came you here?" demanded the woman, rudely. - -"I don't know," was the meek answer. - -"Don't know, bah! What have you done?" - -"Nothing!" - -"Nothing!" repeated the woman, with a sickening sneer; "so you're not a -chicken after all; know the ropes, ha! nothing! I never give that -answer--despise it--always have the courage to own what I have the -courage to act; it's original; I like it. Take my advice, girl, own the -truth and shame the--the old gentleman. He's an excellent friend of -mine, no doubt, but I love to put the old fellow out of countenance with -the truth now and then. The rest of them never do it; not one of them -ever committed a crime in their lives--unfortunate, nothing more." - -"Will you let me take up the child?" said Julia, with a pleading smile; -"see, the heat is killing him!" - -The woman glanced sharply at the little creature, half moved her foot, -and then pressed it down again, and drew back a little, dragging the -child with her; but she resisted the effort which Julia made to release -him. - -"Not now, the child's mine; I'll make him as wicked as I like myself, -but he shan't run wild among the prisoners!" - -"Are you really his mother?" said Julia. - -"Yes, I am really his mother!" was the mocking reply; "what have you -against it?" - -"Nothing, nothing--only I should think you would be afraid to have him -here!" - -"And your mother--she isn't afraid to have you here, I suppose." - -"I have no mother!" said Julia, in a tone of sadness, that made itself -felt even upon the bad nature of her listener. - -"No mother, well don't mourn for that," said the woman, with a touch of -passionate feeling. "Thank God for it, if you believe in a God; she -won't follow you here with her white, miserable face; she won't starve -to keep you from sin--or die--die by inches, I tell you, because all is -of no use. You won't see her crowded into a pine coffin, and tumbled -into Potter's Field, and feel--feel in the very core of your heart that -you have sent her there. Thank God--thank God, I say, miserable girl, -that you have no mother!" - -The woman had risen as she spoke, her imposing features, her whole form -quivering with passion. Tears crowded into her lurid eyes, giving them -fire, depth, and expression. She ceased speaking, fell upon the seat -again, and, covering her face with the soiled novel, sobbed aloud. - -The child, released from the bondage of her foot, stood up, trembling -beneath the storm of her words; but when she fell down and began to -weep, his lips grew tremulous, his little chest began to heave, and -climbing up the stool upon which his mother crouched, he leaned over and -kissed her temple. - -This angel kiss fell upon her forehead like a drop of dew; she dashed -the novel from her face, and flung her arm over the child. - -"Look!" she cried, with a fierce sob, turning her dusky and tear-stained -face upon the young girl. "He has got a mother; look on her, and then -dare to mourn because you have none!" - -"But I have a grandfather and grandmother that love me as if I were -their own child," said Julia, deeply moved by the fierce anguish thus -revealed to her. - -"And where are they?" - -"My grandfather is here." - -"Here! How came it about? What is he charged with?" - -Julia's lips grew pale at the word "murder!" Even the woman seemed -appalled by the mention of a crime so much more serious than she had -expected. - -"But you--they do not charge you with murder?" she questioned, in a -subdued voice. - -"No!" said Julia, innocently. "They charge me with being a witness!" - -Once more a torrent of fiery imprecations burst from the lips of that -miserable woman--imprecations against a law hideous almost as her own -sins. Julia recoiled, aghast, beneath this profane violence. The child -dropped down from the stool, and crept to her side, weeping. The woman -saw this, and checked herself. - -"Then you have really done nothing?" - -Julia shook her head and smiled sadly. - -"A beautiful country--beautiful laws, that send an innocent child to -take lessons in life here, and from women like us. Oh, my dear, it's a -great pity you haven't been in the Penitentiary half a dozen times; -lots of benevolent people would be ready to reform you at any expense -then." - -Julia smiled dimly. She did not quite understand what the woman was -saying. - -"It makes my heart burn to see you here," continued the woman, -vehemently; "it's a sin--a wicked shame; but I'll take care of you. -There's some good left in me yet. Just get acquainted with that little -wretch, and no one else; stay in your cell; the keeper won't let them -crowd in upon you. The matron will be here by-and-bye. She'll be a -mother to you; she's a Christian--a thorough, cheerful, hard-working -Christian. I believe in these things, though I would not own it to every -one. Kind, because she can't help it without going against her own -nature. I like that woman--there isn't a creature here wicked enough not -to like her." - -"When shall I see her?" questioned Julia, brightening beneath this first -gleam of hope. - -"To-morrow morning--perhaps before--I don't know exactly. She's in and -out whenever there is good to be done. But come, go into my cell--they -haven't given you one yet, I suppose--the whole gang of them are coming -this way again." - -Julia looked up and saw a crowd of women coming up from the grated door, -where they had been drawn by some noise in the outer passage. Terrified -by the dread of meeting that horrible old negress again, she grasped the -little hand that still held to her garments, and absolutely fled after -the woman, who entered the cell where she had first seen the child. - -The prisoners were amused by her evident terror, and gathered around the -entrance; but as Julia sat down upon the bed, pale and panting with -affright, her self-constituted guardian started forward and dashed the -iron door in their faces, with a clang that sounded from one hollow -corridor to another, like the sudden clang of a bell. - -"There," she said, with a smile that for a moment swept away the fierce -expression from her face, "I'd like to see one of them bold enough to -come within arm's length of that. My home's my castle, if it is in a -prison. I've been here often enough to know my rights. If the laws won't -keep you free from that gang, I will!" - -It was wonderful the influence that gentle girl had won over the -depraved being who protected her thus. After she entered the cell, no -rude or profane word passed the woman's lips. She seemed to have shut -out half that was wicked in her own nature when she dashed the iron door -against her fellow-prisoners. Her large, black eyes brightened with a -sort of rude pleasure as she saw her child creep into Julia's lap, and -lay his head on her bosom. - -"How naturally you take to one another," she said, letting down the -black masses of her hair, and beginning to disentangle the braids with -her fingers, as if the pure eyes of her guest had reproached their -untidy state. "When I was a little girl, we had plenty of wild roses in -a swamp near the house. It is strange, I have not thought of them in ten -years; but when I saw you and the child sitting there together, it -seemed as if I could reach out my hands and fill them." - -Julia did not answer; her eyes were bent on the child, who had ceased to -cry, and lay quietly in her arms--so quietly that she could detect a -drowsy mist stealing over his eyes. The woman went on threading out her -long hair in silence. After awhile Julia, who had been watching the -soft, brown eyes of the child as the white lids dropped over them -gradually like the closing petals of a flower, looked up with a smile, -so pure, so bright, that the woman unconsciously smiled also. - -"He is sound asleep," said the young girl, putting back the moist curls -from his forehead. "See what a smile, I have been watching it deepen on -his face since his eyes began to close." - -The woman put back her hair with both hands, and turned her eyes with a -sort of stern mournfulness upon the sleeping boy. - -"He never goes to sleep on my bosom like that," she said, at last, with -a bitter smile, and more bitter tone. "How could he? My heart beats -sometimes loud enough to scare myself; I wonder if wild flowers really -do blossom over Mount Etna? If they do, why should not my own child -rest over my own heart?" - -"My grandfather has told me that flowers _do_ grow around volcanoes," -said Julia, with a soft smile, "but it is because the fire never reaches -them; if scorched once they would perish!" - -"And my heart scorches everything near it. Is that what you mean?" said -the woman, with a degree of mildness that was peculiarly impressive in a -voice usually so stern and loud. - -"When you were angry to-day, he trembled; when you wept he kissed you," -answered the gentle girl, looking mildly into the dark face of her -companion, whose fierce nature yielded both respect and attention to the -moral courage that spoke from those young lips. - -"Well, what if I do frighten him? We love that best which we fear most. -It is human nature; at any rate it was my nature, and should be my -child's," said the woman, striving to cast off the influence of which -she was becoming ashamed. - -"And did you ever fear any one?" - -"Did I ever _love_ any one?" was the answer, given in a voice so deep, -so earnest, that it seemed to ring up from the very bottom of a heart -where it had been buried for years. - -"I hope so, I trust so--do you not love your child?" - -The woman dashed back the entire weight of her hair with an impetuous -sweep of one hand; then, with the whole Roman contour of her face -exposed, she turned a keen look upon the young face lifted so innocently -to hers. Long and searching was that look. The shadows of terrible -thoughts swept over that face. Some words, it might be of passion, it -might be of prayer--for bitterness, grief and repentance, all were -blended in that look--trembled unuttered on her lips. Then she suddenly -flung up her arms and falling across the bed, cried out in bitter -anguish--"Oh, my God!--my God! can I never again be like her?" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -THE THREE OLD WOMEN. - - Why have we three gathered here, - With aching hearts and aching brain? - Death must fill another bier, - Before we three shall meet again. - - -"How do you do, madam? Anything in my way? Capital beets these--the most -delicious spinach. Celery, bright and crisp enough to suit an -alderman--sold five bunches for the supper-room at the City Hall, not -half an hour since. Everything on the stand fresh as spring water, sweet -as a rose. Two bunches of the celery, yes ma'am: anything else? not a -small measure of the potatoes? Luscious things, always come out of the -saucepan bursting their jackets; only one measure? Very well--thank you! -Cranberries, certainly!" - -Thus extolling her merchandise, busy as a bee, and radiant with good -humor, stood our old huckster woman, by her vegetable stand in Fulton -Market, on the morning after Julia Warren was cast into prison. No -customer left her stand without adding something to the weight of his or -her market-basket. There was something so hearty and cheerful in her -appearance, that people paused spite of themselves, to examine her -nicely arranged merchandise; and though all the adjoining stalls were -deserted, Mrs. Gray was sure to have her hands full every morning of the -week. - -On this particular day she had been busy as a mother bird, serving -customers, making change, and arranging her stall, now and then pausing -to bandy a good-humored jest with her neighbors, or toss a handful of -vegetables into some beggar's basket. The words with which our chapter -opens, were addressed to a quiet old lady in deep mourning, who carried -a small willow basket on her arm, and appeared to be selecting a few -dainty trifles from various stalls as she passed along. - -"Cranberries! Oh, yes, the finest you have seen this year, plump as -June cherries; see, madam, judge for yourself." - -The good woman took up a quantity of the berries as she spoke, and began -pouring them from one plump hand to the other, smiling blandly now at -the fruit, now at her quiet customer. - -"Yes, they are very fine," said the old lady; "do up a small measure -neatly, they are for a sick person." - -Mrs. Gray looked over her stand for some paper, but her supply was -exhausted. Nothing presented itself but the Morning Express, with which -she usually occupied any little time that might be hers, between the -coming and departure of her customers. This morning she had been too -busy even for a glance at its columns; but as her neighbor seemed to be -out of wrapping paper also, she took up the journal, and was about to -tear off the advertising half, when something in its columns arrested -her eye. She held the paper up and read eagerly. The rich color faded -from her cheeks, and you might have detected a faint motion disturbing -the repose of her double chin, a sure sign of unusual agitation in her. - -"You have forgotten the cranberries!" said the customer, at length, -looking with some surprise at the paper, as it began to rustle violently -in the huckster woman's hands. - -Mrs. Gray did not seem to hear, but read on with increased agitation. At -length she sat down heavily upon her stool, her hands that still grasped -the paper, dropped into her lap, and she seemed completely bewildered. - -"Are you ill?" inquired the old lady, moving softly around the stand. -"Something in the paper must have distressed you." - -"Yes," answered the huckster woman, taking up the journal, and pointing -with her unsteady finger to the paragraph she had been reading, "I am -heart sick; see, I know all these people; I loved some of them. It has -taken away my breath. Do you believe that it is true?" - -The lady reached forth her hand, and taking the paper, read the account -of Leicester's murder and Mr. Warren's arrest, to the end. Mrs. Gray -was looking anxiously in her face, and, though it was white and still as -the coldest marble, it seemed to the good woman as if it contracted -about the mouth, and a look of subdued pain deepened around the eyes. - -"Do you believe it?" questioned Mrs. Gray, forgetting that the person -she addressed was an entire stranger. - -"Yes," answered the lady, speaking with apparent effort--"yes, he is -dead!" - -"What! murdered by that old man? I don't believe it. It's against -nature!" - -"He died a violent death," answered the lady, shrinking as if with pain. - -"Then he killed himself," answered Mrs. Gray, recovering something of -her natural energy, "it was like him." - -"Oh! God forbid!" - -The lady uttered these words in a low, gasping tone, as if Mrs. Gray's -speech had confirmed some unspoken dread in her own heart. The noble old -huckster woman saw that she was giving pain, and did not press the -subject. - -"Then some other person must be guilty; it was not old Mr. Warren; I -haven't seen much of him, true enough, but he's a good man, my life on -it! He's sat at my table--a Thanksgiving dinner, ma'am! I remember the -blessing he asked, so meek, so full of gratitude, with as fine a turkey -as ever came from a barn-yard tempting him to be short, and he with -hunger stamped deep into every line of his face. I haven't heard such a -blessing since I was a girl. This man charged with murder! I wouldn't -believe it though every minister in New York swore against him." - -The old lady opened her lips to speak again, but Mrs. Gray suddenly laid -a hand upon her arm. - -"Hush! you see that old woman coming up the market, it is his wife!--Mr. -Warren's wife!--see how broken-heartedly she looks about from stall to -stall; maybe it is this one she wants. Yes! how her poor eyes brighten. -A friend in need is a friend indeed; she knows where to look, you see." - -By this time the forlorn old woman, who came wandering like a ghost up -the market, caught a glimpse of the portly figure and radiant -countenance, that always made the huckster woman an object of attention. -Her pale face did indeed brighten up, and she forced her way through the -people, putting them aside with her hands in reckless haste. - -Mrs. Gray left her customer by the stall, and went down the market in -benevolent haste, the snowy strings of her cap floating out, and the -broad expanse of her apron rippling with the rapidity of her steps. She -met Mrs. Warren with a kindly, but subdued greeting, and, without -releasing the thin hand she had grasped, led the heart-stricken woman up -to her stall. - -"There, now, sit down upon my stool," she said, giving another gentle -shake of the withered hand, before she relinquished it. "You are tired -and out of breath; there, there, keep quiet; cry away, if you like, I'll -stand before you!" - -The good woman had seen tears gathering into the wild eyes of her -visitor from the first--for if tears are locked in a grateful, heart, -kindness will bring them forth--and with that intuitive delicacy which -made all her acts so genial, she left the poor creature to weep in -peace, shielding her from notice by the breast-work of her own ample -person. - -"Oh, the cranberries! I have kept you waiting!" she said to the customer -who stood motionless by the stall, apparently unconscious of all that -was passing, but keenly interested, notwithstanding this seeming apathy. - -The lady started at this address, and without answer watched Mrs. Gray -as she twisted half of the torn newspaper over her hand, and afterward -filled it with berries. She took the paper, mechanically laid down a -piece of silver, and waited for the change. All this was done in a cold, -strengthless way, like one who does every thing well from habit, and who -omits no detail of a life that has lost all interest. She stood a moment -after receiving the parcel, and then drawing close to Mrs. Gray, -whispered-- - -"Ask her where she lives!" - -Mrs. Gray looked around, and saw that the pale face was bowed still, -and that tears were pouring down it like rain. She leaned forward and -whispered-- - -"Do you live in the old place yet?" - -"No," was the broken answer, "I could not stay there alone, if the rent -were paid. As it is they would not let me, I suppose." - -"Where is your home, then? Where is your family?" said the lady, in her -gentle way. - -"They are in prison; my home is the street!" - -"But where do you sleep?" - -"Nowhere, I have not wanted to sleep since they took _him_!" was the sad -reply. "I walk up and down all night; it is a little chilly sometimes, -but a great deal better than sitting alone to think." - -"She will go home with me," said Mrs. Gray, addressing her customer, and -drawing one hand across her eyes, for their soft brown was becoming -misty. "Of course she will--I don't know you, ma'am, but somehow it -seems as if you would like to help this poor, unfortunate woman. She -needs friends, and has got one, at any rate, but the more the better!" - -"If--if you could only persuade the judge to let me stay in prison with -them," said Mrs. Warren, lifting her face to the lady with an air of -pleading humility. "I don't want a better home than that." - -"They! Was it not they you said?" questioned the huckster woman. "Who is -in prison besides Mr. Warren? Not Julia--not my little flower-angel--you -do not mean that?" - -"They let all go in but me!" answered Mrs. Warren, with a look of -pitiful desolation. - -"I never said it before!" exclaimed Mrs. Gray, untying her apron, -rolling it up and twisting the strings around it with a degree of energy -quite disproportioned to this simple operation--"I never said it before, -but I'm ashamed of my country--it's a disgrace to humanity. I only wish -Jacob knew it, that's all!" - -"Hush!" said the lady, with her cold, low voice. "There's one stronger -than the laws who permits these things for his own wise purposes." - -Mrs. Warren looked up. A wan smile quivered over her face. "That is so -like him--he said these very words." - -"He is right! you must not feel so hopeless, or be altogether -miserable--have faith! have charity!" added the gentle speaker, turning -from the mournful eyes of Mrs. Warren, and addressing the huckster -woman. "You cannot know how many other persons are suffering from this -very cause. Let us all be patient--let us all trust in God." - -She glided away as she spoke, and was lost in the crowd, leaving behind -the hushed passion of grief and a feeling of awe, for the calm dignity -of her own sorrow subdued the resentment which Mrs. Gray had felt, like -the rebuke of an angel. - -"Did you know her?" she questioned, drawing a deep breath, as the black -garments disappeared. "One would think she understood the whole case." - -Mrs. Warren shook her head. - -"I suppose she was right," continued the huckster woman--"I _know_ she -was right, but we can't always feel the pious faith she wants us to -have; if we did there would be no sorrow. Who minds wading a river when -certain just how deep the water is, and while banks covered with flowers -lie in full sight on the other side? It is plunging into a dark stream, -with clouds hiding the shore, and not a star asleep in the bottom, that -tries the faith. But after all, she speaks like one who knows what such -things mean. So be comforted my poor friend, the river is dark, the -clouds are heavy, but somewhere we shall find a gleam of God's mercy -folded up in the blackness. Isn't there a hymn--I think there is--that -says, 'earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure?'" - -"Oh! if they would let me stay with him!" answered the poor old woman, -with her wan smile, "I could have faith then, that is heaven to me!" - -"You shall see him--you shall stay with him from morning till night, if -you would rather! I'll go into court myself. I'll haunt the alderman -like an office-seeker, till some of them lets you in. I'll--yes, I'll go -after Jacob, he can do anything; you never saw Jacob--my brother Jacob, -he's a man to deal with these courts. Strong as a lion, honest as a -house-dog; been half his life in foreign parts. Knows more in ten -minutes than his sister does in a whole year; he'll set things to rights -in no time. Your husband is innocent--innocent as I am--we must prove -it, that's all!" - -Mrs. Warren did not speak the thanks that beamed in every lineament of -her face; but she took the hand which Mrs. Gray had laid upon hers, and -pressing it softly between her thin palms, raised it to her lips. - -"Poh--poh, they will see you! Cheer up now, and let us consider how to -begin. If Jacob were only here now, or even my nephew, Robert Otis, he -would be better than nobody!" - -"Thank you, aunt Gray--thank you a thousand times for this estimate of -modest merit," said a voice at her elbow, whose cheerfulness was -certainly somewhat assumed. - -Mrs. Gray turned with a degree of eagerness that threatened to destroy -the equilibrium of her stately person. - -"Robert--Robert Otis," she cried, addressing the noble-looking youth, -who stood with his hand extended, ready for the warm greeting that was -sure to be his. "I was just wishing for you--so was poor Mrs. Warren; -you remember Mrs. Warren's grand-daughter--she is in trouble--great -trouble!" - -"Yes, I know," said young Otis, remarking the painful expression that -came and went on that withered face. "I have been to the prison!" - -"Did you see him? Did they let you in?" exclaimed Mrs. Warren, beginning -to tremble. "Oh! tell me how he was--did he miss me very much? Was he -anxious about his poor wife?" - -"I was too early--they did not let me in," replied the young man, -bending a pair of fine eyes, full of noble compassion, on the old -woman; "but I learned from one of the keepers that your husband was more -composed than persons usually are the first night of confinement." - -The old woman sunk back to her seat, with an air of meek disappointment. - -"And Julia, my grandchild--did you inquire about her?" - -Robert's countenance changed; there was something unsteady in his voice, -as he replied; it seemed embarrassed with some tender recollection. - -"I saw her!" - -"You saw her! How did she look?--what did she say?" - -"I got admission to speak with Mrs. Foster, the matron, a fine, pleasant -woman, you will be glad to know; but it was early for visitors, and I -only saw your grand-daughter through the grating." - -"Was she ill?--was she crying?--did she look pale?" - -"She looked pale, certainly, but calm and quiet as an angel in heaven." - -"Oh! she is like an angel, that dear grand-daughter!" - -"She was leading a little child by the hand, up and down the lower -passage--a beautiful creature, who kept his quiet, soft eyes fixed on -hers, as we sometimes see a house-dog gaze on its owner. I had but one -glimpse, and came away." - -"Then she did not seem unhappy?" questioned the old woman. - -"I could not say that. Her eyes were heavy, as if she had cried a good -deal in the night, but she was calm when I saw her." - -"Would they let me look at her as you did, if I promised not to speak a -word?" - -"There is no reason why you should not speak with her and your husband -too. If the keepers refuse, I will obtain an order from the sheriff." - -"Do you think so, really? Can I see them to-day?" - -"Be at rest; you will see them within a few hours, no doubt," replied -the young man. "But your grand-daughter, at least, will, I trust, be at -liberty. It was on this subject that I came to see you, aunt." - -"And right glad I am you did come, nephew," replied the huckster woman. -"I wanted to help the poor things somehow, but didn't know what on earth -to begin with. I know just about as much of the law as a spring gosling, -and no more. It costs heaps of money, that every one can tell you; but -how it is to be spent, and what for, is the question I want answered." - -"Well, aunt, the first step, I fancy, is to get the poor woman's -grandchild out of that horrid place. I can tell you it made my blood run -cold to see her among those women!" - -"Yes--yes. But how is it to be done?" - -"You must go up to court and give bonds for her appearance; that is, you -agree to give five hundred dollars to the treasury, if this young girl -fails to appear when her grandfather is put on trial. If she appears, -you are free from all obligation. If she fails, the money must be paid." - -"Fails! I thought better of you, nephew. How can you mention the word? -Haven't I trusted her with fruit? Didn't I go security for half the -flowers in Dunlap's green-house at one time within this very month? -Robert, Robert, the world is spoiling you. How could you speak as if -that girl--I love her as if she were my own niece. Robert--how could you -speak as if she could fail, and her poor grandmother sitting by?" - -Was it this energetic rebuke that brought the blood so richly into the -young man's cheek, or was it the little word "niece" that fell so -affectionately from the old huckster woman's lips? It could not be the -former, for a bright smile kindled up the flush, and that, a rebuke, -however kindly intended, was not likely to excite. - -"You cannot feel more confidence in her than I do, dear Aunt Gray," he -said; "but I thought it right to place the responsibility clearly before -you!" - -"That was right--that was like a man of business. Never mind what I -said, nephew," cried the great hearted woman, shaking the youth's hand -till the motion flushed his face once more. "Aunt Gray always was an old -fool, seeing faults where they never existed, and making herself -ridiculous every way, but never mind her--she'll give bonds for the poor -child, of course; but then the old gentleman, how much will the law ask -for him?" - -"I'm afraid it will be out of your power to free him, aunt." - -"What, they ask too much, ha? You think Aunt Gray must not run the risk; -but she will, though. I tell you that old man is honest, honest as -steel. They might trust him with the prison doors open; he will do what -is right without fear or favor. I'll give bonds for him up to the last -shilling of my savings, if the court asks it. He's innocent as a -creeping babe, and I, for one, will let the world, yes, the whole world, -know that this is my opinion." - -"You will not hear me, out. Aunt Gray, I did not advise you against -giving bonds, far from it; but Mr. Warren is charged with a crime for -which no bonds can be received." - -"I did not know that," answered Mrs. Gray, sinking her voice, "still -something can be done; see how earnestly she is looking at us! My heart -aches for her, Robert." - -"Heaven knows I pity her," said the young man, "for I tell you fairly, -aunt, the evidence against her husband is terribly strong." - -"But you, Robert--you cannot think him guilty?" - -"No, aunt, I solemnly believe Mr. Leicester killed himself. But what is -my belief without evidence?" - -"Then you solemnly believe him innocent?" - -"As I believe myself innocent, good aunt." - -"I won't ask you to kiss me, Robert, because we are in the open market, -and people might laugh--but shake hands again. Next to faith in God I -love to see trust in human nature--faith in God's creatures--it's a -beautiful thing! The good naturally have confidence in the good. That -old man is a Christian, treat him reverently in his prison, nephew, as -you would have bowed before one of the apostles; his blessing would do -you good, though it came from the gallows." - -"I believe all this, aunt; something of mystery there is about the man, -but it would be impossible to think him guilty of murder! Still there -must have been some connection between him and Mr. Leicester yet -unexplained." - -"I know nothing of this--nothing but what the papers tell me; but one -thing is certain, Robert, no one ever had anything to do with Mr. -Leicester without suffering for it. He was kind to you once, but somehow -it seemed to wear out your young life. The flesh wasted from your limbs; -the red went out from your cheeks. It made me heart-sick to see the boy -I loved to pet like a child, shooting up into a thoughtful man so -unnaturally. I remember once, when Leicester boarded at our house, -Robert, there was a cabbage-rose growing in one corner of the garden. I -haven't much time for flowers, but still I could always find a minute -every morning before coming to market for these rose-buds when the -blossom season came. That summer the bush was heavy with leaves, still -there was but a single bud, a noble one, though, plump as a strawberry, -and with as deep a red breaking through the green leaves. I loved to -watch the bud swell day by day. Every morning I went out while the dew -was heavy upon it, and saw the leaves part softly, as if they were -afraid of the sunshine. - -"One morning, just as this bud was opening itself to the heart, I found -Mr. Leicester bending over the bush, tearing open the poor rose with his -fingers. His hands were bathed in the sweet breath that came pouring out -all at once upon the air. The soft leaves curled round his fingers, -trying to hide, it seemed to me, the havoc his hands had made. It was -hard to condemn a man for tearing open a half-blown rose, nephew, but -somehow this thing left a prejudice in my heart against Mr. Leicester. -The flower did not live till another morning. I told him of this, and he -laughed. - -"'Well, what then? I had all the fragrance at a breath,' he said. 'Never -let your roses distil their essence to the sun, drop by drop, Mrs. -Gray, when you can tear open the hearts and drink their sweet lives in a -moment.' - -"I remember his answer, word for word, for it came fresh to my mind many -times, when I saw you, my dear boy, pining away as it were, under his -kindness. It seemed to me as if he were softly parting the leaves of -your young heart, and draining its life away!" - -"And you really thought my fate like that of your rose, dear aunt?" - -The youth uttered these words with a pale cheek and downcast eyes. The -good woman's words had impressed him strangely. - -"It kept me awake many a long night, Robert." - -"But you did not think that Uncle Jacob was at hand? Had he been in your -garden, Leicester would not have found an opportunity to kill your pet -rose--he might have breathed upon it, nothing more." - -The huckster woman looked earnestly into that noble young face; and -Robert met her glance with a frank, but somewhat regretful smile. - -"And Jacob, my brother, stood between you and this bad man," she said at -length, with a degree of emotion that made the folds of her double chin -quiver. - -"He made me wiser and better--he was my salvation, Aunt Gray." - -"God bless my brother--God bless Jacob Strong!" cried the huckster -woman, softly clasping her hands, while her eyes were flooded with -tears--grateful tears, that hung upon them like dew in the husks of a -ripe hazelnut. - -"Amen!" said the young man, in a low voice. - -"Now, aunt, let us go to this poor woman--observe how earnestly she is -watching us." - -The aunt and nephew had stepped aside as their conversation became -personal; and old Mrs. Warren had been eagerly regarding them all the -time. They were the only friends she had on earth. To her broken spirit, -they seemed to hold the power of life and death over the beings she -loved so devotedly. Robert had promised that she should see her husband -and her grandchild; the heart-stricken woman asked for nothing more. She -never, for an instant, questioned his power, but sat with her eyes -turned reverently upon his fine person and noble features, as if he had -been an angel empowered to unlock the gates of heaven for her. - -Robert and his aunt approached her as their conference ended, and the -young man took out his watch. - -"Is it time? Would they let me in now?" questioned the poor woman, half -rising as she saw the movement. - -"Are you strong enough?" he answered, observing that she trembled. - -"Oh, yes! I am strong--very strong. Let us go!" - -With her thin, eager hands, she folded the shawl over her bosom and -stood up, strong in her womanly affections, in her Christian humility, -but oh, how weak every way else! - -Mrs. Gray folded herself in an ample blanket shawl, and tying on her -bonnet, led the way out of the market, forgetting for the first time in -her life, that her stall was unattended. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -THE FIRST NIGHT IN PRISON. - - With the gloom of a prison, above and around, - He lay down at night, like a child to its sleep;-- - His soul was at rest and his faith was profound, - His anchor was strong and God's mercy is deep! - - -If there is any portion of the city prison more cheerful than another, -it is the double line of cells looking upon Elm street. Plenty of pure -light pours in through the glazed roof, filling the space open from -pavement to ceiling, with a pleasant atmosphere. The walls that form -this spacious parade-ground are pierced with cells up to the very -skylights. Each tier of cells is marked by a narrow iron gallery; and -each gallery is bridged with that opposite, by a narrow causeway, upon -which a keeper usually sits smoking his cigar, and idly reading some -city journal. - -In the day time the prisoners, who inhabit these various cells, take -exercise and air upon the galleries. Even those committed for the -highest crimes often enjoy this privilege, for the ponderous strength of -the walls, and the vigilance of the authorities, render a degree of -freedom safe here, which could not be dreamed of in less secure -buildings. - -I do not know that there is any rule requiring that persons charged with -capital crime should be confined in the upper cells, but usually they -are found somewhere in the third gallery, enjoying some degree of -liberty till after sentence; but closed between that time and death, as -it were, in a living tomb. Thick walls encompass them on every side. -Doors of ponderous iron bolted to the stone, shut them in from the -galleries. A slit in the walls, five or six feet deep, lets in all the -breath and light of heaven which the wretched man must enjoy till he is -violently plunged into a closer cell, whence breath and light are for -ever excluded. A narrow bed, and perhaps a small, rude table, are all -the furniture that can be crowded in with the prisoner. But books are -seldom if ever denied him; and occasionally these little cells take a -domestic air that renders them less prison-like, and less gloomy as the -tastes and habits of the inmates develop themselves. - -Old Mr. Warren was placed in one of these cells the day of his -examination. He followed the officers along those dizzy galleries, -submitting to the curious gaze of his fellow-prisoners with unshrinking -humility, that won upon the kind feelings of his keepers. He entered the -cell, looked calmly around, and then with a grateful and patient smile, -thanked the officer for giving him a place so much better than he had -expected. - -The officer was touched by the grateful and meek air with which he -spoke these simple thanks, and replied kindly, "that he was willing to -render any comfort consistent with the prison rules." After this he -looked around to see that everything was in order, and went out, closing -the heavy door with a kind regard to the noise, shooting the bolt as -softly as so much iron could be moved. - -And now the old man was alone, utterly alone, locked and bolted deep -into that solitude which must be worse than death to the guilty soul. At -first his brain was dizzy; the tragic events that cast him into prison -had transpired too rapidly for realization. They rose and eddied through -his mind like the phantasmagoria of a dream. He could not think--he -could not even pray. - -He sat down on the hard pallet, and bowing his forehead to his hands, -made an effort to realize his exact situation. His eyes were bent on the -floor. Once or twice his lips moved with a faint tremor, for in all the -confusion of his ideas he could recollect one thing vividly enough. His -wife and grandchild--the two beings for whom he had toiled and suffered, -were torn from his side. His poor old wife--her cry, as she strove to -follow him, still rang in his ear. She had not even the comforts of a -prison. - -He looked around the cell--it was clean and dry--the walls snowy with -whitewash--the stone flags swept scrupulously. In everything but size it -was more comfortable than the basement from which the officers had taken -them. True, it was but a hole dug into the ponderous walls of a prison, -but if she had been there the poor old man would have been content--nay, -grateful, for as yet he had found no strength to realize the terrible -danger that hung over him. - -Thus, hour after hour went by, and he sat motionless, pondering over all -the incidents of his examination like one in a dream. None of them -seemed real--but the voice of his wife--the wild, white face of his -grandchild as she was borne away through the crowd--these things were -palpable enough. He tried to conjecture where his wife would go; what -place of refuge she would find; not to their old home, the floor was -still red with blood. She was a timid woman, dependent as a child. -Without his calm strength to sustain her, what could she do? Perish in -the street, perhaps; lie down, softly, upon some door-stone, and grieve -herself to death. - -There is nothing on earth more touchingly holy than the tenderness which -an old man feels for his old wife. The most ardent love of youth is -feeble compared to the solemn devotion into which time purifies passion. -The mere habit of domestic intercourse is much, independent of those -deeper and more subtle feelings which give us our first glimpses of -Paradise through the joys of home affection. It was not the prison--it -was not the charge of murder that held that old man spell-bound and -motionless so long. His desolation was of the heart; his spirit fled out -from those huge walls, and followed the lone woman who had been thrust -rudely from his side, for the first time in more than thirty years. - -It was not with this keen anguish that he thought of Julia, for in her -character there was freshness, energy, something of moral strength -beyond her years. She might suffer terribly, but something convinced the -grandfather that the sublime purity of her nature would protect itself. -She was not a feeble, broken-spirited woman like his wife. Yet his heart -yearned as he thought of this young creature so pure, so beautiful, so -full of sensitive sympathies, among the inmates of that gloomy dwelling. - -It was of these two beings the old man pondered, not of himself. After -awhile, this keen anxiety goaded him into motion. He stood up and began -to pace back and forth in his cell. A narrow strip of the floor lay -between his bed and the wall, and along this a little footpath had been -worn in the stone by former prisoners. - -Who had thus worn the prints of his solitary misery into the hard -granite? What foot had trodden there the last sad step of destiny! This -question drew the old man's attention for a moment from those he had -lost. He became curious to know something of his predecessor--what was -his crime? How did he look? Had he a wife and child to mourn? Did he -leave the cell for liberty, other confinement, or death? - -The word death brought a sense of his own condition for the first time -before him. He became thoroughly conscious that a terrible charge had -been made against him, and that appearances must sustain that charge. -From that instant he stood still, with his eyes bent upon the floor, -pondering the subject clearly in his mind. At length a faint smile -parted his lips, and he began to pace the narrow cell again, but more -calmly than before. - -I will tell you why that old man smiled there, alone, in his prison -cell, because it will convince you that nothing but guilt can make one -utterly wretched. He had thought over the whole matter--the charge of -murder--the impossibility of disproving a single point of the evidence. -Nothing could be more apparent than the danger in which he -stood--nothing more certain than the penalty that would follow -conviction. But it was this very truth that sent the smile to those aged -lips. What was death to him but the threshold of heaven? Death, he had -never prayed for it, for his Christianity was too holy and humble for -selfish importunity, even though the thing asked for was death. He was -not one to cast himself at the footstool of the Almighty, and point out -to His all-seeing wisdom the mercies that would please him best. No--no, -the religion of that noble old man--for true religion is always -noble--was of that humble, trusting nature that says, "Nevertheless, not -my will, but thine, be done." He was only thinking when he smiled so -gently, how much greater sorrow he had encountered than death could -bring. - -This gave him comfort when he thought of his wife also. She would go -with him, he was certain of that as he could be of anything in the -future. He remembered, with pleasure, that old people, long married, and -very much attached, were almost certain to die within a few weeks or -months of each other. How many instances of this came within his own -memory. It was a comforting theme, and he dwelt upon it with solemn -satisfaction. - -The keeper, when he came to bring the old man's dinner, gazed upon his -benign and tranquil features with astonishment. Never in his life had he -seen a prisoner so calm on the first day of confinement. It was -impossible for philosophy or hardihood to assume an expression so -gentle, and full of dignity. - -"Tell me," said the old man, as the keeper lingered near the door, "tell -me who occupied this cell last? It is a strange thing, but with so much -to distract my thoughts, a curiosity haunts me to know something of the -man whose bed I have taken." - -The officer hesitated. It was an ominous question, and he shrunk from a -subject well calculated to depress a prisoner. - -"I have made out a portion of the history," said the prisoner; "enough -to know that he was a sea-faring man, and had talent." - -"And how did you find this out?" inquired the officer. - -"There, upon the wall, is a rough picture, but one can read a great deal -in it!" - -The old man pointed to the wall, where a few unequal lines, drawn with a -pencil, gave a rude idea of waves in motion. In their midst was a ship, -with her masts broken, plunging downward, with her bows already engulfed -in the water. - -"Poor fellow! I thought it had been whitewashed over," said the officer. -"He did that the very week before--before his execution." - -"Then he was executed?" - -"Yes; nothing could have saved him." - -"Was he guilty, then?" - -"It was as clear a case of piracy as I ever saw tried; the man confessed -his guilt." - -"Guilty! Death must be terrible in that case--very terrible!" said the -old man, with a mournful shake of the head. - -"He was a reckless fellow, full of wild glee to the last, but a coward, -I do believe. I found his pillow wet almost every morning. The last -month he kept a calendar of the days over his bed there, pencilled on -the wall. The first thing every morning he would strike out a day with -his finger; but if any one seemed to pity him, he frequently broke into -a volley of curses, or jeered at sympathy that he did not want." - -"Have you ever seen an innocent man executed?" said the prisoner, -greatly disturbed by this account; "that is, a man who met death calmly, -neither as a stoic, a bravo, or a coward?" - -"I have no doubt innocent men have been executed again and again, all -over the world; but I have never seen one die, knowing him to be such." - -The officer went out after this, leaving the old man alone once more. -His face was sad now, and he watched the closing door wistfully. - -"Why should I seek other examples?" he said, at length. "Was not _he_ -executed innocently? Is it not enough to know how my Lord and Saviour -died?" - -It was a singular thing, but, from the first, old Mr. Wilcox never -seemed to entertain a hope of escaping from the prison by any means but -a violent death. It was to this that all his Christian energies were -bent from the earliest hour of confinement. - -The night came on, but its approach was perceptible only by the shadows -that crept across the loop-hole which served as a window. In the -darkness that soon filled the cell the old man lay down in his clothes -and tried to sleep. Now it was that his soul yearned toward the poor old -wife who had been so long sheltered in his bosom; the fair -grand-daughter too--it seemed as if his heart would break as their -condition rose before him in all its fearful desolation. - -Deep in the night he fell asleep, and then his brain was haunted with -dreams, bright, heavenly dreams, such as irradiate the face of an infant -when the mother believes it whispering with angels. But this sweet sleep -was of brief duration. He awoke in the darkness, and, unconscious where -he was, reached out his arm. It struck the cold, hard wall, and the -vibration went through his heart like a knife. She was not by his side. -Where, where was his poor wife? He asked this question aloud; his sobs -filled the cell; the miserable pillow under his head soaked up the tears -as they rained down his face. A dread of death could not have wrung -drops from those aching eyes; but tears of affection reveal the strength -of a good man. There are times when the proudest being on earth might be -ashamed not to weep. - -He did not close his eyes again that night, but wept himself calm with -broken prayers. Low, humble entreaties for strength, for patience and -for charity, rose from his hard bed. Slowly the cell filled with light, -and then he saw, for the first time, a book lying on a small shelf, -fastened beneath the window. He arose, eagerly, and took it down. A glow -spread over his face. It was one of those cheap Bibles, which the Tract -Society scatters through our prisons. As he opened the humble book, a -sunbeam shot through the loop-hole, and broke in a shower of light over -the page. Was it chance that sent the golden sunbeam? Was it chance that -opened the book to one of the most hopeful and comforting passages of -Scripture? - -He took an old pair of steel spectacles from his pocket, and sat down to -read. Hours wore away, still he bent over those holy pages as if they -had never met his eyes before. And so it really seemed, for we must -suffer before all the strength and beauty of the book of books can -penetrate the heart. A noise at the door made him look up. His breath -came fast. It required something heavier than that iron door, to lock -out the sympathies of two hearts that had grown old in affection. His -hands began to tremble; he took off the spectacles, and hastily put them -between the pages of his Bible. It was of no use trying to read then. - -The bolt was shot, the door swung open with a clang, and there stood a -group of persons ready to enter. - -"Husband! oh, husband!" cried old Mrs. Wilcox, reaching both hands -through the door as she stooped to come in. - -The prisoner took her hands in his, and kissed them as he had done years -ago, when those poor withered fingers were rosy with youth. The door -closed softly then, for old Mrs. Gray was not one to force herself upon -an interview so mournful and so sacred. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -LITTLE GEORGIE. - - As ivy clingeth round a ruin, - Still green within the darkest cleft, - The human soul in its undoing - Has still some lingering virtue left. - - -Julia slept little during the night. The state of nervous terror in -which she had been thrown, the shrinking dread which made her quail and -tremble at the approach of her fellow prisoners--even the rude kindness -of the strange being who took a sort of tiger-like interest in -her--frightened sleep from her eyes. - -A cell had been arranged for her, and the woman, who still shielded her -from the other prisoners, much as a wild beast might protect her young, -consented that the infant boy should be her companion through the night. -This was a great comfort to the poor girl. To her belief there was -protection in the sleeping innocence of the child, who lay with his -delicately veined temples pressing that coarse prison pillow, softly as -if it had been fragrant with rose-leaves. - -Julia could not sleep, but it was pleasant in her sad wakefulness to -feel the sweet breath of this child floating over her face, and his soft -arms clinging to her neck. To her poetic imagination it seemed as if a -cherub from heaven had been left to cheer her in the darkness. Sometimes -she would start and listen, or cringe breathlessly down to her pretty -companion, for strange, fierce voices occasionally broke from some of -the cells on either side--smothered sounds as of spirits chained in -torment--wailing and wild shouts of laughter; for with some of those -wretched inmates, memory grew sharp in the midnight of a prison, and -others dreamed as they had lived--shouting fiercely in the sleep which -was not rest, but the dregs of lingering inebriation. - -Of the mind and heart of this young girl, we have said but little. The -few simple acts of her life have been allowed to speak for her extreme -youth; the utter isolation of her life, even more than her youth, would, -in ordinary characters, have kept her still ignorant and uninformed. But -Julia was not an ordinary character; there was depth, earnestness, and -that extreme simplicity in her nature which goes to make up the beauty -and strength of womanhood. Suffering had made her precocious, nothing -more--it sent thought hand in hand with feeling. It threw her forward in -life some three or four years. Gratitude, so early and so deeply -enkindled in her young heart, foreshadowed the intensity of affection, -nay, of passion, when it should once be aroused. - -In this country, the most abject poverty need not preclude the craving -mind from its natural aliment, books. Julia had read more and thought -more than half the girls of her age in the very highest walks of life. -Her first love of poetry was drawn from the most beautiful of all -sources, the Bible. Her grandfather was a good reader, and possessed no -small degree of natural eloquence. Gushes of poetry, of solemn, sweet -feeling were constantly breaking through the prayers which she had -listened to every night and morning of her life; the very sublimity of -his faith, the simple trust which never forsook him in the goodness of -his Creator--the cheerful humility of his entire character, all this had -aroused sympathetic emotions in his grandchild's heart. It is the good -alone who thoroughly feel how keen and sweet intellectual joys may -become. When we water the blossoms of a strong mind with dew from the -fountains of a good heart, the whole being is harmonious, and the rarest -joys of existence are secured. - -But though the Bible contains the safest and most beautiful groundwork -of all literature, history, biography, ethics, poetry, and even that -pure fiction, which shadows forth truth in the parables, the mind that -has first tasted thought there, will crave other sources of knowledge. A -few old volumes, so shabby that the pawnbrokers refused loans upon them, -and the second-hand book-stalls rejected them at any price, still -remained in her basement home. These she had read with the keen relish -of a mind hungry for knowledge. Then old Mrs. Gray had a few books at -her farm-house. She had never read them herself, good soul, and whenever -the beauties of "Paradise Lost," were mentioned, had only a vague -professional idea that our first parents had been driven forth from a -remarkably fine vegetable and fruit garden just before the harvest -season. Still she had great respect for the man who could mourn so great -a loss in verse, and delighted in lending the volumes to her young -friend whenever she had time to read. - -From these resources and the patient teachings of her grandfather, Julia -had managed to obtain the most desirable of all educations. She had -learned to think clearly and to feel rightly; but she felt keenly also, -and a vivid imagination kindling up these acute feelings at midnight in -the depth of a prison, made every nerve quiver with dread that was more -than superstitious. One picture haunted her very sleep. It was her -grandfather's white and agonized face stooping over that dead man. Never -had the beautiful, stern face of the stranger beamed upon her so vividly -before. She saw every lineament enameled on the midnight blackness. - -She longed to arouse the child and ask it if the face were really -visible, but was afraid to speak or move. The very sound of his soft -breath as the boy slept terrified her. But while this wild dread was -strongest upon her, the child awoke and began to feel over her face with -his little hands. Softly, and with the touch of falling rose-leaves, his -fingers wandered over her eyes, her forehead, and her mouth. They were -like sunbeams playing upon ice, those warm, rosy fingers. The young girl -ceased to feel frightened or alone. She began to weep. She pressed his -hands to her lips, and drew the child close to her bosom, whispering -softly to him, and pressing her lips to his eyes now and then, to be -sure they were open. But all her gentle wiles were insufficient to keep -the little fellow awake; he began to breathe more and more deeply, and, -overcome by the soft mesmerism of his breath, she fell asleep also. - -It would have been a lovely sight had any one looked upon those two -calm, beautiful faces pillowed together upon that prison bed. Smiles -dimpled round the rosy lips, upon which the breath floated like mist -over a cluster of ripe cherries. The bright ringlets of the child fell -over the tresses that shadowed the fair temple close to his, lighting -them up as with threads, and gleams of gold. It was a picture of -innocent sleep those green walls had perhaps never sheltered before -since their foundation. It was natural that Julia should smile in her -sleep, and that a glow like the first beams of morning when they -penetrate a rose, should light up her face. She was dreaming, and -slumber cast a fairy brightness over thoughts that had perhaps vaguely -haunted her before that night. Memories mingled with the vision and the -scenes which wove themselves in her slumbering thought had been -realities--the first joyous realities of her young life. She was at an -old farm-house, half hid in the foliage of two noble maples, all golden -and crimson with a touch of frost. Her grandparents stood upon the -door-stone with old Mrs. Gray, talking together, and smiling upon her as -she sat down beneath the maples, and began to arrange a lapful of -flowers that somehow had filled her apron, as bright things will fall -upon us in our sleep. These blossoms breathed a perfume more delicate -than anything she had ever seen or imagined, and, though coarse garden -flowers, their breath was intoxicating. - -Dreams are independent of detail, and the sleeper only knew that a young -man whose face was familiar, and yet strange, stood by her side, and -smiled gently upon her as she bent over her treasure. Was her slumbering -imagination more vivid than the reality had been, or had her nerves ever -answered human look with the delicious thrill that pervaded them in this -dream? Was it the shadow of a memory haunting her sleep? Oh, yes, she -had dreamed before--dreamed when those soft eyes had nothing but their -curling lashes to veil them, and when the thoughts that were now -floating through her vision left a glow upon that young cheek. It was -true the angel of love haunted Julia in her prison. - -The real and the imaginary still blended itself in her vision but -indistinctly, and with that vague cloudiness that makes one sigh when -the dream becomes a memory. An harassing sense that her grandfather was -in trouble seemed to blend with the misty breath of the flowers. She -still sat beneath the tree, and saw an old man in the distance, -struggling with a throng of people, half engulphed in a storm-cloud that -rolled up from the horizon. She could not move, for the blossoms in her -lap seemed turning to lead, which she had no power to fling off. She -struggled, and cried out wildly, "Robert--Robert Otis!" - -The blossoms breathed in her lap again; flashes of silver broke up the -distant cloud, and stars seemed dropping, one by one, from its writhing -folds. Robert Otis was now in the distance, now at her side; she could -not turn her eyes without encountering the deep smiling fervor of his -glance. His name trembled and died on her lips in broken whispers, then -all faded away. Balmy quiet settled on the spirit of the young girl, and -she slept softly as the flowers slumber when their cups are overflowing -with dew. - -From this sweet rest she was aroused by a sharp clang of iron, and the -tread of feet in the passage. The door of her own cell was flung open, -and a tin cup full of coffee, with coarse, wholesome bread, was set -inside for her breakfast. The dream still left its balm upon her heart, -which all that prison noise had not power to frighten away. She smoothed -her own hair, arranged her dress, and then arousing the child from its -sleep with kisses, bathed and dressed him also. He was sitting upon her -lap, his fresh rosy face lifted to hers, while she smoothed his tresses, -and twisted them in ringlets around her fingers, when his mother entered -the cell. She scarcely glanced at the child; but sat down, and -supporting her forehead with one hand, remained in sombre stillness -gazing on the floor. There was nothing reckless or coarse in her manner. -Her heavy forehead was clouded, but with gloom that partook more of -melancholy than of anger. - -She spoke at length, but without changing her position or lifting her -eyes from the floor. - -"Will you tell me the name?--will you tell me who the man was they -charge your grandfather with murdering? Was it--was it----" The low -husky tones died in her throat; she made another effort, and added, -almost in a whisper, "was it William Leicester?" - -The question arrested Julia in her graceful task; her hands dropped as -if smitten down from those golden tresses, and she answered in a faint -voice, "that it was the name." - -"Then he is dead; are you sure--quite sure?" - -"They all said so; the doctor, all that saw him!" - -"You did not see him then?" - -"Yes--yes!" answered the young girl, closing her eyes with a pang. "I -saw him--I saw him!" - -"Why did your grandfather kill him? Had Leicester done him any wrong?" - -"I do not know what wrong he had ever done," answered Julia; "but I am -certain if he had injured him ever so much, grandpa would not have -harmed a hair of his head." - -"Who did kill him then?" said the woman sharply. - -"I think," said Julia, in a low, firm voice--"I think that he killed -himself!" - -"No. It could not be that!" muttered the woman, gloomily. "No doubt the -old man did what others had better cause for doing; tell me how it -happened!" - -Julia saw that the woman was growing pale around the lips as she spoke; -her hand also looked blue and cold as it shaded her face. - -"Don't be afraid of me. Go on, I could not harm a mouse this morning," -she said, observing that Julia hesitated, and sat gazing earnestly upon -her. "I have been in prison here two weeks, and never heard of his death -till now!" - -"Did you know Mr. Leicester?" questioned Julia. - -"Yes, I knew him!" - -There was something in the tone of her voice that surprised Julia; more -of bitterness than grief, and yet something of both. - -"Will you tell me what I asked you?" said the woman, with a touch of her -usual impetuosity. - -"Yes," answered Julia. "It distresses me to talk of it; but if you are -really anxious to hear, I will!" - -She went on with painful hesitation, and told the woman all those -details that are so well known to the reader. The woman listened -attentively, sometimes holding her breath with intense interest; again -breathing quick and sharp, as if some strong feeling were curbed into -silence with difficulty. When Julia ceased speaking, she folded both -hands over her face, and lowering it down to her knees, rocked to and -fro without sob or tear; but the very stillness was eloquent. - -She got up after a little and went out. Half an hour after, Julia took -the child to his mother's cell. The strange woman was lying with her -face to the wall, motionless as the granite upon which her large eyes -were fixed. She did not turn as they approached, but waved her hand -impatiently that they should leave the cell. - -Holding the child by his hand, Julia lingered in the passage. After a -few careless, and in some cases, rude manifestations of interest, the -prisoners left her unmolested, to seek what consolation might be found -in observation and exercise. - -Thus the day crept on. The confusion which her youth and terror created -the day before, had settled down in that sullen apathy which is the most -depressing feature of prison life. The women moved about with a dull, -heavy tread; some sat motionless against the wall, gazing into the air, -to all appearance void of sensation, almost of life; some slept away the -weary time but depression lay heavily upon them all. - -Julia lingered near the grating, for the gleams of sunshine that shot -into the broad hall beyond, whenever the outer door was opened to allow -access and egress to the officers, had something cheerful in it that -filled her with hope. The child, too, felt this pleasant influence, and -his prattle, now and then broken with a soft laugh, was music to the -poor girl. - -"Come, love--come, let us go away. People are at the door!" she cried -all at once, striving to lead the child away. - -"No--no. It is brighter here, I will stay," answered the little fellow, -leaping roguishly on one side. "It's only the matron; don't you hear her -keys jingle? She will take me up into her pretty room, and you as well. -Just wait till I ask her." - -The door opened and a black-eyed little woman, full of animation and -cheerful energy, stepped into the passage. She paused, for Julia stood -in her way, making gentle efforts to free her dress from the grasp which -the little boy had fixed upon it. The beauty of the young girl, her -shrinking manner, and the crimson that came and went on her sweet face, -all interested the matron at once. She smiled a motherly, cheering -smile, and said at once-- - -"Ah, you have found one another out. George is a safe little -playmate--ain't you, darling? Come, now, tell me what her name is, -that's a man." - -"She hasn't told me yet," lisped the child, freeing Julia from his -grasp, and nestling himself against the matron. - -"My name is Julia--Julia Warren, ma'am," said the young prisoner, -blushing to hear the sound of her name in that place. - -"I thought so; I was sure of it from the first; there, there, don't be -frightened, and don't cry. Come up to my room--come, George! Tell your -young friend that somebody is waiting for her up there--some one that -she will be very glad to meet." - -"Tell me--oh! tell me who!" cried the poor girl, breathlessly. - -"Your grandmother, so she calls herself--and----" - -Julia waited for no more, but darted forward. - -"There--there. You will never get on alone!" cried the matron, -laughing, while she turned a heavy key bright with constant use in its -lock, and opened the grated door. "Come, now, I and Georgie will lead -the way." - -Julia stood in the outer passage while the heavy door was secured again, -her cheeks all in a glow of joy, her limbs trembling with impatience. -Little George, too, seemed to partake of her eagerness; he ran up and -down in the bright atmosphere like a bird revelling in the first gleams -of morning. He seized the matron by her dress as she locked the door, -and shaking his soft curls gleefully, attempted to draw her away. His -sympathy was so graceful and cheering that it made both Julia and the -matron smile, and though they mounted the stairs rapidly, he ran up and -down a dozen steps while they ascended half the number. - -Neither Julia nor her grandmother spoke when they met, but there was joy -upon their faces, and the most touching affection in the eyes that -constantly turned upon each other. - -"And now," said old Mrs. Gray, coming forward with her usual bland -kindness, "as neither of you seem to have much to say just now, what if -Robert and I come in for a little notice?" - -Julia looked up as the kind voice reached her, and there, half hidden by -the portly figure of his aunt, she saw Robert Otis looking upon her with -the very expression that had haunted her dream that night, in the -prison. Their eyes met, the white lids fell over hers as if weighed down -by the lashes, through which the lustrous eyes, kindling beneath, -gleamed like diamond flashes. She forgot Mrs. Gray, everything but the -glory of her dream, the power of those eloquent eyes. - -"And so you will not speak to me--you will not look at me!" said the -huckster woman, a little surprised by this reception, but speaking with -great cordiality, for she was not one of those very troublesome persons -who fancy affronts in everything. - -"Not speak to you!" cried the young girl, starting from her pleasant -reverie to the scarcely less pleasant reality. "Oh! Mrs. Gray, you knew -better!" - -"Of course I did," cried the good woman, with a laugh that made her -neckerchief tremble, and she shook the little hand that Julia gave with -grateful warmth, over and over again. "Come, now, get your bonnet and -things." - -Julia looked at the matron. - -"But I am a prisoner!" - -"Nothing of the sort. I've bought you out; given bonds, or something. -Robert can tell you all about it; but the long and short is, you're free -as a blackbird. Can go home with me--grandma too, I'm old--I'm getting -lonesome--want her to keep house when I'm in market, and you to take -care of her." - -"But grandfather--where is he? Oh! where is he?" - -Mrs. Gray's countenance fell, and she seemed ready to burst into tears. - -"Don't ask me; Robert must tell you about that. I did my best; offered -to mortgage the whole farm to those crusty old judges, but it was of no -use." - -"We couldn't leave him here alone!" said Julia, with one of her faint, -beautiful smiles. - -Robert Otis came forward now. - -"It would be useless for either of you to remain here on his account, -even if the laws would permit it. You will be allowed to see him quite -as frequently if you live with my aunt, and with freedom you may find -means of aiding him." - -Julia raised her eyes to his face; her glance, instead of embarrassing, -seemed to animate the young man. - -"It admits of no choice," he added, with a smile. "Your grandfather -himself desires that you should accept my aunt's offer, and she--bless -her--it would break her heart to be refused." - -"Grandfather desires it--Mr. Otis desires it. Shall we not go, grandma?" - -"Certainly, child; he wishes it, that is enough; but I shall see him -every day, you remember, ma'am. Every day when you come over, I come -also. It was a promise!" - -"Do exactly as you please--that's my idea of helping folks," answered -Mrs. Gray, to whom the latter part of this address had been made. "The -kindness that forces people to be happy, according to a rule laid down -by the self-conceit of a person who happens to have the means you want, -is the worst kind of slavery, because it is a slavery for which you are -expected to be very grateful. I have heard brother Jacob say this a -hundred times, and so have you, Robert." - -"Uncle Jacob never said anything that was not wise and generous in his -life!" answered the young man, with kindling eyes. - -"If ever an angel lived on earth, he is one!" rejoined Mrs. Gray, -looking around upon her audience, as if to impress them fully with this -estimate of her brother's character. - -A sparkling smile broke over Robert's face. - -"Well, aunt, I hope you never fancied the angels dressing exactly after -Uncle Jacob's fashion!" he said, casting a look full of comic meaning on -the old lady. - -"Oh, Robert, you are always laughing at me!" replied the good-humored -lady, turning from the young man to her other auditors. "It was always -so; the most mischievous little rogue you ever saw. I thought he had -grown out of it for a while, but nature is nature the world through." - -Robert blushed. His aunt's encomiums did not quite please him, for the -character of a mischievous boy was not that which he was desirous of -maintaining just then. In the dark eyes turned so earnestly upon his -face, he read a depth and earnestness of feeling that made his attempt -at cheerfulness seem almost sacrilegious. Julia saw this, and smiled -softly. She had not intended to rebuke him by the seriousness of her -face, and her look expressed this more eloquently than words could have -done. - -When the heart is sorrowful, there are times when cheerfulness in those -around us has a healthful influence. The joyous laugh, the pleasant word -may fall harshly upon a riven heart at first, but imperceptibly they -become familiar again, and at length sweep aside the gloom with which -the mourner loves to envelope himself. Give the soul plenty of -sunshine, and it grows vigorous to withstand the storm. When grief is -pampered and cultivated as a duty, it often degenerates into intense -selfishness. Sorrow has its vanity as well as joy. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -MRS. GRAY AND THE PRISON WOMAN. - - Come with thy warm and genial heart-- - Bring sunshine to the prison cell; - True goodness, without book or chart, - Sees the right path, and treads it well. - - -It was decided that Julia and her grandmother should accompany Mrs. Gray -at once to her old homestead on Long Island. They were about to leave -the room, when Julia remembered, with a pang, that she must surrender -the little boy to his mother again. Her cheek blanched at the thought. -The child had kept by her side since she first entered the room, and now -grasped a fold of her dress in his hand almost fiercely. His cheeks were -flushed, and his dimpled chin was beginning to quiver, as if he were -ready to burst into tears at some wrong premeditated against him. - -Tears swelled into Julia's eyes as she bent them upon the child. - -"What shall I do? He seems to know that we are about to leave him," she -murmured. - -"Come with me, I will take you to mamma," said the matron, laying her -hand on his head. "There, Georgie, be a little gentleman, dear!" - -The tears that had been swelling in the little fellow's bosom broke -forth now. He began to sob violently, and shaking off the matron's hand, -clung to his new friend. - -"Take me up, take me up--I will go too," he sobbed, lifting his little -hands and his tearful face to the young girl. - -Julia took him in her arms, and putting the curls back from his -forehead, pressed a kiss upon it. - -"What can I do?" she said, turning her eyes unconsciously upon Robert -Otis. - -Robert smiled and shook his head; but old Mrs. Gray, whose heart was -forever creaming over with the milk of human kindness, came forward at -once. - -"What can you do? Why, take him along; the homestead is large enough for -us all. It will seem like old times to have a little shaver like that -running around, now that Robert is away." - -"But he has a mother in the prison," said the matron--"a strange, fierce -woman, who, somehow or other, has persuaded the authorities to leave him -with her for the few days she will be here." - -"His mother a prisoner, poor thing. Let me go to her, I dare say she -will be glad enough to get a nice home for the boy," answered the good -woman, hopefully. - -"I'm afraid not," was the matron's reply; "she seems to have a sort of -fierce love for the child, and is very jealous that he may become -attached to some one beside herself. It was from this feeling she forced -him from the poor woman who took him to nurse when only a few weeks old. -He was very fond of her, and always fancies that any new face must be -hers. I wonder she submits to his fancy for this young girl!" - -"But it's wrong, it's abominable to keep the little fellow here. I'll -tell her so, I'll expostulate," persisted Mrs. Gray; "just let me talk -with this woman--just let me into her cell, madam." - -The matron shook her head, and gave the bright key in her hand a little, -quiet twirl, which said plainly as words, that it was of no use; but she -led the way down stairs, and conducted Mrs. Gray to the prisoner's cell. - -The woman was still lying with her forehead against the wall, quite -motionless, but she turned her face as the matron spoke, and Mrs. Gray -saw that it was drenched with tears. - -The huckster woman sat down upon the bed, and took one of the -prisoner's hands in hers. It was a large, but beautifully formed hand, -full of natural vigor, but now it lay nerveless and inert in that kind -clasp, and, for a moment, Mrs. Gray smoothed down the languid fingers -with her own plump palm. - -The woman, at first, shrunk from this mute kindness, and, half rising, -fixed her great black eyes upon her visitor in sudden and almost fierce -astonishment, but she shrunk back from the rosy kindness of that face -with a deep breath, and lay motionless again. - -Mrs. Gray spoke then in her own frank, cheerful way, and asked -permission to take the little boy home with her. She described her -comfortable old house, the garden, the poultry, the birds that built -their nests in the twin maples, the quantity of winter apples laid up in -the cellar. All the elements of happiness to a bright and healthy child -she thus lay temptingly before the mother. Again the woman started up. - -"Are you a moral reformer?" she said, with a sharp sneer. - -"No!" answered Mrs. Gray, with a puzzled look. "At any rate not as I -know of, but in these times you have so many new fangled names for -simple things, that I may be one without having the least idea of it!" - -"A philanthropist then--are you that?" - -"Haven't the least notion what the thing is," cried Mrs. Gray, with -perfect simplicity. - -"Are you one of those women who hang around prisons to pick up other -people's children, while their own are running wild at home--who give a -garret-bed and second-hand crusts to these poor creatures, and then -scream out through society and newspaper reports for the world to come -and see what angels you are? Who pick up a poor wretch from the cells -here, and impose her off upon some kind fool from the country, whom she -robs, of course; and before she has been tried three weeks, blaze out -her reformation to the whole world, forgetting to tell the robbery when -it comes? - -"Do you want my boy for a pattern? Do you intend to have it shouted in -some paper or anniversary report, how great a thing your society has -done in snatching this poor little imp from his mother's bosom as a -brand from the burning fire? In short, do you want to hold him up as a -lure for the innocent country people who pour money into your laps, -honestly believing that it all goes for the cause, and never once asking -how yourselves are supported all the while? Are you one of these, I -say?" - -"Goodness gracious knows I ain't anything of the kind," answered Mrs. -Gray. "Never set up for an angel in my life, never expect to on this -side of the grave." - -"Then you are not a lady president?" - -"In our free and glorious country," answered Mrs. Gray, now more at -home, for she had listened to a good many Fourth of July orations in her -time; "in this country it's against the law for old women to be -Presidents. At any rate, I never heard of one in a cap and white apron!" - -A gleam of rich humor shot over the prisoner's face. - -"Then you are not a member of any society?" she said, won into more -kindly temper by the frank cordiality of her visitor. - -Mrs. Gray's face became very serious, and her brown eyes shone with -gentle lustre. - -"It's my privilege to be a humble member of the Baptist church; but -unless you have a conscience against immersion, I don't know as that -ought to stand in the poor boy's way, especially as he may have been -baptized already." - -"Then you are not a charitable woman by profession? You are willing to -take my boy for his own good? What will you do with him if I say yes?" - -"Why, pretty much as I did with nephew Robert; let him run in the -garden, hunt eggs, drive the geese home when he knows the way himself; -and do all sorts of chores that will keep him out of mischief, and in -health; as he grows old enough I will send him to school, and teach him -the Lord's prayer myself. In short, I shall do pretty much like other -people; scold him when he is bad, kiss him when he is good; in the end -make him just such a handsome, honest, noble chap as my Robert is--that -nephew of mine. Everybody admits that he is the salt of the earth, and I -brought him up myself, every inch of him!" - -"And among the rest you will teach him to forget and despise his -mother," said the woman, bending her wet eyes upon Mrs. Gray, with a -look of passionate scrutiny. - -"I never wilfully went against the Bible in my life. When the child -learns to read, he will find it written there, 'Honor thy father and thy -mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God -giveth thee.'" - -"Can I see him when I please?" - -"Certainly--why not?" - -"But I am a prisoner; I have been here more than once." - -"You are his mother," was the soft answer. - -"You will be ashamed to have me coming to your house." - -"Why so? I have been a quiet neighbor--an upright woman, so far as my -light went, all my life. Why should I fear to have any one come to my -own house?" - -"But he will be ashamed of me! With a comfortable home, with friends, -schooling--my own child, will learn to scorn and hate his mother!" - -"No," answered Mrs. Gray, and her fine old face glowed with the pious -prophecy--"no, because his mother will herself be a good woman, -by-and-bye, _it is sure_. You are not dead at the root yet; want care, -pruning, sunshine; will live to be a useful member of society before -long--I have faith to believe it. God help you--God bless you. Now speak -out at once, can I take the little fellow?" - -"Yes," answered the woman, casting herself across the bed, and pressing -both hands hard against her eyes--"yes, take him--take him!" - -And so Mrs. Gray returned to her old homestead with three new inmates -that night. It was a bleak, sharp day, and the maple leaves were -whirling in showers about the old house as they drove up. A crisp frost -had swept every flower from the beds, and all the soft tints of green -from the door-yard and garden. Still there was nothing gloomy in the -scene; the sitting-room windows were glowing with petted -chrysanthemums, golden, snow-tinted and rosy, all bathed and nodding in -a flood of light that poured up from the bright hickory-wood fire. - -Robert had ridden on before the rest, bearing household directions from -Mrs. Gray to the Irish servant girl. A nice supper stood ready upon the -table, and a copper tea-kettle was before the fire, pouring out a thin -cloud of steam from its spout, and starting off now and then in a quick, -cheerful bubble, as if quite impatient to be called into active service. -The fine bird's-eye diaper that flowed from the table--the little -old-fashioned china cups, and the tall, plated candlesticks, from which -the light fell in long, rich gleams, composed one of the most cheering -pictures in the world. - -Then dear old Mrs. Gray was so happy herself, so full of quiet, soothing -kindness; the very tones of her voice were hopeful. When she laughed, -all the rest were sure to smile, very faintly it is true; but still -these smiles were little gleams won from the most agonizing grief. -Altogether it was one of those evenings when we say to one another, -"well, I cannot realize all this sorrow when the soul becomes dreamy, -and softly casts aside the shafts of pain that goad it so fiercely at -other times." - -Little George fell asleep after tea, and Julia sat upon the crimson -moreen couch under the windows, pillowing his head on her lap. The -chrysanthemums rose in a flowery screen behind her, their soft shadows -pencilling themselves on her cheek, and lying in the deeper blackness of -her hair. Robert Otis spoke but little that night, and his dear, simple -old aunt felt quite satisfied that the gaze which he turned so steadily -toward the windows was dwelling in admiration on her flowers. - -Be this as it may, his glance brought roses to that pale cheek, and -kindled up the soft eyes that lay like violets shrouded beneath their -thick lashes, with a brilliancy that had never burned there before. -Julia's heart was far too sorrowful for _thoughts_ of love, but there -was something thrilling in her bosom deeper than grief, and more -exquisite than any joy she had yet known. - -But Robert Otis was more self-possessed. His thoughts took a more -tangible form, and though he could not account to himself for the -feeling of vague regret that mingled with his admiration, as he gazed -upon the young girl, it was strong enough to fill his heart with -sadness. Mrs. Gray noticed the gloom upon his brow as she sat in her -arm-chair, basking in the glow of that noble wood fire. A dish of the -finest crimson apples had just been placed on the little round stand -before her, and she began testing their mellowness with her fingers, as -a hint for her nephew to circulate them among her guests. Robert saw -nothing of this, for he was pondering over the miserable position of -that young girl, in his mind, and had no idea that his abstraction was -noticed. - -"Come--come," said Mrs. Gray, "you have been moping there long enough, -nephew, forgetting manners and everything else. Here are the apples -waiting, and no one to hand them round, for when I once get settled in -this easy-chair"--here the good woman gave a smiling survey of her ample -person, which certainly overflowed the chair at every point, leaving all -but a ridge of the back and the curving arms quite invisible--"it isn't -a very easy thing to get up again. Now bustle about, and while we old -women rest ourselves, you and Julia, there, can try your luck with the -apple-seeds. - -"I remember the first time I ever surmised that Mr. Gray had taken a -notion to me, was once when we were at an apple-cutting together down in -Maine. Somehow Mr. Gray got into my neighborhood when we ranged round -the great basket of apples. I felt my cheeks burn the minute he drew his -seat so close to mine, and took out his jack-knife to begin work. He -pared and I quartered. I never looked up but once--then his cheek was -redder than mine, and he held the jack-knife terribly unsteady. -By-and-bye he got a noble, great apple, yellow as gold, and smooth as a -baby's cheek. I was looking at his hands sidewise from under my lashes, -and saw that he was paring it carefully, as if every round of the skin -was a strip of gold. At last he cut it off at the seed end, and the -soft rings fell down over his wrist as I took the apple from his -fingers. - -"'Now,' says he, in a whisper, bending his head a little, and raising -the apple-peel carefully with his right hand, 'I'm just as sure this -will be the first letter of a name that I love, as I am that we are -alive.' He began softly whirling the apple-peel round his head; the -company was all busy with one another, and I was the only one who saw -the yellow links quivering around his head, once, twice, three times. -Then he held it still a moment, and sat looking right into my eyes. I -held my breath, and so did he. - -"'Now,' says he, and his breath came out with a quiver, 'what if it -should be your name?' - -"I did not answer, and we both looked back at the same time. Sure enough -it was a letter S. No pen ever made one more beautifully. 'Just as I -expected,' says he, and his eyes grew bright as diamonds--'just as I -expected.' That was all he said." - -"And what answer did you make, aunt?" asked Robert Otis, who had been -listening with a flushed face, "What did you say?" - -"I didn't speak a word, but quartered on just as fast as I could. As for -Mr. Gray, he kept paring, and paring, like all possessed. I thought he -would never stop paring, or speak a word more. By-and-bye he stuck the -point of his knife into an apple, and unwinding the skin from around it, -he handed it over to me. It was a red skin, I remember, and cut as -smooth as a ribbon. - -"'I shouldn't a bit wonder if that dropped into a letter G,' says Mr. -Gray. 'Supposing you try it.' - -"Well, I took the red apple-skin, and whirled it three times round my -head, and down it went on to the floor, curled up into the nicest -capital G that you ever sat eyes on. - -"Mr. Gray, he looked at the letter, and then sort of sidewise into my -face. 'S. G.,' says he, taking up the apple-skin, and eating it, as if -it had been the first mouthful of a Thanksgiving dinner. 'How would you -like to see them two letters on a new set of silver teaspoons?' - -"I re'lly believe you could have lit a candle at my face, it burned so; -but I couldn't speak more than if I'd been born tongue-tied." - -"But did you never answer about the spoons?" asked Julia. - -"Well, yes, I believe I did, the next Sunday night," said the old lady, -demurely, smoothing her apron. - -What was there in Mrs. Gray's simple narrative that should have brought -confusion and warm blushes into those two young faces? Why, after one -hastily withdrawn glance, did neither Robert Otis nor Julia Warren look -at each other again that night? - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -STRUGGLES AND REVELS. - - Wine, wine for the heart, in its struggle of pride, - And music to drown all this with'ring pain! - The arrow, the arrow is deep in her side! - Bring music and wine with their madness again. - - -The passions take their distinctive expression from the nature in which -they find birth. The grief that rends one heart like an earthquake, -sinks with dead, silent weight into another, uttering no sound, giving -no outward sign, and yet is powerful, perhaps, as that which exhausts -itself in tumult. Some flee from grief, half defying, half evading it, -pausing, breathless, in the race, now and then, to find the arrow still -buried in the side, rankling deeper and deeper with each fierce effort -to cast it out. - -Thus it was with the woman to whom our story tends--Ada, the insulted -and suffering widow of Leicester. There had been mutual wrong between -the two; both had sinned greatly; both had tasted deep of the usual -consequences of sin. During his life her love for him had been the one -wild passion of existence; now that he was dead, her grief partook of -the same stormy nature. It was wild, fierce, brilliant; it thirsted for -change; it was bitter with regrets that stung her into the very madness -of sorrow. - -As an unbroken horse plunges beneath the rider's heel, the object of -grief like this seeks for amelioration in excitement. It is a sorrow -that thirsts for action; that arouses some kindred passion, and feeds -itself with that. - -Ada Leicester was not known to be connected, even remotely, with the man -for whose murder old Mr. Warren was now awaiting his trial. She was a -leader in the fashionable world; her very anguish must be concealed; her -groans must be uttered in private; her tears quenched firmly till they -turned to fire in her heart. All her life that man had been a pain and a -torment to her. The last breath she had seen him draw was a taunt, his -last look an insult; and yet these very memories embittered her grief. -He had turned the silver thread of her life into iron, but it broke with -his existence, leaving her appalled and objectless. She never had, never -could love another; and what is a woman on earth without love as a -memory, a passion, or a hope? - -Her grief became a wild passion. She strove to assuage it in reckless -gaiety, and plunged into all the excitements of artificial life with a -fervor that made every hour of her existence a tumult. The opera season -was at its full height. Society had once more concentrated itself in New -York, and still Ada was the brightest of its stars. Morning dances by -gas-light took place in some few houses where novelty was an object. Not -long after Leicester's death her noble mansion was closed for a morning -revel; every pointed window was sealed with shutters and muffled with -the richest draperies. Light in every form of beauty--the pure -gas-flame--the soft glow of wax-candles--the moonlight gleam of -alabaster lamps flooded the sumptuous rooms, excluding every ray of the -one glorious lamp which God has kindled in the sky. Dancers flitted to -and fro in those lofty rooms; garlands of choice green-house flowers -scattered fragrance from the walls, and veiled many a classic statue -with their impalpable mist. - -Never in her whole life had Ada appeared more wildly brilliant. -Reckless, sparkling, scattering smiles and wit wherever she passed; now -whirling through the waltz; now exchanging bright repartees with her -guests amid the pauses of the music; fluttering from group to group like -a bird of Paradise, dashing perfume from its native flower thickets, she -flitted from room to room; now sitting alone in a dark corner of the -conservatory, her hands falling languidly down, her face bowed upon her -bosom, the fire quenched in her eyes, she felt the very life ebbing, as -it were, from her parted and pale lips. - -Thus with the strongest contrasts, fierce alike in her gaiety and her -grief, she spent that miserable morning. The transition from one state -to another would have been startling to a close observer, but the -changes in her mood were like lightning; the pale cheek became instantly -so red; the dull eye so bright, that her guests saw nothing but the most -fascinating coquetry in all this, and each new shade or gleam that -crossed her beautiful face brought down fresh showers of adulation upon -her. The usual quiet elegance of her manner was for the time forgotten. - -More than once her wild, clear laugh rang from one room to another, -chiming in or rising above the music, and this only charmed her guests -the more. It was a new feature in their idol. It was not for her wealth -or her beauty alone that Ada Leicester became an object of worship that -day. Like a wounded bird that makes the leaves tremble all around with -its anguish, she startled society into more intense admiration by the -splendor of her agony. - -At mid-day her guests began to depart, pouring forth from those -sumptuous rooms into the noontide glare, when delicate dresses, flushed -cheeks and languid eyes were exposed in all the disarray which is -sometimes picturesque when enveloped in night shadows, but becomes -meretricious in the broad sunshine. - -A few of her most distinguished guests remained to dinner that day, for -Ada dreaded to be alone, and so kept up the excitement that was burning -her life out. If her spirits flagged, if the smile fled from her lips -even for an instant, those lips were bathed with the rich wines that -sparkled on her board, kindling them into smiles and bloom again. The -resources of her intellect seemed inexhaustible; the flashes of her -delicate wit grew keener and brighter as the hours wore on. - -Her table was surrounded by men and women who flash like meteors now and -then through the fashionable circles of New York, intellectual -aristocrats that enliven the insipid monotony of those changing circles, -as stars give fire and beauty to the blue of a summer sky. But -keen-sighted as these people were, they failed to read the heart that -was delighting them with its agony. All but one, and he was not seated -at the table, he spoke no word, and won no attention from that haughty -circle, save by the subdued and even solemn awkwardness of look and -manner, which was too remarkable for entire oblivion. - -Behind Ada's seat there stood a tall man, with huge, ungainly limbs, and -a stoop in the shoulders. He was evidently a servant, but wore no livery -like the others; and those who gave a thought to the subject saw that he -waited only upon his mistress, and that once or twice he stooped down -and whispered a word in her ear, which she received with a quick and -imperious motion of the head, which was either rejection or reproof of -something he had urged. - -Nothing could be more touching than the sadness of this man's face as -the spirits of his mistress rose with the contest of intellect that was -going on around her. He saw the bitter source from which all this -brightness flowed, and every smile upon those red lips deepened the -gloom so visible in his face. - -"Now," said Ada, rising from the table, and leading the way to her -boudoir, for it had been an impromptu dinner, and the drawing-room was -yet in confusion after the dance; "now let us refresh ourselves with -music. An hour's separation, a fresh toilet, and we will all meet at the -opera--then to-morrow--what shall we do to-morrow?" - -She entered the boudoir while speaking, and as if smitten by some keen -memory, lifted one hand to her forehead, reflecting languidly, -"To-morrow--yes, what shall we do to-morrow?" - -"You are pale; what is the matter?" inquired one of the lady guests, in -that hurried tone of sympathy which is usually superficial as sweet. "We -have oppressed you with all this gaiety!" - -"Not in the least--nothing of the kind!" exclaimed the hostess, with a -clear laugh. "It was the perfume from those vases. It put me in mind--it -made me faint!" - -She rang the bell while speaking, and the servant, who stood all -dinner-time behind her chair, entered. - -"Take these flowers away, Jacob," she said, pointing to the vases, -"there is heliotrope among them, and you know the scent of heliotrope -affects me--kills me. Never allow flowers to be put in these rooms -again. Not a leaf, not a bud--do you understand?" - -"Yes, madam," answered the servant, with calm humility, "I understand! -It was not I that placed them there now!" - -Ada seated herself on the couch, resting her forehead upon one hand, as -if the faintness still continued. Her lips and all around her mouth grew -pallid. Though the flowers were gone, their effect still seemed to -oppress her more and more. At length she started up with a hysterical -laugh and went into the bed-chamber. When she came forth her cheeks were -damask again, and her lips red as coral; but a dusky circle under the -eyes, and a faint, spasmodic twitching about the mouth, revealed how -artificial the bloom was. From that moment all her gaiety returned, and -in her graceful glee her guests forgot the agitation that had for a -moment surprised them. - -Later in the evening, Ada drove to the Opera House, where she again met -the gay friends who had thronged her dwelling at mid-day. Still did she -surpass them all in the superb but hasty toilet which she had assumed, -after the morning revel. Many an eye was turned admiringly upon her sofa -that night, little dreaming that the opera-cloak of rose-colored -cashmere, with its blossom-tinted lining and border of snowy -swan's-down, covered a bosom throbbing with suppressed anguish. Little -could that admiring crowd deem that the brilliants interlinked with -burning opal stones that glowed with ever-restless light upon her arms, -her bosom, and down the corsage of her brocade dress, were to the -wretched woman as so many pebbles that the rudest foot might tread upon. -Her cheeks were in a glow; her eyes sparkled, and the graceful unrest -which left her no two minutes in the same position, seemed but a pretty -feminine wile to exhibit the splendor of her dress. How could the crowd -suppose that the heart over which those jewels burned, was aching with a -burden of crushed tears. - -She sat amid the brilliant throng, unmindful of its admiration. The -music rushed to her ear in sweet gushes of passion. But she sat -smilingly there, unconscious of its power or its pathos. It sighed -through the building soft and low as the spring air in a bed of violets; -but even then it failed to awake her attention. Unconsciously the notes -stole over her heart, and feeling a rush of emotions sweeping over her, -she started up, waved an adieu to her friends, and left the Opera House. -Half a dozen of the most distinguished gentlemen of her party sprang up -to lead her out. She took the nearest arm and left the house, simply -uttering a hurried good-night as she stepped into the carriage. There -was no eye to look upon her then. Those who had followed her with -admiring glances as she left the opera, little thought how keen was her -agony as she rolled homeward in that sumptuous carriage, her cheek -pressed hard against the velvet lining; her fingers interlocked and -wringing each other in the wild anguish to which she abandoned herself. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -ADA LEICESTER AND JACOB STRONG. - - We drove him to that fearful gulf, - In the sharp pangs of his despair, - As angry hunters chase a wolf - From open field and hidden lair. - - -The servant who sat waiting in the vestibule was startled by the hard, -tearless misery of Ada's face, as she entered her own dwelling that -night. He looked at her earnestly, and seemed about to speak, but she -swept by him with averted eyes and ascended the stairs. - -It was the same man who had stood beside her chair at dinner that day. -The look of anxiety was on his features yet, and he pressed his lips -hard together as she passed him, evidently curbing some sharp sensation -that the haughty bearing of his mistress aroused. He stood looking after -her as she glided with a swift, noiseless tread over the richly carpeted -stairs, her pale hand now and then gleaming out in startling relief from -the ebony balustrade, and her stony face mocking the artificial scarlet -of her mouth. She turned at the upper landing, and he saw her glide away -in the soft twilight overhead. He stood a moment with his eyes riveted -on the spot where she had disappeared, then he followed up the stairs -with a step as firm and rapid as hers had been. Even his heavy foot left -no sound on the mass of woven flowers that covered the steps, and the -shadow cast by his ungainly figure moved no more silently than himself. - -He opened several doors, but they closed after him without noise, and -Ada was unconscious of his presence for several moments after he stood -within her boudoir. A fire burned in the silver grate, casting a sunset -glow over the room, but leaving many of its objects in shadow; for save -a moonlight gleam that came from a lamp in the dressing-room, no other -light was near. - -Ada had flung her mantle on the couch, and with her arms folded on the -black marble of the mantel-piece, bent her forehead upon them, and stood -thus statue-like gazing into the fire. A clear amethystine flame -quivered over the coal, striking the opals and brilliants that -ornamented her dress, till they burned like coals of living fire upon -the snow of her arms and bosom. Thus with the same prismatic light -spreading from the jewels to her rigid face, she seemed more like a -fallen angel mourning over her ruin than a living woman. - -At length the servant made a slight noise. Ada lifted up her head, and a -frown darkened her face. - -"I did not ring--I do not require anything of you to-night," she said. - -"I know it. I know well enough that you require nothing of me--that my -very devotion is hateful to you. Why is it? I came up here, to-night, on -purpose to ask the question--why is it?" answered the man, with a grave -dignity, which was very remote from the manner which a servant, however -favored, is expected to maintain toward his mistress. "What have I done -to deserve this treatment?" - -Ada looked at him earnestly for a moment, and then her lip curled with a -bitter smile. - -"What have you done, Jacob Strong! Can you ask that question of William -Leicester's wife, so soon after your own act has made her a widow?" - -"But how?--how did I make you a widow?" said he, turning pale with -suppressed feeling. - -"How?" cried Ada, almost with a shriek, for the passion of her nature -had been gathering force all day, and now it burst forth with a degree -of violence that shook her whole frame. "Who sat like a great, hideous -spider in his web, watching him as he wove and entangled the meshes of -crime around him? Who stung my pride, spurred on all that was -unforgiving and haughty in my nature, till I too--unnatural wretch--who -had wronged and sinned against him--turned in my unholy pride, and -drove him into deeper evil? It was you, Jacob Strong, who did this. It -was you who urged him into the fearful strait, that admitted of no -escape but death. The guilt of this self-murder rests with you, and with -me. My heart is black with his blood; my brain reels when the thought -presses on it. I hate you--and oh! a thousand times more do I hate -myself--the pitiful tool of my own menial!" - -"Your menial, Ada Wilcox--have I ever been that?" - -"No," was the passionate answer, "I have been _your_ menial, your dupe. -You have made me his murderer. I loved him, oh! Father of mercies, how I -loved him!" - -The wretched woman wrung her hands, and waved them up and down in the -firelight so rapidly, that the restless brilliants upon them seemed -shooting out sparks of lightning. - -"I thought he would come back. He was cruel--he was insolent--but what -was that? We might have known his haughty spirit would never bend. If he -had died any other death--oh! anything, anything but this rankling -knowledge, that I, his wife, drove him to self-murder!" - -Jacob Strong left his position at the door, and coming close up to his -mistress, took both her hands in his. He could not endure her -reproaches. Her words stung his honest heart to the core. - -"Sit down," he said, with gentle firmness--"sit down, Ada Wilcox, and -listen to me. There is yet something that I have to say. If it will -remove any of the bitterness that you harbor against me, if it can -reconcile you to yourself, I can tell you that there is great doubt if -your--if Mr. Leicester did commit suicide. Thinking it might grieve you -more deeply, I kept the papers away that said anything of the matter; -but even now a man lies in prison charged with his murder!" - -"Charged with his murder!" repeated Ada, starting. "How?--when? She--his -mother--said it was self-destruction!" - -"She believes it, perhaps believes it yet, but others think -differently. He was found dead in a miserable basement, alone with the -old man they have imprisoned. Why he went there no one can guess; but it -is known that he was in that basement the night before, but a little -earlier than the time when he appeared at your ball. If he had any -portion of the money obtained from us about him, that may have tempted -the old man, who is miserably poor." - -Jacob was going on, but his mistress, who had listened with breathless -attention, interrupted him. - -"Do you believe this? Do you believe that he was murdered?" - -"Very strong proofs exist against the old man," replied Jacob--"the -public think him guilty." - -Ada drew a deep breath. - -"You have taken a terrible load from my heart," she said, pressing one -hand to her bosom, and sinking down upon the couch with a low, -hysterical laugh. "He is dead, but there is a chance that I did not kill -him. I begin to loathe myself less." - -"And me!--_me_ you will never cease to hate?" - -"You have been a good friend to me, Jacob Strong, better than I -deserved," answered Ada, reaching forth her hand, which the servant -wrung rather than pressed. - -"And this last act," he said, "when I tried to free you from the grasp -of a vile man, was the most kind, the most friendly thing I ever did!" - -Ada started up and drew her hand from his grasp. - -"Hush, not a word more," she said, "if we are to be anything to each -other hereafter. He was my husband--he is dead!" - -She sunk back to the cushions of her couch a moment after, and veiling -her eyes with one hand, fell into thought. Jacob stood humbly before -her; for though they spoke and acted as friends, nay, almost as brother -and sister, he never lost the respectful demeanor befitting his position -in Ada's household. - -She sat up, at length, with a calmer and more resolute expression of -countenance. - -"Now tell me all that relates to his death," she said. "Who is charged -with it? What is the evidence?" - -Jacob related all that he knew regarding the arrest of old Mr. Warren. -In his own heart he did not believe the poor man guilty, but he -abstained from expressing this, for it was an intuition rather than a -belief, and Jacob could not but see that his own exculpation in the eyes -of the fair creature to whom he spoke, would depend upon her belief in -another's guilt. Jacob had no courage to express more than known facts -as they appeared in the case. The vague impressions that haunted him -were, in truth, too indefinite for words. - -Ada listened with profound attention. She had not been so still or so -firm before, since her husband's death. It required time for feelings -strong as hers to turn into a new channel, and the passage from -self-hatred to revenge was still as it was terrible. - -She remained silent for some minutes after Jacob had told her all, and -when she did speak, the whole character of her face was changed. - -"If this man is guilty, Leicester's death lies not here!" she said, -pressing one hand hard upon her heart, as she walked slowly up and down -the boudoir. "When he is arraigned for trial, I am acquitted or -convicted. You also, Jacob Strong; for if this old man is not -Leicester's murderer, you and I drove him to suicide." - -Jacob did not reply. In his soul he believed every step that he had -taken against William Leicester to be right, and he felt guiltless of -his death, no matter in what form it came; but he knew that argument -would never remove the belief that had fixed like a monomania upon that -unhappy woman, and wisely, therefore, he attempted none. - -"I have told you all," he said, moving toward the door. "In any case my -conscience is at rest!" - -She did not appear to heed his words, but asked abruptly, - -"Are the laws of America strict and searching? Do murderers ever escape -here?" - -"Sometimes they do, no doubt," answered Jacob, with a grim smile, "but -then probably quite as many innocent men are hung, so that the balance -is kept about equal." - -"And how do the guilty escape?" - -"Oh, by any of the thousand ways that a smart lawyer can invent. With -money enough it is easy to evade the law, or tire it out with exceptions -and appeals." - -"Then money can do this?" - -"What is there that money _cannot_ do?" - -A wan smile flitted over Ada's face. - -"Oh! who should know its power better than myself?" she said. Then she -resumed. "But this man, this grey-headed murderer--has he this -power?--can he control money enough to screen the blood he has shed?" - -"He is miserably poor!" - -"Then the trial will be an unprejudiced one. If proven guilty he must -atone for the guilt. If acquitted fairly, openly, without the aid of -money or influence, then are we guilty, Jacob Strong, guilty as those -who hurl a man to the brink of a precipice, which he is sure to plunge -down." - -"No man who simply pursues his duty should reproach himself for the -crime of another," was the grave reply. - -"But have _I_ done my duty? Can I be guiltless of my husband's desperate -act?" - -Jacob was silent. - -"You cannot answer me, my friend," said Ada mournfully. - -"Yes! I can. William Leicester's death, if he in fact fell by his own -hand, was the natural end of a vicious life." - -Ada waved her hand sharply, thus forbidding him to proceed with the -subject, and entering her dressing-room, closed the door. - -Jacob stood for a time gazing vacantly at the door through which she had -disappeared, then heaving a deep sigh, the strange being left the -boudoir, but a vague feeling of self-reproach at his heart, rendered -him more than usually sad all the next day. True, he had changed the -current of Ada's grief, had lifted a burden of self-reproach from her -heart; but had he not filled it with other and not less bitter passions? - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -ADA'S SOLITARY BREAKFAST. - - My tortured soul is sick, and every nerve - Answers its promptings with an aching strain, - Yet from my task I may not pause or swerve-- - Rest is a curse, and every thought a pain. - - -For the first time since her husband's death, Ada slept soundly, till -deep in the morning. But her slumber was haunted by dreams that sent -shadows painful and death-like over her beautiful face. More than once -her maid stole from the dressing-room into the rosy twilight of the -bed-chamber, and stooped anxiously over her mistress as she slept, for -the faint moans that broke from her lips, pallid even in that rich -light, and parted with a sort of painful smile--startled the servant as -she prepared her mistress's toilet. - -It was almost mid-day when this unearthly slumber passed off, but the -brightest sun could only fill those richly draped chambers with a -twilight atmosphere, that allowed the sleeper to glide dreamily from her -couch to the pursuits of life. When the mechanics throughout the city -were at their noonday meal, Ada crept into her dressing-room, pale and -languid as if she had just risen from a sick-bed. Upon a little ebony -table near the fire, a breakfast service of frosted silver, and the most -delicate Sevres china stood ready. Ada sunk into the great easy-chair, -which stood near it, cushioned with blossom-colored damask, which -gleamed through an over drapery of heavy point lace. The maid came in -with chocolate, snowy little rolls, just from the hands of her French -cook, and two crystal dishes, the one stained through with the ruby tint -of some rich foreign jelly, the other amber-hued with the golden -honeycomb that lay within it. Delicate butter, moulded like a handful of -strawberries, lay in a crystal grape-leaf in one corner of the salver, -and a soft steam floated from the small chocolate urn, veiling the whole -with a gossamer cloud. - -Altogether, that luxurious room, the repast so delicate, but evidently -her ordinary breakfast; the lady herself in all the beautiful disarray -of a muslin wrapper, half hidden, half exposed by the loosely knotted -silk cord that confined a dressing-gown, quilted and lined with soft -white silk--all this composed a picture of the most sumptuous enjoyment. -But look in that woman's face! See the dark circles beneath those heavy -violet eyes. Mark how languidly that mouth uncloses, when she turns to -speak. See the nervous start which she makes when the crystal and silver -jar against each other, as the maid places them upon the table. Is there -not something in all this that would make the rudest mechanic pause, -before he consented to exchange the comforts won by his honest toil, for -the splendor that seemed so tempting at the first glance? - -Ada broke a roll in two, allowed one of the golden strawberries to melt -away in its fragments, then laid it down untasted. Her heart was sick, -her appetite gone, and after drinking one cup of the chocolate, she -turned half loathing from that exquisite repast. - -"Move the things away!" she said, to the waiting-woman. - -"Will madam chose nothing else?" said the servant, hesitating and -looking back as she carried off the tray. - -"Nothing," replied her mistress. - -The tone was one that forbade further inquiry; so the maid left the -apartment; and Ada was alone, restless, feverish, unhappy. - -She rose, and walking to the window, looked out; but a few minutes spent -thus appeared to tire her; and throwing herself again into her chair, -she took up a book and attempted to read. But she still found no -occupation for her thoughts. At last she flung down the volume, and -rising, paced the chamber. - -The reflection grew and grew upon her, that if the old man should be -convicted of the murder, she would be free from the guilt of Leicester's -death. Her mind had been in a morbid condition ever since that event, or -she would not now have thought this, nor have before regarded herself as -criminal. That the old man should be proved guilty, became an insane -wish on her part. She clutched at it with despairing hope. The more she -thought of this means of escape from her remorse, the wilder became her -desire to see the prisoner convicted. Soon the belief in his criminality -became as fixed in her mind as the persuasion of her own existence. - -A stern, passionate desire for revenge now took possession of her. The -very idea that the accused might yet escape, through some technicality, -drove her almost to madness; and as she conjured up this picture, her -eyes flashed like those of an angry tigress, and the workings of her -countenance betrayed the tumult of her soul. - -At last, catching the reflection of her person in a mirror, she started -at her wild appearance; a bitter smile passed over her face, and she -said-- - -"Why do I seek this old man's blood? Am I crazed, or a woman no longer? -But heaven knows," she added, clasping her forehead with her hands, -"that I have endured enough to transform me out of humanity." - -With a heavy movement she rang the bell, ordered her maid to dress her, -and directed the carriage to be in waiting. - -When Ada Leicester descended to her carriage, radiant in majestic -beauty, the last thought that would have presented itself to a spectator -must have been that this queenly woman was unhappy. But the color in her -cheek; the blaze of her brilliant eyes; and the proud, almost disdainful -step with which she crossed the sidewalk, were deceptive as the fever -of disease. The excitement which so increased her lofty beauty, was -purchased with inexpressible pangs, as the hues of the dying dolphin are -procured by intolerable anguish. - -The day was bright; the breeze was fresh; everything around was -beautiful and exhilarating. But the pleasant face of nature failed to -allay the fever of Ada Leicester's soul. One thought only possessed her; -"What if the old man should be acquitted?" This idea grew upon her, and -still grew. She tried to shake it off. She endeavored to become -interested in the equipages driving past on the Bloomingdale road, and -failing there, turned her heavy eyes on the green fields along the North -River, or the sailing vessels ploughing up and down its water. But it -was all in vain; Ada had no interest in anything so quiet as those -scenes. - -That dark thought clung to her. Now it rose into a terror, and a new -idea crossed her mind. If the murderer should escape, and her husband be -unavenged, would not her guilt be then almost as great as if she had -driven Leicester to suicide? - -Everything became a blank around her; she was only conscious of this one -thought. She saw nothing, heard nothing; for her entire soul was -absorbed in one morbid idea. It became a monomania. Finally she pulled -the check string, and, in a sharp tone, directed the coachman to drive -back to the city. - -The man looked around, startled by her voice; he was alarmed at the -aspect of her countenance, which was almost livid. She did not notice -it, but closed the curtain, and threw herself back on the cushions. - -This terror was visible in his look. As they entered the city, the -coachman asked if he should drive home. - -This roused her from her stupor. A distance of five miles had been -traversed since she had last spoken, yet the interval appeared to her -scarcely a minute. She looked out with surprise. Recognizing the place, -she pulled the check-string and directed the servant to drive to the -office of an advocate, renowned, especially in criminal cases, for his -acute cross-examinations, not less than for his eloquence. - -The lawyer was at home when the carriage drew up at his door. He knew -Ada Leicester as a leading star in society, and was surprised to see her -enter his office so abruptly. He rose, bowed profoundly, and handed her -a chair. - -His visitor hesitated a moment, and then said, - -"There is a man now in prison, charged with the murder of one William -Leicester--you know the case, perhaps--and I have called on you to make -it impossible for the prisoner to escape unless he is really innocent." -She uttered these last words slowly, with her eye fixed on the advocate -as she spoke. - -"There is such a thing, I believe, as the friends of a guilty man -securing legal assistance when the commonwealth proves lax or -indifferent." - -"Oh! yes, madam," said the lawyer. "The thing is of common occurrence." - -"Very well," said Ada, slowly, taking a note of large value from her -_porte-monnaie_. "I wish you to see the district-attorney, and assist -him in this trial." - -"You would retain me--I understand your wish," said the lawyer, too -polite to touch the note which she laid before him, yet unable to -prevent a glance at its denomination; and bowing again profoundly, as -his visitor rose to go, he continued, "the guilty man shall not escape, -madam." - -Ada Leicester drove home with a lighter heart, feeling as if a great -duty had been discharged. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -THE PRISON WOMAN IN ADA'S DRESSING-ROOM. - - Look not so haughtily, imperious dame; - Chance digs the gulf that lies between us two: - Mine is the open, yours the hidden shame; - The vulture soars with me, but skulks with you. - - -Ada Leicester had scarcely gained her apartment, when Jacob Strong -entered it. He came in with a tread so heavy, that it made itself heard -even through the turf-like swell of the carpet. She looked up at him -wearily, yet with surprise. Jacob, so phlegmatic, so sturdy in all other -cases, never was self-possessed with his mistress; one glance of those -eyes, one wave of that hand was enough to confuse his brain, and make -the strong heart flutter in his bosom like the wings of a wild bird. - -"Madam," he stammered, shifting his huge feet unsteadily to and fro on -the carpet, "there is a woman down stairs who wants to see you." - -"I can see no one this morning; send her away!" - -"I tried that, madam, but she answers that her business is important, -and, in short, that she _will_ see you." - -Ada opened her eyes wide, and half turned in her chair. This insolent -message aroused her somewhat. - -"Indeed! What does she look like? Who can it be?" - -"She is a very common-looking person, handsome enough, but unpleasant." - -"You never saw her before, then?" - -"No, never!" - -"Let her come up; I cannot well give the next ten minutes to anything -more miserable than myself," said Ada; "let her come up!" - -Jacob left the room, and Ada, aroused to some little interest in the -person who had so peremptorily demanded admission to her presence, threw -off something of her languor as she saw the door swing open to admit her -singular guest. - -A woman entered, with a haughty, almost rude air. Her dress was clean, -but of cheap material, and put on with an effort at tidiness, as if in -correction of some long-acquired habits which she had found it difficult -to fling off. A black hood, lined with faded crimson silk, was thrown -back from her face, revealing large Roman features, fierce dark eyes, -and a mouth that, in its heavy fullness, struck the beholder more -unpleasantly even than the ferocious brightness of those large eyes. - -The woman looked around her as she entered the dressing-room, and a -faint sneer curled her lip, while she took in, with a contemptuous -glance, all the elegant luxury of that little room. Ada had not for an -instant dreamed of inviting a creature so unprepossessing to sit down in -the room so exquisitely fitted up for her own enjoyment; but the woman -waited for no indication of the kind. She cast one keen glance on the -surprised and somewhat startled face turned upon her as she entered, -another around the room, which contained only two chairs beside the one -occupied by its mistress, and seizing one, a frail thing of carved -ebony, cushioned with the most delicate embroidery on white moire, she -took possession of it. - -At another time Ada would have rung the bell and ordered the woman to be -put from the room; but now there was a sort of fascination in this -audacious coolness that aroused a reckless feeling in her own heart. She -allowed the woman to seat herself, therefore, without a word; nay, a -slight smile quivered about her lip as she heard the fragile ebony -crack, as if about to give way beneath the heavy burden cast so roughly -upon it. - -The strange being sat in silence for some moments, examining Ada with a -bold, searching glance, that, spite of herself, brought the blood to -that haughty woman's cheek. After her fierce black eyes had roved up and -down two or three times, from the pretty lace cap to the embroidered -slipper, that began to beat with impatience against the cushion which it -had before so languidly pressed, the woman at last condescended to -speak. - -"You are rich, madam; people say so, and all this looks like it. They -say, too, that you are generous, good to the poor; that you give away -money by handsful. I want a little of this money!" - -Ada looked hard at the woman, who returned the glance almost fiercely. - -"You need not search my face so sharply," she said, "I don't want the -money for myself. One gets along on a little in New York, and I can -always have that little without begging of rich women. I would scrub -anybody's kitchen floor from morning till night, rather than ask you or -any other proud aristocrat for a red cent! It isn't for myself I've -come, but for a fellow prisoner, or rather one that was a -fellow-prisoner, for I'm out of the cage just now. It's for an old man I -want the money, a good old man that the night-hawks have taken up for -murder!" - -Ada started, but the woman did not observe it, and went on with -increasing warmth. - -"The old fellow is a saint on earth--a holy saint, if such things ever -are. I know what crime is. I can find guilt in a man's eye, let it be -buried ever so deep; but this old man is not guilty; a summer morning is -not more serene than his face! Men who murder from malice or accident do -not sit so peacefully in their cells, with that sort of prayerful -tenderness brooding over the countenance." - -"Of whom are you speaking, woman? Who is this old man?" demanded Ada, -sharply. "What is his innocence or his guilt to me?" - -"What is his innocence or guilt to you? Are you a woman?--have you a -heart and ask that question? As for me I _might_ ask it--I who know what -crime is, and who should feel most for the criminal! But you, pampered -in wealth, beautiful, loving, worshipped--who never had even a -temptation to sin--it is for you to feel for a man unjustly accused--the -innocent for the innocent, the guilty for the guilty. Sympathy should -run thus, if it does not!" - -"This is an outrage--mockery!" said Ada starting from her chair. "Who -sent you here, woman?--how dare you talk to me of these things?--I know -nothing of the old man you are raving about; wish to know less. If you -want money, say so, but do not talk of him, of crime, of--of murder!" - -She sunk back to her chair again, pale and breathing heavily. Her -strange visitor stood up, evidently surprised by a degree of agitation -that seemed to her without adequate cause. - -"So the rich can feel," she said; "but this is not compassion. My -presence annoys you--the close mention of sin makes you shudder. You -look, yes, you do look like that angel child when I first laid my hand -upon her shoulder." - -"What child?--of whom do you speak?" questioned Ada, faintly, for the -woman was bending over her, and she was fascinated by the power of those -wild eyes. - -"It is the grandchild of that old man--the old murderer they call -him--the old saint _I_ call him; it is his grandchild that your look -reminded me of a moment ago; it is gone, now, but I shall always like -you the better for having seemed like her only for a minute!" - -"Her name, what is her name?" cried Ada, impelled to the question by -some intuitive impulse, that she neither comprehended nor cared to -conceal. "What is the child's name, I say?" - -"Julia Warren." - -"A fair, gentle girl, with eyes that seems to crave affection, as -violets open their leaves for the dew when they are thirsty; a frail, -delicate little thing, toiling under a burden of flowers! I have seen a -young creature like this more than once. She haunts me--her name itself -haunts me--and why, why!--she is nothing to me--I am nothing to her?" - -Ada spoke in low tones, communing with herself; and the woman looked on, -wondering at the words as they dropped so unconsciously from those -beautiful lips. - -"It is the same girl, I am sure of it," said the woman, at last. "She -had no flowers when I saw her tottering with her poor wet eyes into the -prison; but her face might have been bathed in their perfume, it was so -full of sweetness. It was so--so holy I was near saying, but the word is -a strange one for me. Well, madam, this young girl has been in prison -with me, and the like of me!" - -"She must come out--she shall not remain there an hour!" said Ada, -searching eagerly among the folds of her dress for a purse, which was -not to be found. "It is not here, I will ring for Jacob; you want money -to get this young girl out of prison; that is kind, very kind; you shall -have it. Oh, heavens! the thought suffocates me--that angel child--that -beautiful flower spirit in prison! Woman, why did you not come to me -before?" - -"I was in prison myself--the officers don't let us out so easily. We -are not exactly expected to make calls; besides, how should I know -anything about you, except as one of those proud women who gather up -their silken garments when we come near, as if it were contagion to -breathe the same atmosphere with us." - -"But how is it that you have come to me at last?" - -"She told me about you!" - -"_She_ sent you to me then?" questioned Ada, with sparkling eyes; "bless -her, she sent you!" - -"No, she told me about you. I came of my own accord." - -Ada's countenance fell; she was silent for a moment, subdued by a -strange feeling of disappointment. - -"But she is in that horrid place; no matter how you came; not another -hour must she stay in prison, if money or influence can release her." - -"But she is not in prison now!" said the woman. - -"Not in prison!--how is this. What can you desire of me if she is not in -prison?" - -"But her grandfather--the good old man, he is in prison, helpless as a -babe--innocent as a babe. It is the old man who is in prison." - -"Why am I tormented with this old man? Do not mention him to me -again--his crime is fearful; _I_ am not the one to save him, the -murderer of--of----" - -"He is the young girl's grandfather!" - -Ada had started from her chair, and was pacing rapidly up and down the -room, her arms folded tightly under the loose sleeves of her -dressing-gown, and the silken tassels swaying to and fro with the -impetuosity of her movements. There seemed to be a venomous fascination -in that old man's name that stung her whole being into action. She had -not comprehended before that it was connected with that of the -flower-girl; but the words "he is the young girl's grandfather," -arrested her like the shaft from a bow. Her lips grew white, she stood -motionless gazing almost fiercely upon the woman who had uttered these -words. - -"That girl the grandchild of Leicester's murderer!" she exclaimed. "Why -the very flowers I tread on turn to serpents beneath my feet!" - -"The old man did not kill this Leicester," answered the woman, and her -rude face grew white also; "or if he did, it was but as the instrument -of God's vengeance on a monster--a hideous, vile monster, who crawled -over everything good in his way, crushing it as he went. If he _had_ -killed him--if I believed it, no Catholic saint was ever idolized as I -would worship that old man!" - -"Woman, what had Leicester done to you that you should thus revile him -in his grave?" - -A cloud of inexplicable passion swept over the woman's face. She drew -close to Ada, and as she answered, her breath, feverish with the dregs -of intoxication, and laden with words that stung like reptiles, sickened -the wretched woman to the heart's core. She had no strength to check the -fierce torrent that rushed over her; but folded her white arms closer -and closer over her heart, as if to shield it somewhat from the storm of -bitter eloquence her question had provoked. - -"What has Leicester done to me?" said the woman. "Look, look at me, I am -his work from head to foot, body and soul, all of his fashioning!" - -"How? Did _you_ love him also?" - -A glow of fierce disgust broke over the woman's features, gleaming in -her eye and curling her lip. - -"Love him, I never sunk so low as that; he scarcely disturbed the froth -upon my heart, the wine below was not for him. Had I loved him, he might -have been content with my ruin only; as it was, madam, it is a short -story, very short, you shall have it--but I'll have drink after." - -"Compose yourself--do not be so violent," said Ada, shrinking from the -storm she had raised, with that sensitiveness which makes the wounded -bird shield its bosom from a threatened arrow, "I do not wish to give -you pain!" - -"Pain!" exclaimed the woman, with a wild sneer, "I am beyond that. No -one need know pain while the drug stores are open! You ask what -Leicester has ever done to me. You knew him, perhaps--no matter, you are -not the first woman whose face has lost its color at the sound of his -name; but he will do no more mischief, the blood is wrung from his heart -now." - -Ada sunk back in her chair, holding up both hands with the palms -outward, as if warding off a blow. But the woman had become fierce in -her passion, and would not be checked. - -"You ask if I loved him, I, who worshipped my own husband, my noble, -beautiful, young husband, with a worship strong as death, holy as -religion. Leicester, this fiend, who is now doing a fiend's penance in -torment--this demon was my husband's friend, he was my friend too, for I -loved everything that brightened the eye, or brought smiles to the lip -of my husband--a husband whom I worshipped as a devotee lavishes homage -on a saint--loved as a woman loves when her whole life is centered in -one object. I was never good like him--but I loved him--I loved him! You -look at me in astonishment--you cannot understand the love that turns to -such fierce madness when it is but a past thing--that drugs itself with -opium, drowns itself in brandy!" - -Ada answered with a faint sob, and her eyes grew wild as the great black -orbs flashing upon her. The woman saw this, and took compassion on what -she believed to be purely terror at her own violence. She made a strong -effort and spoke more calmly, but still with a suppressed, husky voice -that was like the hush of a storm. - -"We were poor, madam. I kept a little school; my husband was a clerk, at -very low pay, with very hard labor. It was a toilsome life, but oh, how -happy we were! I don't know where James first saw Mr. Leicester, but -they came home together one evening, and I remember we had a little -supper, with wine, and some game that Leicester had ordered on the way. -If you have never seen that man, nothing can convey to you the power, -the fascination of his presence. Soft, persuasive, gentle as an angel -in seeming; deep, crafty, cruel as a fiend in reality--if you had a -foible or a weakness, he was certain to detect it with a glance, and -sure to use it, though it might be to your own destruction. I was young, -vain, new to the world, and not altogether without beauty. I doubt if -Leicester ever saw a woman without calculating her weaknesses, and -playing upon them if it were only for mere amusement, or in the wanton -test of his own diabolical powers. - -"I was strong, for heart and soul I loved my husband; he saw this and it -provoked his pride; else in my humility I might have escaped his -pursuit; but I was vain, capricious, passionate. A little time he -obtained some influence over me, for his subtle flattery, his artful -play upon every bad feeling of my nature had its effect. But the woman -who loves one man with her whole strength, has a firm anchorage. My -vanity was gratified by this man's homage, nothing more--still he -attained all that he worked for, a firmer influence over my husband. Had -I been his enemy he could not have wormed himself around that simple, -honest nature. I helped him, I was a dupe, a tool, used for the ruin of -my own husband. It is this thought that brandy is not strong enough to -drown, or morphine to kill! - -"He was our benefactor--you understand--without himself directly -appearing in the business, except to us upon whom his agency was -impressed; a place, with much higher salary, was procured for my -husband. We were very grateful, and looked upon Leicester as a guardian -angel. Very well--a few months went on, still binding us closer to the -man who had benefited us so much. One day he stood by my husband's desk. -It was a rich firm that he served, and James had charge of the funds. It -was just before the hour of deposit; ten thousand dollars lay beneath -the bank-book. Leicester seemed in haste; he had need of a large sum of -money that day, which he could easily replace in the morning, five -thousand; something had gone wrong in his financial matters, and he -proposed that James should lend that sum from the amount before him. - -"My husband hesitated, and at length refused. Leicester did not urge -it, but went away apparently grieved. By that time it was too late for -the bank, and James brought the money home, thinking to deposit it early -the next day. Leicester came in while we were at dinner, he looked sad -and greatly distressed. I insisted upon knowing the cause, and at last -he told me of his embarrassment, dwelling with gentle reproach on the -refusal of my husband to aid him. - -"I was never a woman of firm principle; the holiest feeling known to me -was the love I bore my husband; all else was passion, impulse, generous -or unjust as circumstances warranted. I did not understand the rectitude -of my husband's conduct. To me it seemed ingratitude; my influence over -him was fatal. When Leicester left the house, five thousand dollars--not -ours nor his--went with him. - -"The next day we did not see him. My poor husband grew nervous, but it -was not till a week had passed that I could force myself to believe that -the money would not be promptly repaid. Then James inquired for -Leicester at his hotel. He had gone south. - -"My husband had embezzled his employers' money. He was tried, found -guilty, sentenced to the state prison for seven years. I--I had done it! -When he went up to Sing Sing, linked wrist to wrist with a band of the -lowest felons, I followed to the wharf, and my little boy, his child and -mine, only a few weeks old, lay crying against my bosom. I watched the -boat through the burning tears that seemed to scorch my eyes, and when -it was lost, I turned away still as the grave, but the most desolate -wretch that ever trod the earth. Seven years, it was an eternity to me! -I had no moral strength--I was mad. But his child was there, and I -struggled for that!" - -The woman paused. Her voice, full of rude strength before, grew soft -with mournful desolation. - -"I went often to see him; I struggled for a pardon, it was his first -offence, but he must stay a year or two in prison; there was no hope -before then--I have told you how innocent he really was. But a sense of -shame, the hard fare, the toil--he drooped under these things! Every -visit I found him thinner; his smile more sad; his brow more pallid. One -day I went to see him with the child, and they told me to go home, for -my husband was dead. - -"I went home quietly as a lamb that has been numbed by the frost. That -night I drank laudanum, intending to be nearer my husband before -morning, but there was not enough. It threw me into a sleep, profound as -death, except that I could not find him in it. The potion did not kill, -but it taught me where to seek for relief, how to chain sleep. It was my -slave then, we have changed places since." - -Ada sat cowering in her chair, while the woman went on with her -narrative. It seemed as if she herself were the person who had inflicted -the great wrong to which she had listened; as if the fierce anger, the -just reproaches of that woman were levelled at her own conscience. - -"What atonement can be made? What can be done for you?" she faltered, -weaving her pale fingers together, and lifting her eyes beseechingly to -the woman's face, which was bent down and haggard with exhausted -anguish. - -"What atonement can be made?" cried the woman, throwing back her head -till the crimson hood fell half away from her dark tresses. "He is -making atonement now--now--ha! ha!" - -The laugh which followed this speech made Ada cower as if a mortal hand -had fallen upon her heart. She looked piteously at the woman, and after -a faint struggle to speak, fell back in her chair quite insensible. - -This utter prostration--this deathly helplessness, touched the still -living heart of the woman. She could not understand why her terrible -story had taken such effect upon a person, lifted as it seemed so far -above all sympathy for one of her wretched cast; but she was a woman, -had suffered and could still feel for the sufferings of others. A gush -of gentle compassion broke up through the blackness and rubbish which -had almost choked up the pure waters of her heart, humanising her -countenance, and awaking her womanhood once more. - -She stole into the bed-chamber, and taking a crystal flask full of -water from a marble slab, dashed a portion of its contents over the pale -face still lying so deathly white against the damask cushions. - -This, however, had no effect. She now took the cold hands in hers, -chafing them tenderly, removed the dainty cap and scattered water-drops -over the pale lips and forehead. With a degree of tact that no one would -have expected from her, she refrained from calling the household, and -continued her own efforts till life came slowly back to the bosom that a -moment before seemed as marble. - -Ada opened her eyes heavily, and closed them again with a shudder, when -she saw the woman bending over her. - -"Go!" she said, still pressing her long eyelashes together; "leave word -where you live, and I will send you money." - -"For the old man?" - -"No; for yourself, not for _his_ murderer?" - -"I did not ask money for myself," answered the woman, sullenly. "If you -give it, I shall pay the lawyers to save him!" - -"Then go, I have nothing for you or him--go," answered Ada, faintly, but -in a voice that admitted no dispute; and, rising from her chair, she -went into the bed-room and closed the door. - -The woman looked after her with some anger and more astonishment; then -drawing down her hood she tied it deliberately, and strode into the -boudoir, down the stairs, and so out of the house, without deigning to -notice the servants, who took no pains to conceal their astonishment, -that a creature of her appearance should be admitted to the presence of -their mistress. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -THE TOMBS LAWYER. - - As reptiles haunt a prison wall, - And search its broken cliffs for food; - Some human beings cringe and crawl - For daily bread where sorrows brood. - - -Mrs. Gray found more difficulty in performing her benevolent intentions -with regard to the Warrens, than she had ever before encountered. -Ignorant as a child of all legal proceedings, she found no aid either in -the old prisoner, his wife, or his grandchild, who were more uninformed -and far less hopeful than herself. Her brother Jacob, on whom she had -depended for aid and counsel, much to her surprise, not only refused to -take any responsibility in her kind efforts, but looked coldly upon the -whole affair. - -It was not in Jacob Strong's nature to shrink from a kind action; for -his rude exterior covered a heart true and warm as ever beat. But the -part he had already taken in those events that led to William -Leicester's death; the almost insane fear that haunted his mistress, -lest the murderer should escape punishment; the taunts that had wrung -his strong heart to the core, but which she had so ruthlessly heaped -upon him--all these things conspired in rendering him more than -indifferent to the fate of a man whom he had never seen, and whom he -wished to find guilty. He received his good sister's entreaties for -counsel, therefore, with reproof, and a stern admonition not to meddle -with affairs beyond her knowledge. - -Thus thrown upon her own resources, the good woman, by no means daunted, -resolved to conduct the affair after her own fashion. Robert, it is -true, had volunteered to aid her, and had already applied to an eminent -lawyer to conduct old Mr. Warren's defence; but the retainer demanded, -and the large sum of money expected, when laid before the good huckster -woman, quite horrified her. The amount seemed enormous to one who had -gathered up a fortune in pennies and shillings. She had heard of the -extortions of legal gentlemen, of their rapacity and heartlessness, and -resolved to convince them that one woman, at least, had her wisdom teeth -in excellent condition. - -So Mrs. Gray quietly refused all aid from Robert, and went into the -legal market as she would have boarded a North River craft laden with -poultry and vegetables. Many a grave lawyer did she astonish by her -shrewd efforts to strike a bargain for the amount of eloquence necessary -to save her old friend. Again and again did her double chin quiver with -indignation at the hard-heartedness and rapacity of the profession. - -Thus time wore on; the day of trial approached, and, with all her good -intentions, Mrs. Gray had only done a great deal of talking, which by no -means promised to regenerate the legal profession, and the prisoner was -still without better counsel than herself. - -One day the good huckster woman was passing down the steps of the City -Prison--for she invariably accompanied Mrs. Warren to her husband's cell -every morning, though it interfered greatly with her harvest hour in the -market--she was slowly descending the prison steps, as I have said, when -a man whom she had passed, leaning heavily against one of the pillars in -the vestibule, followed and addressed her. - -On hearing her name pronounced, Mrs. Gray turned and encountered a man, -perhaps thirty-five or forty years of age, with handsome but unhealthy -features, and eyes black and keen, that seemed capable of reading your -soul at a glance, but too weary with study or dissipation for the -effort. - -"I beg your pardon," said the stranger, lifting his hat with a degree of -graceful deference that quite charmed the old lady. "I believe you are -Mrs. Gray, the benevolent friend of that poor man lodged up yonder on a -charge of murder. My young man informed me that a lady--it must have -been you, none other could have so beautifully answered the -description--had called at my office in search of counsel. I regretted -so much not being in. This is a peculiar case, madam, one that enlists -all the sympathies. You look surprised. I know that feeling is not usual -in our profession, but there are hearts, madam--hearts so tender -originally, that they resist the hard grindstone of the law. It is this -that has kept me poor, when my brother lawyers are all growing rich -around me." - -"Sir," answered Mrs. Gray--her face all in a glow of delight--reaching -forth her plump hand, with which she shook that of her new acquaintance, -which certainly trembled in her grasp, but from other causes than the -sympathy for which she gave him credit, "Sir, I am happy to see -you--very happy to find one lawyer that has a heart. I don't remember -calling at your office without finding you in, though I certainly have -found a good many other lawyers out." - -Here the blessed old lady gave a mellow chuckle over what she considered -a marvellous play upon words, which was echoed by the lawyer, who held -one hand to his side, as if absolutely compelled thus to restrain the -mirth excited by her facetiousness. - -"And now, my dear lady, let us to business. The most exquisite wit, you -know must give place to the calls of humanity. My young man informed me -of your noble intentions with regard to this unhappy prisoner. That out -of your wealth so honorably won, you were determined to wrest justice -from the law. I am here with my legal armor on, ready to aid in the good -cause. If I were rich now--if I had not exhausted my life in attempting -to aid humanity, nothing would give me so much pleasure as to go -hand-in-hand with you to his rescue, without money and without price; as -it is, my dear madam--as it is, 'the laborer is worthy of his hire.'" - -This quotation quite won the already vacillating heart of poor Mrs. -Gray. She shook the lawyer's thin hand again, with increased cordiality, -and answered-- - -"True enough--true enough, my dear sir. I declare it is refreshing to -hear Bible words in the mouth of a lawyer. It's what I didn't expect." - -"Ah, madam," cried the lawyer, drawing a white handkerchief from a side -pocket, and returning it as if he had determined to suppress his -emotions at any cost--"ah, madam, do not apply a general rule too -closely. Our profession is bad enough, I do not defend it. What man with -a conscience void of offence, could make the attempt? But there exist -exceptions--honorable exceptions. Permit me to hope that your clear mind -can distinguish between the sharper and the man who sacrifices the -world's goods for conscience's sake. Believe me, dear lady, there are -such things as honest lawyers, as pious men in the profession." - -"Well, I must say the idea never struck me before," answered Mrs. Gray, -with honest simplicity. - -"Permit me to hope, that from this hour you will no longer doubt it," -answered the lawyer, gently passing one hand over the place which -anatomists allot to the human heart. "And now, madam, suppose we walk to -my office and settle the preliminaries of our engagement. A cool head -and warm heart, that is what you want; fortunately such things may be -found. Pray allow me to help you; the steps are a little damp, accidents -frequently happen up this avenue; my office is close at hand; many a -poor unfortunate has learned to bless the way there--take my arm!" - -Mrs. Gray hesitated; a blush swept over her comely cheek at the thought -of walking arm-in-arm with so perfect a gentleman, and that in the open -streets of New York. It was a thing she had not dreamed of since the -death of poor Mr. Gray. But there was a leaven of feminine vanity still -left in the good woman's nature. The shrewd swindler, who stood there so -gracefully presenting his arm, had not altogether miscalculated the -effect of his flattery, and he clenched it adroitly, with this act of -personal attention. - -Mrs. Gray hesitated, blushed, drew on her glove a little tighter, and -then placed her substantial arm through the comparatively fragile limb -of the lawyer, softly, as if she quite appreciated the danger of bearing -him down with her weight. Thus the blessed old woman was borne along, -sweeping half the pavement with her massive person, and crowding the -poor lawyer unconsciously out to the curb-stone every other minute. - -He, exemplary man, bore it all with gentle complacency, cautioned her -against every little impediment that came in her way, and consoled -himself for the somewhat remarkable figure he made in the eyes of the -police-officers that haunt that neighborhood, by a significant twirl of -his disengaged hand in the direction of his own face, and a quick -drooping of the left eyelid, by which they all understood that the Tombs -lawyer had brought down his game handsomely that morning. - -Mrs. Gray was certainly somewhat disappointed in the style of the -lawyer's office into which she was ushered with so much ceremony. A -rusty old leathern chair; a table with the green baize half worn off, -with a bundle or two of dusty papers upon it; a standish full of dry -ink, and a steel pen rusted down to the nib, all veiled thickly with -dust, did not entirely meet her ideas of the prosperous business she had -anticipated. The lawyer saw this, and hastened to sweep away all -unfavorable impressions from her mind. - -"This is my work-shop, you see, madam, the tread-mill in which I grind -out my humble bread and my blessed charities--no foppery, no carpets, -nothing but the barest necessaries of the profession. I leave -easy-chairs, &c., for those who have the conscience to wring them from -needy clients. You comprehend, dear lady. Oh! it is pleasant to feel -that now and then in this cold world, a good life meets with -appreciation. John, bring me another chair?" - -"My young man," whom the lawyer had mentioned so ostentatiously, came -forward in the shape of a lank Irish lad, taller than his master by -three inches, which might be accurately measured by the space visible -between the knee of his nether garments and the top of his gaiter boots. -The closet door, from which he issued, revealed a lurking encampment of -dusty bottles, a broken washstand, and two enormous demijohns, the -wickerwork suspiciously moist, and with a stopper of blue glass chained -to the neck. - -The lawyer made a quiet motion with his hand, which sent the Irish boy -in haste to close the door. Then taking the unstable chair which the lad -had disinterred from the closet, he sat down cautiously, as a cat steals -to the lap of her mistress, whose temper is somewhat doubtful, and -glided into the business on hand. The Irish boy stood meekly by, -profiting by the scene with a knowing look, which deepened into a grin -of delight as he saw Mrs. Gray draw forth her pocket-book, and place -bank-notes of considerable amount into the lawyer's hand. When the good -woman had thus deposited half the sum which the lawyer assured her would -save old Mr. Warren's life, she arose with a sigh of profound -satisfaction, shook out her voluminous skirts, and left the office, -fully satisfied with the whole transaction. - -The lawyer and "his man" followed her to the door. When she disappeared -down the street, the lawyer turned briskly, and in the joy of his heart -seized the Irish boy by the collar that had lately graced his own neck, -and gave him a vigorous shake. - -"What are you grinning at, you dog? How dare you laugh at my clients? -There now, get along; take that and fill both the demijohns; buy a clean -pack of cards, and a new supply of everything. Do you hear?" - -The Irish boy shook himself back into his coat, and seizing the money, -plunged into the street, resolved not to return a shilling of change -without first securing the month's wages, for which his master was, as -usual, in arrears. - -The lawyer threw himself into the leathern chair which Mrs. Gray had -just left, stretched forth his limbs, half closed his eyes, and rubbing -his palms softly together, sat thus full ten minutes caressing himself, -and chuckling over the morning's business. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -THE LAWYER'S VISIT TO HIS CLIENT. - - I am his wife; full forty years - This head was pillowed on his breast; - I shared his joy, I shared his tears, - And in deep sorrow loved him best. - - Yes, tempter, I am still his wife! - I hold the glory of his name! - To purchase liberty or life - I would not dim its light with shame! - - -If those who think that happiness exists only in those external -circumstances that surround a man, could have seen old Mr. Warren in his -prison, they would have been astonished at the placidity of his -countenance, at the calm and holy atmosphere that had made his cell -emphatically a home. His wife and grandchild haunted it with their love, -and it seemed to him--so the old man said--that God had never been quite -so near to him as since he entered these gloomy walls. He might die; the -laws might sacrifice him, innocent as he was; but should this happen, he -only knew that God permitted it for some wise purpose, which might never -be explained till the sacrifice was made. - -True, life was sweet to the old man; for in his poverty and his trouble -two souls had clung to him with a degree of love that would have made -existence precious to any one. All that earth knows of heaven, strong, -pure affection had always followed him. It is only when the soul looks -back upon a waste of buried affection, a maze of broken ties, that it -thirsts to die. Resignation is known to every good Christian, but the -wild desire which makes men plunge madly toward eternity, comes of -exhausted affections and an insane use of life. Good and wise men are -seldom eager for death. They wait for it with still, solemn faith in -God, whose most august messenger it is. - -There was nothing of bravado in the old man's heart; he made no -theatrical exhibition of the solemn faith that was in him; but when -visitors passed the open door of his cell--for, being upon the third -corridor, there was little chance of escape--and saw him sitting there -with that meek old woman at his feet, and an open Bible on his lap, a -huge, worn book that had been his father's, they paused involuntarily, -with that intuitive homage which goodness always wins, even from -prejudice. - -A few comforts had been added to his prison furniture; for Mrs. Gray was -always bringing some cherished thing from her household stores. A -breadth of carpet lay before the bed; a swing shelf hung against the -wall, upon which two cups and saucers of Mrs. Gray's most antique and -precious china, stood in rich relief; while a pot of roses struggled -into bloom beneath the light which came through the narrow loop-hole cut -through the deep outer wall. - -Altogether that prison-cell had a home-like and pleasant look. The old -man believed that it might prove the gate to death, but he was not one -to turn gloomily from the humble flowers with which God scattered his -way to the grave. He lifted his eyes gratefully to every sunbeam that -came through the wall; and when darkness surrounded him, and that -blessed old woman was forced to leave him alone, he would sit down upon -his bed, and murmur to himself, "Oh! it is well God can hear in the -dark!" - -Thus as I have said, the time of trial drew near. The prisoner was -prepared and tranquil. The wife and grandchild were convinced of his -innocence, and full of gentle faith that the laws could never put a -guiltless man to death. Thus they partook somewhat of his own heavenly -composure. Mrs. Gray was always ready to cheer them with her genial -hopefulness; and Robert Otis was prompt at all times with such aid as -his youth, his strength, and his fine, generous nature enabled him to -give. - -One morning, just after Mrs. Gray had left the cell--for she made a -point of accompanying the timid old woman to the prison of her -husband--Mr. Warren was disturbed by a visitor that he had never seen -before. It was a quiet demure sort of personage, clothed in black, and -with an air half-clerical, half-dissipated, that mingled rather -incongruously upon his person. He sat down by the prisoner, as a hired -nurse might cajole a child into taking medicine, and after uttering a -soft good morning, with his palm laid gently on the withered hand of the -old man, he took a survey of the cell. - -Mrs. Warren stood in one corner, filling the old china cup from which -her husband had just taken his breakfast, with water; two or three -flowers, gathered from the plants in Mrs. Gray's parlor windows, lay on -the little table, whose gentle bloom this water was to keep fresh. To -another man it might have been pleasant to observe with what care this -old woman arranged the tints, and turned the cup that its brightest side -might come opposite her husband. - -But the lawyer only saw that she was a woman, and reflected that the sex -might always be found useful if properly managed. Instead of being -struck by the womanly sweetness of her character, and the affection so -beautifully proved by her occupation, he began instantly to calculate -upon the uses of which she might be capable. - -"Rather snug box this that they have got you in, my good friend," said -the lawyer, turning his eyes with a sidelong glance on the old man's -face, and keeping them fixed more steadily than was usual with him, for -it was seldom a face like this met his scrutiny within the walls of a -prison. "Trust that we shall get you out soon. Couldn't be in better -hands, that fine old friend of yours, a woman in a thousand, isn't -she?--confides you to my legal keeping entirely!" - -"Did Mrs. Gray send you? Are you the gentleman she spoke to about my -case?" inquired the old man, turning his calm eyes upon the lawyer, -while Mrs. Warren suspended her occupation and crept to the other side -of her husband. "She wished me to talk with you. I am glad you have -come!" - -"Well, my dear old friend, permit me to call you so--for if the lawyer -who saves the man from the gallows isn't his friend, I should like to -know who is. When shall we have a little quiet chat together?" - -"Now, there will be no better time!" - -"But this lady; in such cases one must have perfect confidence. Would -she have the goodness just to step out while we talk a little?" - -"She is my wife. I have nothing to say which she does not know!" -answered the old man, turning an affectionate look upon the grateful -eyes lifted to his face. - -"Your wife, ha!" cried the lawyer, rubbing his palms softly together, as -was his habit when a gleam of villainy more exquisite than usual dawned -upon him. "Perhaps not, we shall see! may want her for a witness! but we -can tell better when the case is laid out. Now go on; remember that your -lawyer is your physician; must have all the symptoms of a case, all its -parts, all its capabilities. Now just consider me as your conscience; -not exactly that, because one sometimes cheats conscience, you -know--after all there is nothing better--think that I am your -lawyer--that I have your life in my hands--that I must know the truth in -order to save it--cheat conscience, if you like, but never cheat the -lawyer who tries your case, or the doctor who feels your pulse." - -"I have nothing to conceal. I am ready to tell you all," answered the -old man. - -The calmness with which this was said took the lawyer somewhat aback. He -had expected that more of his cajoling eloquence would be necessary, -before his client would be won to speak frankly. His astonishment was -greatly increased, therefore, when the old man in his grave and truthful -way related everything connected with the death of William Leicester -exactly as it had happened. Nothing could be more discouraging than this -narrative, as it presented itself to the lawyer. Had the man been -absolutely guilty, his counsel would have found far less difficulty in -arranging some grounds of defence. Without some opening for legal -chicanery the lawyer felt himself lost. Unprincipled as he was, there -still existed in his mind some little feeling of interest in any case -he undertook, independent of the money to be received. He loved the -excitement, the trickery, the manoeuvering of a desperate defence. He -had a sort of fellow feeling for the clever criminal that sharpened his -talent, and sent him into court with the spirit of an old gambler. - -But a case like this was something new. He did not for a moment doubt -the old man's story; there was truth breathing in every word, and -written in every line of that honest countenance. Indeed it was this -very conviction that dampened the lawyer's ardor in the case. It seemed -completely removed from his line of position. He had so long solemnly -declared his belief in the innocence of men whom he knew to be steeped -in guilt, that he felt how impossible it was for him to utter the truth -before a jury with any kind of gravity. His only resource was to make -this plain, solemn case as much like a falsehood as possible. - -"And so you were entirely alone in the room?" - -"Entirely." - -The lawyer shook his head. - -"You have no witnesses of his coming in, or of the conversation, except -this old lady and your grandchild?" - -"None!" - -"Your neighbors, how were you situated there? No kind fellow in the next -casement who heard a noise, and peeped through the key-hole, ha?" - -The old man looked up gravely, but made no answer. - -"I tell you," said the lawyer sharply, for he was nettled by the old -man's look, "yours is a desperate case!" - -"I believe it is," was the gentle reply. - -"A desperate case, to be cured only with desperate measures. Some person -must be found who saw this man strike the blow himself." - -"But who did see it, save God and myself?" - -"Your wife there, she must have seen it. The door was not quite closed; -she was curious--women always are; she looked through, saw the man -seize the knife; you tried to arrest his hand; he was a strong man; you -old and feeble. You saw all this, madam!" - -The old woman was stooping forward, her thin fingers had locked -themselves together while the lawyer was speaking, and her eyes were -fixed on him, dilating like those of a bird when the serpent begins its -charm. At first she waved her head very faintly, thus denying that she -had witnessed what he described; then she began to stoop forward, -assenting, as it were, to the force and energy of his words, almost -believing that she had actually looked through the door and saw all that -the lawyer asserted. - -"No, she did not see all this," answered the prisoner, quietly; "and if -she had, how would it be of use?" - -"You did see it, madam!" persisted the lawyer, without removing his eyes -from the old woman's face, but fascinating her, as it were, with his -gaze--"you did see it!" - -"I don't know. I--I, perhaps--yes, I think." - -"But you did see it; your husband's life depends on the fact. Refresh -your memory; his life, remember--his life!" - -"Yes--yes. I--I saw!" - -It was not a deliberate falsehood; the weak mind was held and moulded by -a strong will. For the moment that old woman absolutely believed that -she had witnessed the scene, which had been so often impressed upon her -fancy. The lawyer saw his power, and a faint smile stole over his lip, -half undoing the work his craft had accomplished. The old woman began to -shrink slowly back; she met the calm, sorrowful gaze of her husband, and -her eyes fell under the reproach it conveyed. - -The lawyer saw all this, and without giving her time to retract, went -on. - -"By remembering this you have saved his life--saved him from the -gallows--his name from dishonor--his body from being mangled at the -medical college." - -The old woman wove her wrinkled fingers together; the kerchief on her -bosom quivered with the struggle of her breath. - -"I saw it--I saw it all!" she cried, lifting up her clasped hands and -dropping them heavily on her lap. "God forgive me, I saw it all!" - -"Wife!" said the old man, in a voice so solemn that it made even the -lawyer shrink. "Wife!" - -She did not answer; her head dropped upon her bosom; those old hands -unlocked and fell apart in her lap, but she muttered still, "God forgive -me, I saw it all!" - -It _was_ a falsehood now, and as she uttered it the poor creature shrunk -guiltily from her husband's side, and attempted to steal out of the -cell. - -"One moment," said the lawyer, beginning to kindle up in his unholy -work. "Another thing is to be settled, and then you have the proud -honor, the glorious reflection that it is to you this good, this -innocent man owes his life. How long have you been married?" - -The old woman looked at a gold ring on her finger, worn almost to a -thread, and answered-- - -"It is near on forty years." - -"Where?" - -The old woman looked at her husband, but his eyes were bent sorrowfully -downward, giving her neither encouragement or reproach, so she answered -with some hesitation-- - -"We were married Down East, in Maine!" - -"So much the better. Is the marriage registered anywhere?" - -"I don't know!" - -"The witnesses, where are they?" - -"All dead!" - -The lawyer rubbed his hands with still greater energy. - -"Very good, very good indeed; nothing could be better! Just tell me, -could you prove the thing yourselves?" - -"Prove what?" said Mrs. Warren, half in terror, while the prisoner -remained motionless, paralyzed, as it seemed, by the weakness of his -wife. - -"Prove?--why, that you were ever married. The truth is, madam, you could -not have been married to the prisoner--never where the thing is -impossible. It spoils you for a witness--do you understand?" - -"No," said the old woman--"no, how should I? What does it mean?" - -"Mean?--you are not his wife!" - -"Not his wife--not his wife! Why, didn't I tell you we had lived -together above forty years?" - -"Certainly; no objection to that, a beautiful reproof to the slander -that there is no constancy in woman. Still you are not his -wife--remember that!" - -"But I _am_ his wife. Look up, husband, and tell him if I am not your -own lawfully married wife." - -"Madam," said the lawyer, in a voice that he intended should reach her -heart. "In order to save this man's life you must learn to forget as -well as to remember. You saw Leicester kill himself, that is settled. I -shall place you on the stand to prove the fact--a fact which saves your -husband from the gallows. His _wife_ would not be permitted to give this -evidence; the laws forbid it--therefore you are not his wife. They -cannot prove that you are; probably you could not easily prove it -yourself. I assert, and will maintain it, no marriage ever existed -between you and the prisoner." - -"But we have lived together forty years; more than forty years!" cried -the old woman, and a blush crept slowly over her wrinkled features till -it was lost in the soft grey of her hair. "What am I then?" - -"What matters a name at your time of life. Besides, the moment he is -clear you may prove your marriage before all the courts in America for -aught I care; they can't put him on trial a second time." - -"And you wish me to deny that we are married--to say that I am not his -wife." - -The old woman, so weak, so frail, grew absolutely stern as she spoke; -the blush fled from her face, leaving it almost sublime. The lawyer -even, felt the moral force of that look, and said, half in apology-- - -"It is the only way to save his life!" - -"Then let him die; I could bear it better than to say he is not my -husband--I not his wife." She sunk to the floor as she spoke, and bowing -her forehead to the old man's knee, sobbed out, "Oh, husband--husband, -say that I am right now--did you hear--did you hear?" - -The old man sat upright. A holy glow came over his face, and his lips -parted with a smile that was heavenly in its sweetness. He raised the -feeble woman from his feet, and putting the grey hair gently back from -her forehead, kissed it with tender reverence. Then, holding her head to -his bosom, he turned to the lawyer. "You may be satisfied, she does not -think her husband's poor life worth that price," he said. "Now leave us -together." - -The lawyer went out rebuked and crest-fallen, muttering to himself as he -passed from one flight of steps to another, "Well, let the stubborn old -fellow hang, it will do him good; the prettiest case I ever laid out -spoiled for an old woman's fancy. It was badly managed, I should have -taken her alone! I verily believe the old wretch is innocent, but they -will hang him high as Haman, if the woman persists." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -THE TRIAL FOR MURDER. - - It is a wrong and monstrous thing, - That from young hearts where love is deep - Justice herself the words should sing - That sends a kindred soul to sleep. - - -The day of trial came at last. Such cases are frequent in New York, and, -unless there is something in the position or history of the criminal to -excite public attention, they pass off almost unnoticed. Still there is -not a single case that does not sweep with it the very heart-strings of -some person or family, linked either to the prisoner or his victim; -there is not one that does not wring tears from some eyes and groans -from some innocent bosom. We read a brief record of these things; we -learn that a murderer has been tried, convicted, sentenced; we shudder -and turn away without being half conscious that the history thus briefly -recorded embraces persons innocent as ourselves, who must endure more -than the tortures of death for the sin that one man is doomed to -expiate. - -Old Mrs. Warren and her grand-daughter stood at the prison doors early -that morning. It was before the hour when visitors could be admitted, -but they wandered up and down in sight of the entrance with that -feverish unrest to which keen anxiety subjects one. All was busy life -about the neighborhood. It was nothing to the multitude that passed up -and down the steps, that a fellow being was that morning to be placed on -trial for his life. A few remembered it, but with the exception of old -Mrs. Gray and her nephew, it passed heavily upon the heart of no living -being save those two helpless females. - -How strange all this seemed to them! With every thought and feeling -occupied, they looked upon the indifferent throng with a pang; the -smiling faces, the bustle, the cheerfulness, all seemed mocking the -heaviness of their own hearts. - -The hour came at last, and they entered the prison. Old Mr. Warren -received them affectionately as usual; he exhibited no anxiety, and -seemed even more cheerful than he had been for some days. The Bible lay -open upon the bed, and there was an indentation near the pillow, as if -his arms had rested heavily there while reading upon his knees. - -He spent more than an hour conversing gently with his wife and -grand-daughter, striving to give them consolation rather than hope; for, -from the first, he had believed and expressed a belief that the trial -would go against him. With no faith in his counsel, and no evidence to -sustain his innocence, how could he doubt it? Perhaps this very -conviction created that holy composure, which seemed so remarkable in a -man just to be placed on a trial of life and death. - -When the officers came to conduct him to the City Hall he followed them -calmly, solemnly, as a good man might have gone up to a place of -worship. It was a bright, frosty morning, and he had been some weeks in -prison. Still his heart must have been wonderfully at ease when the -clear air, and the busy life around could thus kindle up his eye and -irradiate his face. A crowd gathered around the prison to see the old -murderer come forth, but the people were disappointed. Instead of a -fierce haggard being, wild with the terrors of his situation, ready to -dart away through any opening like a wild animal from its keepers, they -saw only a meek old man, neatly clad, and walking quietly between the -officers with neither the bravado or the abject humility of guilt. The -fresh air did him good; you could see that in his face, and so grateful -was he for this little blessing, that he almost forgot the gaze and -wonder of the crowd. - -"This is very beautiful," he observed to one of the officers, and the -man stared to see how simple and unaffected was this expression of -enjoyment. "Had I never been in prison, how could I have relished a -morning like this?" - -"You expect to be acquitted?" answered the man, unable to account for -this strange composure in any other way. - -"No," replied the old man, a little sadly--"no, I think they will find -me guilty--I am almost sure they will!" - -"You take it calmly, upon my honor--very calmly!" exclaimed the man. -"Have you made up your mind, then, to plead guilty at once?" - -"No, that would be false--they must do it--I will not help them. All in -my power I must do to prevent the crime they will commit in condemning -me. Not to do that would be suicide!" - -There was something in this reply that struck the officer more than a -thousand protestations could have done. Indeed the entire bearing of his -charge surprised him not a little. Seldom had he conducted a man to -trial that walked with so firm a step, or spoke so calmly. - -"Have you no dread of the sentence--no fear of dying, that you speak so -quietly?" - -The old man turned his head and looked back. Two females were following -him a little way off. They had gone across the street to avoid the crowd -of men and boys that hung like a pack of hounds about the prisoner, but -were gazing after him with anxious faces, that touched even the officer -with pity, as his glance fell upon them. The old man saw where his eyes -rested, and answered very mournfully-- - -"Yes, I have a dread of the sentence. It will reach _them_! Besides, it -is a solemn thing to die--a very solemn thing to know that at a certain -hour you will stand face to face with God!" - -"Still, I dare say, you would meet death like a hero!" - -"When death comes, I will try and meet it like a Christian," was the -mild answer. - -As the old man spoke, they were crossing Chambers street to a corner of -the Park, but their progress was checked by a carriage, drawn by a pair -of superb horses, and mounted by two footmen in livery, that dashed by, -scattering the crowd in every direction. - -Mrs. Warren and her grand-daughter were on the opposite side, and had -just left Centre street to cross over. Julia uttered a faint scream, and -attempted to draw her grandmother back, for the horses were dashing -close upon them, and the old woman stood as if paralyzed in the middle -of the street. She did not move; the horses plunged by, and the wheels -made her garments flutter with the air they scattered in passing. The -old woman uttered a cry as the carriage disappeared, and ran forward a -step or two, as if impelled by some wild impulse to follow it; Julia -darted forward and caught hold of her arm. - -"Grandmother, grandmother, where are you going? What is the matter?" - -"Did you see that?" said the old woman. - -"What, grandmother?" - -"That face--the lady in the carriage. Did you see it?" - -"No, grandmother; I was looking at you. It seemed as if the horses -would trample you down." - -The old woman listened, evidently without comprehending. Her eyes were -wild, and her manner energetic. - -"Where is your grandfather?--I must tell him. It was _her_ face!" - -"Whose face, grandmother?" - -"Whose! Why, did you not see?" The old woman seemed all at once to -recollect herself. "But how should you know--you, my poor child, who -never had a mother?" - -"Oh! grandmother, has trouble driven you wild?" cried the poor girl, -struck with new terror, for there was something almost insane in the -woman's look. - -"No, I am not wild; but it was her--see how I tremble. Could anything -else make me tremble so?" - -"I have been trembling all the morning," said Julia. - -"True enough, but not deep in the heart--not--oh! where is your -grandfather? They have taken him off while we are standing here. Come, -child, come--how could we lose sight of him?" - -They hurried into the Park, and across to the City Hall, which they -reached in time to secure a single glance of the prisoner as he was -conducted up the staircase, still followed by the rabble. - -The court-room became crowded immediately after the prisoner was led in, -and it was with considerable difficulty that an officer forced a passage -for the unhappy pair to the seats reserved for witnesses. Mrs. Gray was -already in court, a little more serious than usual, but still so -confident of her protege's innocence, and filled with such reverence for -the infallibility of the law, that she had almost religious faith in his -acquittal. She smiled cheeringly when Mrs. Warren and Julia came up, and -her black silk gown rustled again as she moved her ponderous person that -they might find room near her. Mrs. Warren was a good deal excited. She -even made an effort to reach her husband, as they were conducting him -through the court, but the crowd was too dense, and, spite of herself, -she was borne forward to the witnesses' seats, without obtaining an -opportunity to whisper a word of what was passing in her heart. The -judges were upon the bench; the lawyers took their places, and all the -preliminaries of an important trial commenced. The prisoner remained -calm as he had been all the morning, but there was nothing stupid or -indifferent in his manner. When informed of his right of challenge to -the jury, he examined each man as he came up; with a searching glance, -and two or three times gave a peremptory challenge. He listened with -interest to the questions put by the court, and sunk back in his seat, -breathing deeply, as if an important duty was over, when the jury was at -length empannelled. - -The district attorney opened his case with great ability. He was a keen, -eloquent man, who pursued his course against any person unfortunate -enough to be placed before him, with the relentless zeal of a -bloodhound, yielding nothing to compassion, feeling no weakness, and -forgiving none. His duty was to convict--his reputation might be -lessened or enhanced by the decision of a jury--that thought was ever in -his mind--he was struggling for position, for forensic fame. The jury -before him was to add a leaf to his yet green laurels, or tear one away. -What was a human life in the balance with this thought? - -To have watched this man one might have supposed that the feeble old -prisoner, who sat so meekly beneath the fiery flash of his eyes, and the -keen scourge of his eloquence, had been his bitterest enemy. Even in -opening the case, where little of eloquence is expected, he could not -forbear many a sharp taunt and cruel invective against the old man, who -met it all with a sort of rebuking calmness, that might have shamed the -dastardly eloquence which was in no way necessary to justice. - -You should have seen dear Mrs. Gray, as the lawyer went on. No winter -apple ever glowed more ruddily than her cheek; no star ever flashed more -brightly than her fine eyes. The folds of her silken dress rustled with -the indignation that kept her in constant motion; and she would bend -first to old Mrs. Warren, and then to Julia, whispering-- - -"Never mind, dears--never mind his impudence! Our lawyer will have a -chance soon, then won't that fellow catch it! Don't mind what he says; -it's his business; the State pays for it--more shame for the people. Our -man will be on his feet soon. I ain't the State of New York, but then -he's got a fee that ought to sharpen his tongue, and expects more when -it's over. Only let him give that fellow his own again with -interest--compound interest--and if I don't throw in an extra ten -dollars, my name isn't Sarah Gray. Oh, if I could but give him a piece -of my mind now! There, there, Mrs. Warren, don't look so white! it's -only talk. They won't convict him--it's only talk!" - -Mrs. Gray was drawn from this good-natured attempt to cheer her friends -by the proceedings of the court, that each moment became more and more -impressive. - -The prosecution brought forth its witnesses, those who had appeared in -the preliminary trial, with many others hunted out by the indefatigable -attorney. Never was a chain of evidence more complete--never did guilt -appear so hideous or more firmly established. Every witness, as he -descended from the stand, seemed to have thrown a darker stain of guilt -upon that old man. The sharp cross-examinations of the prisoner's -counsel, only elucidated some new point against him. His acute wit and -keen questioning brought nothing to light that did not operate against -the cause--a better man might have been excused for abandoning his case -in despair. - -It seemed impossible that anything could overthrow all this weight of -evidence; even the desperate plea of insanity would be of no avail. No -one could look on the solemn, and yet serene face of that old man, -without giving him credit for a steadiness of mind that no legal -eloquence could distort. - -Among the last witnesses brought up was Julia Warren. Her determination -not to give evidence, which had just escaped legal censure on the -examination, had been reasoned away by her grandfather who, believing, -himself that the laws should be obeyed in all things, leaving the result -with God, had succeeded in convincing the mind of this young girl that -her duty was obedience. She arose, therefore, when summoned to the -stand, turned her eyes upon her grandfather, as if to gather courage -from his strength, and moved forward tremulously, it is true, but with -more fortitude than might have been expected in a creature so young and -so delicately sensitive. - -With her usual good sense, Mrs. Gray had taken care that her protege -should be neatly dressed, but spite of the little cottage bonnet with -its rose-colored lining, that face was colorless as a snow-drop. - -A thrill of sympathy passed through the crowd, as this young girl stood -up in the public gaze. She was known as the grandchild of the accused, -and to possess knowledge that could but deepen the charges against him. -This of itself was enough to enlist the generous impulses of a people, -more keenly alive than any on earth, to the claims and dependencies of -womanhood. But the shrinking modesty of her demeanor--the exquisite -purity of her loveliness--her youth, the innate refinement that breathed -about her like an atmosphere, all conspired to make her an object of -generous pity. There was not a face present, even to the officers, that -did not exhibit some sign of this feeling when the first view of her -features was obtained. The face in which this tender compassion beamed -most eloquently was that of the old prisoner. For the first time that -day tears came into his eyes, but when her glance was turned upon him -with a look that pleaded for strength and for pardon, eloquently as eyes -ever pleaded to a human soul, the grandfather answered it with a smile -that kindled up her pale face, as if an angel had passed by, which no -one had the power to see, save her and the old man. - -She touched her lips to the sacred volume, and turned with a look of -angelic obedience toward the judges. When the prosecuting attorney -commenced his examination, she answered his questions with a degree of -modest dignity that checked any desire he might have felt to excite or -annoy her with useless interrogations. Nothing could be more absorbing -than the attention paid to every word that dropped from her lips. She -spoke low, and faltered a little now and then; but the tones of her -voice were so sadly sweet, the tears seemed so close to her eyes without -reaching them, that even the judges and the jury leaned forward to catch -those tones, rather than break them by a request that she should speak -louder. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -THE TWO WITNESSES. - - Woman, thy haughty pride shall fall-- - Thy very soul shall quake and quail. - Those words are weaving shroud and pall, - And truth itself may not avail. - To save the life thy sin has taken-- - To save thy father's whitened head-- - Thy soul to its proud depth is shaken-- - Say, canst thou raise him from the dead. - - -I will not give Julia's entire evidence as she uttered it in detail, -because most of my readers know already the events which she had to -relate; I have attempted no melodramatic effect by an effort at mystery. -The truth which that court could not know, is already made manifest to -those who have followed my story up to this point. When questioned if -she had known the deceased, Julia answered that she had seen him three -times in her life. Once upon a wharf near the Battery, where she had -wandered with flowers and fruit, which she wished to sell. He then -purchased a few of her flowers, and presented them to a lady who had -left a southern vessel with him but a few moments before. She described -how he had driven away with the lady at his side, and said at that time -she never expected to have seen him again. - -"But you did see him again," said the examining counsel. "Tell us where -and how?" - -"It was in October, the evening before he--before he died. I was going -up town with some flowers, which a lady had ordered for a ball she gave -that night. It was rather late when I started from Dunlap's, and I -walked fast, fearing to lose my way after dark. This man saw me as I was -passing a house with a flower-garden in front, and a pretty fountain -throwing up water among the dahlias and chrysanthemums; I was out of -breath, and walked a little slower just then, for the water-drops as -they fell were like music, and everything around was so lovely that I -could not find it in my heart to walk fast. I did not stop; but Mr. -Leicester saw me and wanted me to sell my flowers. I told him no; but he -_would_ have them, and almost pushed me, basket and all, through the -gate and into the house." - -"Well, what passed in the house?" - -"He took me up stairs into a chamber, and there I saw the same lady that -was with him on the wharf, alone, and dressing herself in some beautiful -clothes that lay about. She asked me to help her, and I did. She took -some of my flowers for her hair and her dress. I was in a great hurry, -and wished to go, but she begged me to stay a few minutes longer, and I -could not refuse. After she was dressed, we went down stairs, and this -lady was married to Mr. Leicester in a room below. The wedding seemed -like a funeral; the lady cried all the time, and so did I. - -"When it was all over they let me go, and I carried the rest of my -flowers to the lady who had ordered them. It was getting late when I -went back; I lost my way; a gentleman stood looking into a window at the -corner of some street; I asked him to tell me the way home without -looking in his face; he turned. It was Mr. Leicester; he _would_ go home -with me; I did not like it, and would rather have been lost in the -streets all night; but all that I could say against it did no good. He -followed me home, down the basement steps, and to the door of -grandfather's room. There was no light in the room; and while grandpa -was kindling a match, Mr. Leicester went away. I do not know how, but -when the candle was lighted I looked round for him, and he was gone!" - -"Did you tell your grandfather that he had followed you?" - -"Yes, I always tell grandfather everything!" - -"So you told him that this man had followed you home against your will?" - -"Yes, I told him." - -"Was he angry?" - -"My grandfather never is angry!" - -"But what did he say?" - -"Nothing particular. He kept his arm around me a good while, I remember, -as I was warming myself, and seemed to feel sorrowful about something. -He asked several questions about the man, how he looked, and what he -said." - -"And was that all he said or did?" - -"No. He prayed for me that night before we went to bed more earnestly -than I had ever heard him before. I remember, he asked God to protect me -from harm, and said that he was old, so old that he was of no use, and -well stricken in years. It was not the first time I had heard him say -this, but that night I remember well, for it made me cry!" - -"When was the next time you saw Mr. Leicester?" - -Julia grew pale as she replied to this question, and her voice became so -faint that she could scarcely be heard. - -"I saw him the next morning!" - -"At what hour?" - -"I do not know exactly; but we had just done breakfast when he came into -the basement where we lived, and attempted to speak with my -grandfather!" - -"Did your grandfather know him? Did he call Mr. Leicester by name?" - -"He did not call him by name; but I think they must have known each -other!" - -"Why do you think so?" - -"Because grandfather turned so pale and looked so dreadfully; I never -saw him look so before." - -"Well, what passed after he came in?" - -"I don't know--he sent us both out of the room, grandma and me." - -"Where did you go?" - -"Into the entry; we had no other place!" - -"Did you hear nothing after?" - -"Yes, the sound of voices, but no words; then Mr. Leicester rushed -through the door, and out to the area; we thought he was gone, but in a -minute he came back and went into the basement again; we heard no words -after that, but a heavy fall. We went in, Mr. Leicester lay on the -floor; grandpa was close by; there was blood about: but I do not know -anything else, my head grew dizzy; I remember clinging to grandmother -that I might not fall." - -"And this is all you know?" - -"Yes, it is all!" - -It is impossible to describe the effect this young girl's evidence -produced upon the court. She did not weep or blush as most girls of her -age might have done. The feelings that gave her voice those tones of -thrilling sadness, the subdued pain so visible in her sweet countenance, -were all too strong and deep for these more common manifestations. You -saw that this young creature was performing a solemn duty, when she -stood up there to testify against the being whom she loved better than -anything on earth--that the single hour which she occupied on the stand -would leave behind it such memories as weigh upon the heart forever. - -Julia descended from the gaze of that crowd, older at heart by ten years -than ordinary events would have left her. Great suffering brings painful -precocity with it. It takes but a few moments to harden iron into steel; -but the fire is hot, and the blows hard which accomplish the -transformation. - -The defence refused all cross-examination, and Julia was told that she -might leave the stand. As the permission was given, she lifted her -heavy eyes and turned them once more upon her grandfather. Oh, what a -world of anguish lay in that look. The old man answered it with another -smile. She saw it but dimly, for her eyes were filling with tears, but -its sad sweetness made her faint. She tottered back to the seat by her -grandmother, leaned her head against the wall, and without a sigh or a -motion became as insensible as the wall itself. - -It was strange, but the evidence of this young girl, strongly as it bore -against the prisoner in fact, created a feeling in his favor with the -jury, and disposed the crowd to more charitable thoughts of the old man -who could make himself so beloved by a creature like that. As for Mrs. -Gray, she absolutely sobbed till the chair shook under her, all the time -that Julia was speaking. But the grandmother sat motionless, only -turning her eyes slowly from her husband to the jury, and from them to -the judges, striving, poor creature, to gather some ray of hope from -their faces. - -It was a strong proof of the influence which the truthfulness of this -young creature had upon the court, that there was a good deal of legal -informality permitted in the examination. She had been allowed to tell -her story after her own gentle fashion, without undue interference from -the lawyers; and for a little time after she left the stand, there was -profound silence in the crowd, as if no one could break, even by a -whisper, the impressions which her evidence had left. - -This silence was broken by the prisoner, who arose, all at once, and -attempted to move toward his grand-daughter. While all others were -absorbed, he had seen her head droop against the wall, the heavy lids -settle like snow-flakes over her eyes, and the color quenched around her -mouth. The sight was too much for him, and he started up, as I have -described, but only to feel the officer's gripe upon his arm. - -"See, see, you have killed her," said the old man, pointing with his -finger to the insensible girl. "Let me go to her, I say--one -minute--only a minute! No one else can bring her to life!" - -The officer attempted to resist the old man. - -"Sit down--sit down," he said, "it disturbs the court. She shall have -care, only be quiet." - -The prisoner resisted this friendly violence, and struggled against the -man with all his feeble strength. - -"She is dead; I tell you it has killed her, poor thing! Poor darling, -she is dead!" he repeated, and tears rolled heavily down his face. "Will -no one see if she is quite, quite gone?" - -As if in answer to this pathetic cry for aid, a young man forced his way -up from a corner of the room, where he had stood all day regarding every -stage of the trial with the keenest interest, and taking Julia in his -arms, carried her to an open window. - -"Give me water," he said to the officer; "there is some before the -judge;" then turning toward Mrs. Gray, who, occupied by the prisoner, -had been quite insensible to Julia's situation, he said, abruptly, "Have -you no hartshorn?--nothing about you, aunt, that will be of use?" - -"Dear me, yes," answered the good lady, producing a vial of camphor from -the depths of her pocket, "I thought something of the kind might happen; -here is the water too; there, her eyelids begin to move." - -"She is better--she will soon be well," said Robert Otis, turning his -face toward the prisoner, who stood up in the midst of the court, -looking after his grandchild, with eyes that might have touched a heart -of stone. - -"Thank you, thank you!" said the old man; and without another word, he -sat down, covered his face with both hands, and wept like a child. - -After a little, Julia was led back to her seat, and Robert Otis withdrew -into the crowd again. Another witness was examined and dismissed. Then -there came a pause in the proceedings. The witnesses' stand was for a -time unoccupied. The district attorney sat restlessly on his chair, -casting anxious glances toward the door, as if waiting for some person -important to his cause. The judge was just bending forward to desire -the proceedings to go on, when a slight bustle near the door caused a -movement through the whole crowd. Those persons near the entrance were -pressed back against their neighbors by two officers in authority, who -thus made a lane up to the witnesses' stand, through which a lady -passed, with rapid footsteps, and evidently much excited by the position -in which she found herself. - -A whisper of surprise, not unmingled with admiration, ran through the -crowd, as this lady took her place upon the stand. She hesitated an -instant, then, with a graceful motion, swept the veil of heavy lace back -upon her bonnet, and turned toward the judges. The face thus exposed had -something far more striking in it than beauty. It was a haughty face, -full of determination, and with a calmness upon the features that was -too rigid not to have been forced. Notwithstanding this, you could see -that the woman trembled in every limb, as she bared her features to the -crowd. - -It was not the bashful tremor which might have brought crimson to the -brow of any female, while so many eyes were bent upon her, but a strong -nervous excitement, which lifted her above all these considerations. The -contrast of a black velvet dress flowing to her feet, and fitted high at -the throat, might have added somewhat to the singular effect produced by -a face at once so stern and so beautiful. Certain it is, that a thrill -of that respect which strong feeling always carries with it, passed -through the crowd; and though she was strikingly lovely, people forgot -that, in sympathy for the emotions that she suppressed with such -fortitude. The rapidity with which she had entered the court, and the -position which she took on the stand, prevented a full view of her face -to Mrs. Warren and Julia; but as she turned slowly toward them, in -throwing back her veil, the effect upon these two persons was startling -enough. - -The old woman half rose from her chair, her lips moved, as if a -smothered cry had died upon them, and she sat down again, grasping a -fold of Mrs. Gray's gown in her hands. It was the face she had seen in -the carriage that morning. - -Julia also recognized the lady, with a start. It was the woman who had -purchased flowers of her so often, who had been so invariably kind, and -whose fate had been strongly blended with her own since the first day -when she had purchased violets from her flower basket. - -There was something startling to the young girl in this sudden -apparition of a person who had been to her almost like fate itself. At -that solemn moment she drew her breath heavily, and listened with -painful attention for the first words that might fall upon the court. -Mrs. Gray also was filled with astonishment, for she saw her own -brother, Jacob Strong, enter the court, walking close behind the lady, -until she mounted the stand, with the air and manner of an attendant. -When the lady took her position, he drew back toward the door, and stood -motionless, gazing anxiously upon her face, without turning his eyes -aside even for an instant. It was in vain Mrs. Gray motioned with her -hand that he should approach her; all his senses seemed swallowed up by -keen interest in the lady. He had no existence for the time but in her. - -Of all the persons in that court-room, there was not one who did not -exhibit some unusual interest in the woman placed so unexpectedly upon -the witnesses' stand, except the prisoner himself. He had been, during -some moments, sitting with his forehead bent upon his clasped hands, -lost in thought, or, it might be, in silent prayer to the God who had, -as it seemed, almost abandoned him. He did not look up when the lady -entered, and not till the examination had proceeded to some considerable -length, was he aware of her presence. - -It was worthy of remark, that the prosecuting attorney addressed this -witness with a degree of respect which he had extended to no other -person. His voice, hitherto so sharp and biting, took a subdued tone. -His manner became deferential, and the opening questions, in which he -was usually abrupt, almost to rudeness, were now rather insinuated than -demanded. - -He waived the usual preliminaries regarding the age and name of the -witness, and even apologized for the necessity which had compelled him -to bring her before the court. - -The lady listened to all this with a little impatience; she was -evidently in no state of mind for commonplace gallantries, and seemed -relieved when he commenced those direct questions which were to place -her evidence before the court. - -"Mrs. Gordon, that is your name, I believe!" - -The lady bent her head. - -"Did you know Mr. William Leicester when he was living?" - -A faint tremor passed over the lady's lips, but she answered clearly, -though in a very subdued voice-- - -"Yes, I knew him!" - -"He visited at your house sometimes?" - -"Yes!" - -"When did you see him last?" - -"On the----" Her voice became almost inaudible as she uttered the date; -but the lawyer had keen ears, and forbore to ask a repetition of the -words, for her face changed suddenly, and it seemed with a violent -effort that she was able to go on. - -"At what hour did he leave your house?" - -"I do not know the exact hour!" - -"Was it late?" - -"Yes, I gave a ball that night, and my guests generally remained late!" - -"Did you observe anything peculiar in his manner that night? Did he act -like a man that was likely to commit suicide in the morning?" - -It was half a minute before the lady gave any reply to this question; -then she spoke with an effort, as if some nervous affection were almost -choking her. - -"I cannot judge--I do not know. It is a strange question to ask me!" - -"I regret its necessity!" said the attorney, with a deferential bend of -the head; "our object is," he added, addressing the judge, "to show by -this witness, how the deceased was occupied during the night before his -murder. I believe it is the intention of the defence to claim that -William Leicester killed himself; that it was a case of suicide instead -of the foul murder we will prove it to have been. I wish to show by this -lady that he was a guest in her mansion up to a late hour; that he -joined in the festivities of a ball, and was among the most cheerful -revellers present. I must repeat the question, madam--did you remark -anything singular in his manner--anything to distinguish him from other -guests?" - -The lady parted her lips, struggled, and answered-- - -"No, I saw nothing!" She lifted her eyes after this, as if impelled by -some magnetic power, and met those of the tall, gaunt man, who had -followed her into court. His look of sorrowful reproach seemed to sting -her, and she spoke again, louder and more resolutely. "There was nothing -in the words or acts of William Leicester, that night, which warranted -an idea of suicide--nothing!" - -A faint sound, not quite a groan, but deeper than a sigh, broke from -Jacob Strong; and he shrunk back into the crowd, with his head drooping -like some animal stricken with an arrow, and anxious to hide the wound. -That moment, as if actuated by one of those impulses that seem like the -strides of fate toward an object, the district attorney said, as it -seemed in the very wantonness of his professional privilege, - -"Look at the prisoner, madam. Did you ever see him before?" - -The lady turned partly round and looked toward the prisoner's seat. The -old man had his head bowed, for the sight of his insensible grandchild -had left him strengthless, and she could only distinguish the soft wave -of grey hairs around his temples, and the stoop of a figure venerable -from age. - -"Stand up," commanded the judge, addressing the old man; "stand up that -the witness may look upon your face!" - -The old man arose and stood upright. His eyes were lifted slowly, and -met those of the woman, which were filled with cold abhorrence of the -being she was forced to look upon. I cannot describe those two faces as -their eyes were riveted upon each other; both were instantly pale as -death. After a moment, in which something of doubt mingled with its -corpse-like pallor, that of the woman took an expression of almost -terrible affright. Her pale lips quivered; her eyes distended with wild -brilliancy. She lifted one hand that shook like an aspen, and swept it -across her eyes once, twice, as if to clear their vision. She did not -attempt to speak; the sight of that old man chilled her through and -through, body and soul. She seemed freezing into marble. - -The change that came upon the prisoner was not less remarkable. At first -there settled upon his face a look of the most painful astonishment. It -deepened, changed, and as snow becomes luminous when the sunshine -strikes it, the very pallor of his features brightened. Affection, -tenderness, the most thrilling gratitude beamed through their whiteness, -and while her gaze was fascinated by his, he stretched forth his arms. -This scene was so strange, the agitation of these persons so -unaccountable, that it held the whole court breathless. You might have -heard an insect stir in any part of that vast room. It seemed with every -breath as if some cry must burst from the old man--as if the lady would -sink to the earth, dead, so terrible was her agitation. But the prisoner -only stretched forth his arms, and it seemed as if this slight motion -restored the lady to herself. Her face hardened; she turned away, -withdrawing her gaze slowly, as if the effort cost her a mortal pang. -Then she answered, - -"No, I do not recognize him!" - -Her lips were like marble, and her voice so husky that it made the -hearers shrink, but every word was clearly enunciated. - -The old man fell back to his seat; his arms dropped heavily down; he too -seemed frozen into stone. - -For a moment the witness stood mute and still; then she started all at -once, turned and descended into the crowd. - -Mrs. Warren, whom no one had observed during this scene, arose from her -seat as the lady passed, and followed her. The crowd closed around them, -but the old woman struggled through, and laid a trembling grasp upon the -velvet dress that floated before her like the waves of a pall. The lady -turned her white face sharply round, and it came close to that of the -old woman. A convulsion stirred her features; she lifted her arm as if -to fling it around that frail form, then dashed it down, tearing her -dress from that feeble grasp, and walked steadily out of the court. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -THE VERDICT. - - Tread lightly here--let outraged justice weep! - - -There had been a severe change in the weather since morning. The pure -frosty air, that invigorated everything it touched, hardened toward -night, into one of those cold storms--half snow, half ice--that chill -you to the vitals. A coating of this sleety snow lay upon the Park, -icing the trees with crystal, and bending every twig as with a fruitage -of pearls. The stone pavement and the City Hall steps were carpeted an -inch deep by the storm; and the hail crackled sharply under foot if any -one attempted to pass over them. In short, it was one of those nights -when everything living seeks shelter, and no human being is seen abroad, -save those given up to wild desolation, either of body or mind. - -Miserable and stormy as the night was, two persons had been wandering in -it for hours, sometimes lost in the blackness of the storm, sometimes -gliding by the lamps that seemed struggling to keep themselves -alive--and again stealing up the curving staircase within the City -Hall, ghost-like and shadowy, only to come forth in the tempest and -wander as before. - -In the darkness, it would have been difficult to judge of the sex or -condition of those persons. Both were muffled in garments black as the -clouds that hung over them. Both were tall, and, sometimes as they -walked, the outlines of their persons blended together, till they seemed -scarcely more than a mass of moving darkness. It was remarkable that, -standing or walking, they never lost sight of a range of windows in one -wing of the City Hall, where lights shone gloomily into the mist, not -wandering about as the lamps of a happy household often do, but -motionless, like watchfires, half smothered by the dense atmosphere. - -Once more these two persons ascended the steps and entered the -vestibule, from which the horse-shoe staircase diverges. A shower of -sleet followed them, and the wind swept wailing over their heads as they -went in. A lamp burned near the staircase, and for a moment, the faces -of those two wanderers became visible. The one that struck you first, -was that of a female. Tresses, that had of late been curled, hung in -dripping masses down each side of her face, that was not only as white, -but seemed cold also as marble. A pair of wild eyes, really blue, but -blackened with the smothered fire that protracted suspense leaves behind -it, gleamed out from the shadow of her bonnet, around which the folds of -a heavy lace veil dripped in sodden masses to her shoulders. The velvet -cloak which shrouded her was heavy with rain; its lustre all gone, and -its rich fringes, frozen together with sleet, rattled against the -balustrades as she pressed them in passing. Her companion--but even as -we attempt to describe him, the woman turns, with her hand upon the -balustrade, and addresses him--thus giving his identity better than any -description could convey. - -"What was that, Jacob? A noise--the stirring of feet! Oh, my God--my -God--they are coming in!" - -She caught hold of Jacob's rough over-coat with one hand. The gleam of -her teeth, as they knocked together, made the strong man recoil. It -gave an expression of fearful agony to her face. He listened. - -"No, it is the wind breaking through the hall." - -"How it sobs! How like a human voice it is! Do you hear it? -Death!--death!--that is what it says!" - -"You shudder--you are cold. How your teeth chatter!" said Jacob, folding -the half-frozen cloak about her. "What can I do? If you would only go -home, I will come the first minute after the verdict. Do--do go!" - -"Hush! it is there again. Are the winds human, that they moan so?" - -"It is a fierce storm, nothing more," said Jacob. - -A woman came down the steps that moment. She had no cloak on, and a thin -shawl hung in limp folds over her shoulders. An old hood lay back from -her face, revealing features large and stern, but for the instant -softened with sorrow. She came from the vestibule overhead. In that -direction lay the court-room. Ada saw the woman, and holding out both -her hands, shivering and purple with cold, walked slowly up to meet her. -These two females had seen each other but once in the world. One was -from a prison, the other from a palatial home; yet they stood face to -face, on equal terms, now. I am wrong; the woman of the prison looked -down with something of stern rebuke upon the lady. She said in her -heart, "The blood of this old man be upon her head! Did she not deny me -the gold that might have saved him?" But when she looked upon that face, -her resentment gave way. She paused on the steps, instead of pushing -roughly by, and said, in a tone that sounded peculiarly gentle from its -contrast with her appearance and bearing-- - -"This is a bitter night, madam." - -"Tell me--tell me," gasped Ada, seizing the woman's shawl, and raising -her hand toward the court-room, "have they--have they--" - -"Poor thing! so you repent at last," answered the woman, comprehending -her gesture with that quick magnetism which is the lightning of some -hearts. "No, they have not come in; but it is of no use waiting--the -poor old man is as good as hung, depend on it." - -Ada uttered a faint cry, very faint, but it seemed to her that it -sounded through the whole building, ringing above the storm like a yell. -She dropped the woman's shawl, and stood motionless, looking helplessly -in her face. - -"You had better take the lady home," said the woman, turning kindly to -Jacob; "she is wet through--the ice rattles on her clothes; she will -catch her death of cold. I would stay and help her, for she seems in -trouble; but there is worse trouble coming for the poor creature -overhead. I thought I had seen hard sights before; but this--there is no -brandy strong enough to make me forget this!" - -"There is no news--the jury are still out?" questioned Jacob. "Tell me!" - -"No, no--I have nothing to say--the jury are out yet--the judge -waiting--the old man--" - -"Hush!" said Jacob, "she is listening." - -"Stay--tell me all--the old man--tell me all!" cried Ada, hurrying down -two or three steps after the woman. - -"I cannot wait, lady; the jury may come in any moment. Those poor -watchers will want a carriage. I must find one somewhere. Nobody thought -of that but me. They might not feel the storm, for the verdict will numb -them; but it is a piercing night." - -"You have no cloak--scarcely more than summer clothes. I will go," said -Jacob. - -"I am used to battling with the weather," was the answer. "Thank you, -though." - -"Stay with her," answered Jacob, and he hurried down the steps. - -"How the wind blows!--it is a terrible night," said the woman, drawing -her scant shawl together, and sitting down by Ada, who had sunk upon the -cold steps, as if all the strength had withered from her limbs the -moment Jacob left her. "You tremble--your teeth chatter--these poor -hands are like ice; there, there, let me rub them between mine." - -Ada submitted her shivering hands meekly as a child, and a drop, that -was not rain, stole down her face. - -"You told me once," she said, "that money would save him; will -thousands--hundreds of thousands do it now?" - -"It is too late," answered the woman, sadly. - -The tempest rose just then, and, to Ada's almost frenzied mind, it -seemed as if every swell of the wind answered back, "too late--too -late!" She shuddered, and cowered down by the woman, as if a death -sentence were ringing over her. - -When Jacob returned, he found the two women sitting together, upon the -steps. Ada rose to her feet, and, without speaking, began rapidly to -mount them. Jacob followed. - -"Where are you going! Not there, I hope--not there!" - -"Yes, _there_!" - -She rushed forward, her frozen garments crackling and shedding ice-drops -as she moved. All the high-bred dignity of her mien was gone; all the -richness of her toilet drenched away. The woman who followed her -scarcely looked more poverty stricken--did not look so utterly desolate. -She opened the court-room door, and crept in. All the audience was gone. -Empty benches flung their long, gloomy shadows athwart the room. Dim -lamps flared across the wall, leaving patches of blackness in the angles -and around every object that could catch and break the weak gleams of -light. The judge was upon his seat, pale and still as a statue of -marble. Weary with excitement and the protracted trial, he sat there in -the gloomy midnight, waiting for the death-word, face to face with that -old man, whose life lay in the breath on his lip. Constantly his eyes -turned upon the prisoner, and always they were met with a glance that -penetrated his heart to the core. A light, overhead, fell upon the old -man's temple, silvering the broad, high forehead, gleaming through the -white locks and glancing downward, shedding faint rays upon his beard -and bosom. I have seen a picture of Rembrandt's, so like my idea of the -old man, that it has haunted me ever since. The calm, deep-set eyes, -the holy strength slumbering within them--the expanse of forehead, the -whole head, were so perfectly the embodiment of my thought, that it -startled me. That which I saw in the picture, it was, which penetrated -to the heart of the judge, as he gazed upon the living man. - -A group of police-officers hung about the door; some asleep, with their -caps down over their eyes, others yawning and stretched at full length -upon the benches, making the scene more gloomy by the contrast of their -indifference with the anguish that surrounded them. - -Away, in the darkest corner, was another group of persons--three females -and a man. No word, no whisper passed among them. It scarcely seemed as -if they drew breath; but as you looked that way, the glitter of wild -eyes struck you with a sort of terror; and if the least sound arose, the -shadows around those women changed sharply, as if they felt something of -the anguish which made their principals start. Ada Leicester crept -noiselessly along the darkened wall, followed by the prison woman, and -sat down a little way from the rest. No one seemed to regard her, and -there she remained in the gloom, motionless as the figures upon which -her dull eyes were now and then turned. Thus an hour went by; all within -the court room was silent as death; without was the storm, wailing and -sobbing around the windows, shaking them angrily, like evil spirits -striving to break in, then rushing off with a hoarse disappointed howl. -This terrible contrast--the stillness within--the wild tumult -without--made even the officers cower closer together, and filled the -other persons present with intense awe. It seemed as if heaven and earth -had combined in hurling denunciations against that hapless old man. It -was after midnight, and for an instant there was a hush in the storm--a -hush in the vast building. Then came the sharp closing of a door, the -tramp of heavy feet, and twelve figures glided, one after another, into -the court-room. They ranged themselves in a dark line along the -jury-box, and stood motionless, their cloaks huddled around them, like -folds of a thunder-cloud, their faces white as marble. - -The judge arose, leaning heavily with one hand upon the desk before him. -His lips moved, but it was not till a second effort that they gave forth -a sound; but when it did come, his voice broke through the room like a -trumpet. - -"Prisoner, stand up and look upon the jury!" - -The old man arose, and turning meekly around, lifted his eyes to the -twelve jurors. * * * - -"Guilty or not guilty?" - -"Guilty!" - -The storm began to howl again, but all was still in the court-room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - -THE PARENTS, THE CHILD AND GRANDCHILD. - - Nor sin, nor shame, nor sense of wrong - Can yet a mother's love control; - It waiteth, watcheth, hopeth long, - And grows immortal with the soul. - - -The next morning, a carriage, one of the few superb equipages that give -an air of elegance to Broadway, equal to that of any public drive I have -yet seen, stopped at the corner of Franklin street. The grey horses and -deep green of the carriage were well known in that thoroughfare, and it -had been too often seen before Stewart's, and Ball & Black's, for any -one to remark the time during which it remained in that unusual place. - -Had any one seen Ada Leicester as she descended from the carriage and -walked hurriedly toward the City Prison, it might have been a matter of -wonder, how a creature so elegant and so fastidious had forced herself -to enter a neighborhood which few women visit, except from force or -objects of philanthropy. - -Jacob Strong walked by the side of his mistress. Few words passed -between them, for both seemed painfully preoccupied. Jacob betrayed this -state of mind by a more decided stoop of the shoulders, and by knocking -his great feet against every loose brick in the sidewalk, as he stumbled -along. The lady moved on as one walks in a dream, her eyes bent upon the -pavement, her ungloved hand grasping the purple velvet of her cloak and -holding it against her bosom. The people who passed her thought it a -pretty piece of coquetry, by which she might reveal the jewels that -flashed upon the snow of that beautiful hand. Alas, how little we can -judge of one another! The delicate primrose gloves had dropped from her -grasp unheeded, and lay trampled in the mud close by her own door. The -maid had placed them in her palsied hand, as she had performed all other -duties of the toilet that morning, but the wretched woman was quite -unconscious of it all. - -They entered the prison. A few words passed between Jacob and the warden -in an outer office; then a door was flung open, and they entered an open -court within the walls; stone buildings ranged all around, casting gaunt -shadows athwart them. They crossed the court, passed through a low door, -and entered the hall where male prisoners are kept. Ada was scarcely -conscious that a score of eyes were bent on her from the galleries -overhead, along which prisoners charged with lighter offences were -allowed to range. At that moment a regiment of soldiers might have stood -in her way, and she would have passed through their midst, unconscious -of the obstruction. She mounted to the third gallery, following after -Jacob, until he paused at one of the heavy iron doors which pierced the -whole wall at equal distances from pavement to ceiling. An officer, who -had preceded them, turned the key in the lock, and flung the door open, -with a clang that made Ada start, as if some one had struck her. - -"Shall I go in with you?" said Jacob. - -She did not answer, save by a short breath, that seemed to tear her own -bosom without yielding a sound, and entered the cell. Jacob leaned -forward, and closing the door after her, began to walk up and down the -gallery, but never passing more than six or eight paces from the cell. - -Ada Leicester stood face to face with her father. He had been reading, -and had laid the old Bible on the bed by his side as the noise of her -approach disturbed him. His steel-mounted spectacles were still before -his eyes, dimmed, it may be, by traces of tears, shed unconsciously, for -he could not distinguish clearly through them, and with a motion so -familiar that it made her tremble, he folded them up and placed them -within the pages of the book. - -She paused, motionless, after taking one step into the room, and but for -the shiver of her silk dress, which the trembling of her limbs -disturbed, as the leaves are shaken in autumn, she might have been a -draped statue, her face and hands were so marble-like. - -The old man looked at her, and she at him. He did not attempt to speak, -and a single word died on her lip again and again, without giving forth -a sound. At length that one word broke forth, and rushed like an arrow -from her heart to his-- - -"Father!" - -It was the first word that her infant lips had ever uttered. The old man -was blinded by it. He saw nothing of the stately pale woman, the -gleaming eyes, the rich drapery; but a little girl, some twelve months -old, seemed to have crept to his knees. He saw the ringlet of soft -golden hair, the large blue eyes, the little dimpled shoulder peeping -out from its calico dress; he reached forth his hands to press them down -upon these pretty shoulders, for the vision was palpable as life. They -descended upon the bowed head of the woman, for she had fallen crouching -to his feet. He drew those hands back with a moan. The innocent child -had vanished; the prostrate woman was there. - -"Father!" - -He held his hands one instant, quivering like withered leaves, over her -head, and then dropped them gently down upon her shoulders. - -"My daughter!" - -Then came a rush of tears, a wild clinging of arms, a shaking of silken -garments, and deep sobs, that seemed like the parting of soul and body. -Ada clung to her father. She laid her cold face upon his knees, and drew -herself up to his bosom. - -"Forgive me! forgive me!--oh, my father, forgive me!" - -The old man lifted her gently in his arms, and seated her upon the bed. -He took off her bonnet, and smoothed the rich hair it had concealed -between his hands. - -"And so you have come home again, my child!" - -"Home!" - -She looked around the cell, and then into the eyes of her father. - -"I have given you this home--I, who have sought for you--prayed--prayed, -father, not as you pray, but madly, wildly prayed for one look, one -word--pardon, pardon! I have got it--I see it--you pardon me with your -eyes, my father; but oh, how wretched I am--I, who gave you a home like -this!" - -"No, not you, but God!" answered the old man. "I knew from the first -that our Father who is in heaven had not afflicted his servant for -nothing. All will be well at last, Ada." - -"But you will die! Even to-day will they sentence you!" - -"I know it, and am ready; for now I begin to see how wisely God has -willed that the last remnant of an old man's life shall be the -restoration of his child." - -"But you are innocent, and they will kill you!" - -"They cannot kill more than this old body, my child. Even now it feels -the breath of eternity. What though the withered leaf is shaken a moment -earlier from its bough!" - -Ada held her breath, and gazed upon her father, filled with strange awe. -The quiet tone, the gentle resignation in his words, tranquillized her -like music. She could not realize that he was to die. Her soul was -flooded with love; her eyes answered back the holy affection that -beamed in his. For that moment she was happy. Her childhood came softly -back. She forgot her own sin alike with her father's danger. - -"Now," said the old man, "tell me all that I do not know. By what means -has God sent you here?" - -At these words Ada half arose; all the joy went out from her face; her -eyes drooped; the lines about her mouth hardened again; she attempted to -look up, failed, and with both hands shrouded her guilty features. - -"How much do you know?" she inquired, in a hoarse voice. - -"I know," said the old man, "that you left an unworthy husband and a -happy child, to follow a stranger to a strange land." - -"But you did not know," said Ada, still veiling her face, "you did not -know how cruelly, how dreadfully I was treated; how I was left days and -weeks together in hotels and boarding houses, without money, without -friends, exposed to all sorts of temptation. You cannot know all the -circumstances that combined to drive me mad. Still do not say I -abandoned the child. Did I not send her to you? Did I not give her up -when she was dear as the pulses of my own heart, rather than cast the -stain of my example upon her? Oh, father, was this nothing?" - -"We took the child, and strove to forget the mother," said the old man -sadly. - -"But could not--oh, you could not! This thought was the one anchor which -kept me from utter shipwreck, you could not curse an only child--wicked, -erring, cruel though she was!" - -"No, we did not curse her--we had no power to forget." - -"I came back--Jacob Strong will bear me witness--I lost no time in -searching for you at the homestead. Strangers were there. Had we met -then--had I found the old place as it was--you, my mother, my daughter -there--how different all this might have been!" - -"God disposes all things," muttered the prisoner. "We left our home when -disgrace fell upon us. We who had been sinfully proud of you, Ada, went -forth burdened by your shame to hide ourselves among strangers; we could -not look our old neighbors in the face, and so left them and gave up the -name our child had disgraced." - -"Father--father, spare me--I am wretched--I am punished--spare me, spare -me!" - -"Ada," said the old man solemnly, "do you heartily repent and forsake -your sin?" - -"I do repent--I have forsaken--he is dead for whom I left you; it was a -solitary fault, bitterly, oh, bitterly atoned for." - -The old man looked at her earnestly--at the glowing purple of her -garments--at the delicate veil she had gathered up to her face with one -hand. The other had fallen nervelessly down. The old man took it from -her lap and gazed sadly on the jewels that sparkled on her fingers. She -felt the touch, and the trembling hand became crimson in his clasp. - -"And yet you wear these things!" - -She shrunk away, and the glow of her shame spread and burned over every -visible part of her person. - -"Cast them from you, daughter--come to me in the pretty calico dress -that became you so well--give up these wages of shame--become poor, -honest and humble, as we are; then will your mother receive you; then -your child may know that she has a mother living; then your old father -can die in peace, knowing that his life has not been sacrificed in -vain." - -The old man looked wistfully at her, as he spoke. He saw the struggle in -her face--the reluctance with which she understood him, and tightened -his grasp on her hand. - -"What--what would you have me do?" she said. - -"Cast aside all that you possess, save that which comes of honest labor, -and earn the forgiveness you ask." - -"Father, I cannot do this; the wealth that I possess is vast; it was -devised to me by will upon his death-bed; it was an atonement upon his -part." - -"The wages of sin are death." - -"Death, father, death! Surely you are right. Leicester is dead; they -will murder you. Nothing but this money, this very wealth that I am -ordered to cast aside, can save you." - -"And that never shall save me!" answered the old man with grave dignity; -"the price of my daughter's sin, let it be millions, shall never buy an -hour of life for me, were it possible thus to bribe the law." - -"Oh father, father, do not say this; it crushes my last hope." - -"Daughter," and the old man stood up, while his face glowed as with the -light of prophecy, "it is not this ill-gotten wealth that shall purchase -my life; but it is the death I shall suffer, which will purchase the -salvation of my child. The way of providence is made clear to me now; I -see it plainly, as if written upon the wall that has seemed so blank to -my eyes till now." - -The hand fell from her face. She gazed upon him with awe, for the solemn -faith that beamed in his eyes held her breathless. That moment the cell -door was opened, and Mrs. Warren came in, followed by her -grand-daughter. The old woman paused motionless upon the threshold, -hesitating and pallid. Ada stood up trembling and afraid in the presence -of her mother. A moment the two stood face to face, gazing at each -other; then the old woman stretched forth her arms, and tears rolled -down her cheeks. Ada would have thrown herself forward, but the old -prisoner interposed. - -"No, wife, not yet; the time is at hand when our child shall come back -to your bosom, like the lamb that was lost; but God has a work to -accomplish first; have patience and let her depart." - -"Patience, patience! Oh, Wilcox, she is our child Ada, Ada!" - -He was not strong enough to keep them apart. Their arms were interwoven; -they clung together, filling the cell with soft murmurs and smothered -sobs. Broken syllables of endearment--all the pathetic language with -which heart speaks to heart in defiance of words, gave power to the -scene. Remember, reader, it was a mother meeting her only child--her -sinful, erring child--for the first time in years. They met in a -prison, with death shadows all around. Was it wonderful that, forgiving, -forgetting, they clung together? Or that the turnkey, as he looked in, -felt the tears bathing his cheek? - -It is a mercy that intense feeling has its limits, else a scene like -this might have broken the two hearts that rushed together, as torrents -meet in a storm. Their arms unlocked at length, and the two women only -held by each other from weakness. - -"And this is my child, my little Julia," said Ada, turning her eyes upon -the young girl who stood by, troubled and amazed by all she saw. - -She bent forward, and would have kissed the girl, but the old man -interposed again solemnly, almost sternly. - -"Not yet--the lip must be purified, the kiss made holy, which touches -the forehead of this innocent one." - -"I will go, father, I will go--this is bitter, but perhaps just. I will -go while I have the strength." - -Ada left the cell. We will not follow her to the scene of her solitary -and splendid anguish. We will not remain in the prisoner's cell. The -scene passing there was too holy and too pathetic for description; yet -was there more happiness that day in the prison, than Ada Leicester -found in her palace-home. Truly it is much better to suffer wrong, than -to do wrong! - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - -THE DAWNING OF LIGHT. - - As sunshine falls upon a flower - That storms have beaten to the ground, - Her heart began to feel the power - Of his deep love and faith profound. - - -The sentence was pronounced; the time of execution fixed. Each morning, -as the prisoner awoke, he said to himself, another is gone; so many, -and so many days are left. I dare not say that this man did not -occasionally shrink from the agony that awaited him; or that the clouds -of doubt did not grow black above his head, more than once; but at all -times his mien was tranquil, his words full of resignation. Some hope, -some sublime faith, stronger than death, seemed to bear him up. - -His daughter came to him more than once, and always left the cell with a -changed manner and subdued aspect. While there was a hope of saving the -prisoner, she had been excited and almost wild in her demeanor. She -appealed to the governor in person. She lavished gold. On every hand the -great power of her personal influence was all tested to the utmost, but -in vain. There exist cases in which the fangs of the law fasten deep, -and no human power can unloose them. In this instance, mercy veiled her -face, and justice became cruelty. - -At no time did the old man sanction or partake of his daughter's -efforts. Shall I say, that he did not even desire them to succeed? One -sublime idea had taken possession of his mind, and when he prayed, it -was not that he might be saved from death, but that the pang which sent -him into eternity might open the gates of paradise to his child. - -I have said that the old man was feeble, and scenes through which no -human being could pass with unshaken nerves, had gradually undermined -the little strength that age and privation had spared. Those who saw him -every day scarcely noticed this, the change was so gradual; but the -sheriff, who came but once each week, remarked how frail he was -becoming, and how difficult it was for him to support the irons with -which they had manacled his limbs. More than once he said to himself, -"It will scarcely be more than a shadow that they force me to strangle." -Still, as his strength gave way, the holy faith within him beamed out -stronger and brighter, as a flame becomes more brilliant from increased -purity of the oil on which it feeds. - -All hope was gone--and Ada saw her father every day, always alone, and -her visits lasted for hours. At such times, Jacob Strong, who kept -sentinel at the door, would pause and hold his breath, struck, as it -were, by the sweet, solemn tones that came through the door. Sometimes -you might have seen him brush one huge hand across his eyes; and then, -bowing his head upon his bosom, pace slowly to and fro, with a mournful -but not altogether dissatisfied look. - -After these visits, Ada would come forth with a subdued and gentle air, -which no person had ever witnessed in her before. The entire character -of her beauty changed. Her features became thin; her person lost -something of its roundness, but gained in that refined grace which is -indescribable. Her eyes grew darker and softer from the shadows that -deepened under them. Something of holy light there was too, that brooded -sadly there in place of the brilliancy that had kindled them so often -almost into wildness. If Ada had been beautiful when we first knew her, -she was far lovelier now. The heart yearned toward her as it felt the -glance of her eyes. The earthly was becoming purified from her being, -and the resemblance between her and the old man seemed to have found a -spiritual link. Truly the solemn faith within him was near its reward. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - -GATHERING FOR THE EXECUTION. - - He was a man of simple heart, - Patient and meek; the Christian part - Came to his soul as came the air - That heaved his bosom; hope, despair, - Were chastened by a holy faith! - Meek in his life he feared not death. - - -The day of execution arrived, and every hearth-stone in the great -metropolis was shadowed by a knowledge that at an hour to be fixed -between sunrise and sunset, a human being was to be strangled to -death--forced brutally into the presence of his Maker. Children -whispered to one another in the grey dawn as they crept awe-stricken -from their little couches. Mothers--those who had hearts--grew sad as -they thought of the household ties which the law would that day tear -asunder. - -I do not say that this law of blood for blood, which some good men cling -to so tenaciously, should be altogether abolished. Women who from the -natural and just arrangement of social life, have no share in forming -laws, can scarcely arrogate to themselves the right of advancing or of -condemning those which owe their existence to the greatest masculine -intellect; and we, who reason so much from the heart, can never be sure -that the angel of mercy, whom we worship, may not sometimes crowd -Justice from her seat. But there is no law that should permit a solemn -act of justice to become a jubilee for the mob. Executions, if they must -darken the history of a nation, should be still as the grave--solemn as -the eternity to which they lead. - -Two wardens had been placed over the prisoner that night, for the -sheriff feared that the poor old man might attempt suicide. It was a -useless precaution for one who was so close to death, and yet slept so -calmly. There he lay in the deep slumber which is so sweet to old age. -The men kept a light in the cell, and it streamed softly over those -calm, pale features, revealing a faint smile upon the lips, and the -impalpable shadows scattered over his forehead by the white hair that -lay around his temples. Sometimes, as the men gazed upon this picture, -and thought of the morrow, with all its death horrors, they turned from -each other with a sort of terror, and sat with downcast eyes, gazing -upon the floor, for it made them heart-sick--the contrast of that -peaceful slumber and the brutal death-sleep into which they were -guarding the old man. - -At the most, it was but a brief gleam of life that the law claimed; and -even that had grown faint within the last few days, so faint that it -seemed doubtful if the officers of the law would not be compelled to -lift its victim to the scaffold, when the hour of sacrifice came. The -day dawned quietly, and shed a sort of still, holy light over the -slumbering man. Then, for the first time, his keepers remarked hew -deathly pale was the serene countenance--how feeble was the breath that -scarcely stirred the coarse linen on his bosom. - -Everything was still. The cold dawn, the quiet city, and the prison -lying heavy and grim in its bosom. All at once this stillness was broken -by the fall of a hammer, distinct and sharp as the beat of a -death-watch. It made the officers start and look at each other with -meaning eyes; but the old man slept on, and the sound might have been -the sigh of an angel, instead of the hideous death-signal that it was, -for it only disturbed that tranquil slumber pleasantly, as it would -seem. A faint smile dawned upon the face, and he folded his hands softly -upon his bosom, with a deeper breath, as if some vision of ineffable -happiness filled his thought. - -It seemed a cruelty to disturb the last sleep he was ever to know on -earth, and so the morning deepened, and the prison was filled with that -sort of muffled tumult which bespeaks the opening day within those -walls, before the old man awoke. - -Other persons than the keepers were in the cell then. The wife, who was -so soon to be a widow, and the grandchild, half orphaned at heart, were -seated at the foot of the bed, watching him dimly through their tears. -He held forth his hands on seeing them, and with the same smile that had -haunted his slumber, asked after their welfare. You should have seen -that aged couple, in their humble but sublime sorrow, that day, for it -was a beautiful sight, and one which is not often witnessed within the -walls of a felon's cell. There they sat, hand in hand, linked together -by that beautiful love that outlives all things, comforting each other -with gentle earnestness--he reading passages from the Bible to her now -and then, and she more than once smiling hopefully through her tears, -when he spoke of their great age, and of the little time that they could -possibly be kept asunder. It did not seem as if they were talking of -death, but of some important and not unpleasant journey, in which the -wife would soon follow her husband to a new home. - -The grandchild sat by in silent grief. It seemed a long time for her to -wait, she was so young, so cruelly full of life. She could not, with her -sensitive feelings and quick imagination, cast off the consciousness of -all the horrors that would that day overwhelm her grandfather. Her eyes -were heavy with weeping. At every sound a shiver of terrible -apprehension ran through her frame, and she would grasp at the old man's -hand, as if scared with dread that they might tear him away before the -appointed time. - -Then came another--and that prison cell was crowded full of grief. Ada -Leicester, modestly clad, with all the jewels stripped from her hands, -and her superb beauty veiled and toned down by suffering, such as wrings -all bitterness from the heart, stood with her parents once more, a -portion of the household her own errors had desolated. Then the old man -arose in his bed, and his benign features lighted up with such joy as -the angels know over a sinner that repenteth. - -"My child," he said, opening his arms to receive her, "my child, who was -lost and is found!" For a moment he held her to his bosom; then lifting -his head, he reached forth one hand, and drew his grandchild forward. - -"It is your mother, Julia, your own mother; she has been far away for -many years; God has sent her back. Ada, kiss your daughter; Julia, my -grandchild, love your mother, reverence her, for this day shall I be one -of those that rejoice over her in heaven." - -Ada turned to her daughter, and timidly held forth her arms. A thrill so -exquisite that it swept all the tears from her heart, passed over the -bereaved girl. She moved forward; she nestled close to the bosom of her -mother; she murmured the name over and over again, -"Mother--mother--mother!" - -I have dwelt upon this scene, perhaps, tediously, and only, gentle -reader, because my heart and nerves shrink from a description of that -which was going on without the prison. It is so much better to describe -that which is holy and strong in human nature, than to yield oneself up -to scenes that shock and revolt every pure feeling, every gentle -affection. But in portraying life as it is, an author cannot always -choose the flower nooks, or keep back the clouds that darken human -nature. - -It was a winter's day, cold and drear, without being stormy. The sky was -clouded a little, and of that pale, hard blue which is more desolate -than absolute storm. The air seemed full of snow, but none fell; and the -sunshine, when it did penetrate the atmosphere, streamed mournfully to -the brown, frozen earth. Had you gone into the streets that day, -something in the aspect of the populace would have told you that an -event of no common interest was about to transpire. Men were grouped at -the corners and around the doors. Business was in a degree suspended. -But few females were abroad, and they walked hurriedly, as if necessity -alone had called them from home. - -The time of execution was fixed at five in the afternoon, an hour when -the gay world usually throngs Broadway. But for once that noble -promenade was deserted; and though the cross streets began to fill long -before noon, it was not by the class who usually make the great -thoroughfare so full of life. - -It was a singular thing; but that day, a little after twelve, a star -became visible, hanging, pale and dim, like a funereal lamp in the cold -sky. At every corner you saw groups of men and boys gazing upward, with -superstitious awe, as if there must be some connection between this star -and the human soul about to be launched into eternity. It might have -been only the grey light; but every one who went forth that morning must -have noticed how pallid were the faces that met his view in the streets. -It is difficult to excite the masses of a great city; but in this case -there had been so much to interest the public, that for once the -multitude seemed perfectly aroused. The age of the prisoner, the -exceeding beauty and touching loveliness of his grandchild, the position -and fashionable associations of William Leicester--all conspired to -arouse public interest to a state of unusual excitement. Hours before -the time of execution, the city prison was besieged by an eager mob. -Mechanics left their work; women of the lower classes went forth, some -with infants in their arms, some leading sons and daughters by the hand, -all eager and full of open-mouthed curiosity to see a fellow-creature -strangled to death in the face of high heaven. - -It had been given forth that this execution would be private, in the -court of the prison; that is, three or four hundred persons, favorites -of the sheriff, or members of the press, might have the exquisite -satisfaction of seeing how an old man could die, and these would duly -report his struggles and his agonies, the next morning, through the -daily press, that the crowd, heaving, swearing, and jostling together -without the walls, might have their horrid curiosity satisfied. - -All the cross streets around the prison filled rapidly up; and Centre -street, down to Reade and above White, was crowded full of human beings. -Then they began to swarm closer, filling the housetops and windows, -choking up the door passages and alleys, till every standing place -within sight of the prison was crowded full of eager, brutal life. I am -saying now what might be deemed a cruel perversion of probability in -fiction, but which many of my readers well know to be a disgraceful -truth. But in the windows, and on the roofs of almost every house that -overlooked the prison, appeared that day women _not_ of the lowest -classes, who came there to witness a scene at which the very soul -revolts--women whom, with all the proud love of country thrilling at the -heart, an American blushes to call countrywomen. When the time drew -near, this ocean of human life began to heave and swell tumultuously -against the prison walls. Many climbed upwards, fierce for a sight of -bloodshed, though at the peril of life and limb, creeping like animals -along the massive stonework, or hoisted up on the shoulders of those -below, till they hung on the gateway and walls, literally swarming -there, like bees seeking for a hive. - -As the hour drew near, the mob became more compact and more eager. -Excitement grew ferocious; faces, before only curious, now gleamed -upwards in groups and masses, haggard with impatient brutality. Ten -minutes had gone by--ten minutes beyond the time, and the gallows still -loomed up from the prison yard empty. Then the crowd began to murmur and -bandy rude jests, like men who had paid for an exhibition, and feared to -be baffled out of their amusement. Shouts went up; oaths ran from lip to -lip; those upon the walls leaned over, with open mouths and gloating -eyes, gazing down into the yard, then telegraphed their companions, or -shouted their disappointment to the mob, while others crept up from the -mass, crowding the possessors from their places, and occasionally -casting one headlong downward. - -All at once, when the whole mob was tumultuous with impatience, a cry of -fire rung up from the prison walls. The crowd caught the sound, and -echoed it fiercely, heaving to and fro, and trampling each other down, -eager to see the flames burst forth. There was a wooden steeple or -watch-tower, over the front building of the prison. Through the huge -timbers of this structure the flames leaped upward, flinging long gleams -of light over the upturned faces of the multitude, and adding another -horrid feature to a scene already terrible. The alarm bells sounded; the -crowd rushed to and fro, shouting, heaving up in waves, beating itself -fiercely against the prison walls. Through the masses thundered three or -four engines, and a stream of firemen swept through the tumult, pouring -noise upon noise, with their trumpets and their voices. - -The prison gates were flung open, and as the firemen entered, a portion -of the crowd, now furious with excitement, forced through after them, -with a sudden rush, filling the inner courts like a torrent let loose. - -With nothing but bare timbers to feed upon--for the prison itself was -fire-proof--the flames soon burned themselves out, after scattering -brands and sparks among the throng, leaving a red glare and a cloud of -smoke hovering luridly over the scene. When the mob saw the fire dying -away, its attention was once more turned upon the execution, and the -clamor became deafening both within and without the prison walls. The -hour of death had gone by. Were the people to be cheated and put off -with a burning watch-tower? Were mechanics, who had lost half a day's -time, in order to see a man hanged, to be kept waiting, when their -appetite was whetted for a sight of blood? They packed the prison courts -more densely; they swarmed close up to the gallows, and pushed forward -into the prison corridors, abusing the sheriff, and calling on him -vociferously to come forth and explain the meaning of all this delay. - -He did come forth, at last, looking white as death; but this was -nothing. All were pale then, either from compassion or wrath. He came -slowly forth from the prisoner's cell, and standing upon the third -gallery, looked down upon the mob. - -"Bring the old fellow out--let's see him--no put off with us!" Shouted a -man near the staircase. - -"I cannot bring him out, he is ----" - -They drowned the sheriff's voice with clamor. - -"Cheated the gallows--stabbed himself." - -The sheriff again attempted to speak, but the tumult grew louder. - -"Bring him out--dead or alive, bring him out!" - -The officer waved his hand and pointed into the cell. Half a dozen men -sprang up from the masses, and ran from one gallery to another, shouting -to the crowd below. - -"We'll see for ourselves--it's all sham--they mean to let him escape!" - -Like a troop of wild animals they plunged forward, pushed themselves -past the sheriff, and entered the cell. There they stood motionless, all -their brutal ferocity struck dumb within them. They had their wish. The -old man was before them; the last gleam of life in his eyes; the last -breath freezing upon his lips. God had been very merciful, more merciful -than the law. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - -HEARTS AND CONSCIENCES AT REST. - - The storms of life with her are passed, - Stern memory leaves her soul at rest; - She finds a tranquil home at last, - Content with blessing, to be blessed. - - -Mrs. Gordon never appeared again in the gay world. The reason was a -mystery that no one could explain. The rich furniture, the statues and -pictures that had made her home a palace, were quietly sold, and the -rooms filled with everything essential to comfort, without the slightest -approach to former profuse luxuriousness. Plain carriages and less -spirited horses, took the place of her former superb equipage. The -grounds still bloomed with flowers, the hot-houses teemed with fruit, -but Ada seldom tasted the one or inhaled the other. She was far too busy -and useful for the indulgence, even of her most harmless love of the -beautiful. She had literally gone out by the wayside and hedges, forcing -the poor to come in and partake of her hospitality. For months Jacob -Strong might have been observed, side by side with his mistress, -threading the alleys, searching in attic chambers, for objects of just -charity. Old men and women, generally of the educated poor, who could -not work, and were too proud for begging, soon became the inmates of -those splendid saloons. Any day, when you passed that mansion, some old -lady in her snow-white cap might be seen looking quietly from the -casement, while others strolled in the gardens, or amused themselves in -the marble vestibule. Occasionally Jacob Strong might be seen loitering -about the door, but all the servants were changed. The very atmosphere -of the place seemed that of another region. No French maids, no liveried -footman, lent a foreign and meretricious air to the dwelling now. In the -place of former splendor, gay tumult and heartless display, reigned a -calm and pure tranquillity. Every face was serene; every being you met -looked soberly content. - -In truth, the little paradise--for still the beautiful reigned -throughout that dwelling--did indeed at times seem haunted by an angel; -for flitting about, now in the sunshine of the garden, now in the more -bland sunshine of her mother's smile, Julia grew in beauty and in all -those sweet qualities which are the essence of loveliness. If painful -memories sometimes haunted the maiden--if a prison cell and an old man -blessing her with his last breath--a tumult of people, and wild shouts -that seemed terrible to her, even then, sometimes broke upon her in the -still morning, or the more stilly night, it was but a passing cloud; and -with tears in her eyes, she would thank God, that those who loved that -good old man had been saved the crowning horror of his death. - -And the old grandmother--it should have been no cause of grief when the -meek woman went softly to sleep one night and awoke with her husband in -heaven. It was the home she had pined for even when surrounded closest -by her children's love. They laid her by his side in Greenwood, with -many tears, for though certain that happiness awaits the departed, those -who are left must mourn, or they cannot have loved. - -Now we have one scene to describe, and our story is done. It was three -years after the death of old Mr. Wilcox, and once more the home of Ada -Leicester was lighted up for guests. The boudoir which we have so often -mentioned was redolent with flowers, and the pure muslin curtains -floated to and fro in the summer air that came balmily through the open -windows. Beyond, was the bed-chamber. You could hear the rustle of light -footsteps on the India matting, and see the gleam of snowy drapery, -waving like a cloud in the distance. All was exquisitely chaste and full -of simplicity. How unlike the gorgeous luxuriousness of those rooms, in -other days! - -The rooms filled, not with guests such as had made them brilliant once, -but with persons who may interest the reader far more. The first person -whom Jacob Strong ushered into the boudoir, was his own sister, Mrs. -Gray. Never in her whole life had the good lady appeared so radiantly -happy. Her gown of silver grey silk rustled cheerfully as she walked, -white satin ribbons knotted the lace cap under her chin and floated in -glistening streamers adown the white muslin kerchief folded over her -bosom. A pair of gloves--man's size, but white as snow--were neatly -buttoned about her plump wrists. This, with her beautiful grey hair, her -cheeks softly red like a mellow winter apple, and the double chin that -had taken a triple fold since we last saw her, would have warmed your -heart had you been a guest at that house, as she was. Then there was a -quiet little old lady in black, who glided in like a shadow, and was -completely lost behind the rotundity of Mrs. Gray's person; and another -gentle creature clothed in black also, but of a beauty that made your -heart ache, the sweet face was so touchingly sad, the countenance so -waxen in its whiteness, and every movement was so painfully shy. It -seemed as if the poor young creature might turn and flee, like a -frightened doe, if an unfamiliar eye were turned upon her. Reader, these -two persons are no strangers to you; they are the mother and the victim -of William Leicester. Poor Florence, her mind was shaken yet, but not as -it had been. She was gentle and mournfully sad, but not insane. Still it -was a painful thing to see a creature so young, with that utter -hopelessness of countenance. She sat down close to the little, aged -woman, and looked up in her face, with meek, trusting eyes, holding -shyly to a fold of her dress all the while. Not even the sunny smile of -Mrs. Gray, could win a gleam of joy to those large eyes. Then there was -a large woman with black eyes and an abundance of raven hair, that kept -bustling in and out of the bed-chamber with a look of happy importance, -that made her strong features quite handsome. You would hardly have -recognized the prison woman, in that neatly clad rosy cheeked female, -the expression and whole appearance was so changed. Home and care had -done everything for her, and at this time she was housekeeper in the -mansion. Had you asked her character of the old ladies who found an -asylum there, the account would have astonished you. After all, where -real strength of character exists, there is always hope of reformation. -It is your weak sinner for whom one despairs the most. As this woman -passed through the room, she always turned her eyes, beaming with -fondness, on a little boy, half concealed by the flow of Mrs. Gray's -gown. It was quite wonderful how much that gown could shelter; and the -mother spoke in that glance eloquently as ever love was uttered in -words. - -Then there was Jacob Strong himself, with a new coat in its first gloss, -too short for his long arms, and cut after a fashion of his own, which -made him look more round-shouldered and ungainly than ever. A buff vest, -and gloves of a deeper yellow, gave an air of peculiar smartness to his -costume, which bespoke some very important occasion; for it was not -often that Jacob gave way to weaknesses regarding his toilet; and when -he did, the effect was indisputably striking. - -Besides the persons we have mentioned, were a score of nice aged women -in snowy caps and chintz dresses, looking the very pictures of contented -old age, who whispered cosily together, and watched a door that led to -the stairs with the greatest interest, as if some very important person -was expected to enter from that way. - -Their impatience was gratified at last; for a clergyman with flowing -robes came sweeping through, escorted by Jacob Strong, who had been -wandering about the dim vestibule during the last ten minutes. Directly -after, the room opposite was flung open, and Robert Otis came forth, -leading a fair young girl by the hand. There was something heavenly in -the loveliness of that gentle bride, as the blush deepened and faded -away beneath the gossamer sheen of her veil. - -Jacob Strong rubbed his yellow gloves softly together, as he gazed upon -her; and the rustle of Mrs. Gray's dress was absolutely eloquent of all -the restless pride she felt in seeing the two beings she most loved -united for ever. - -Of all the persons present, Ada Leicester alone was sad. She remembered -her own marriage, and the shadow of many a painful thought swept across -her face, as the solemn benediction was uttered over her child. - -When the ceremony was complete Florence arose, and quietly placing a -folded paper in the lap of the bride, stole away, as if terrified by the -strange eyes that followed her movement. Julia took up the paper, half -unfolded it, and then, with a blush and a smile, placed it in the hand -of her young husband. With that paper Florence had conveyed two thirds -of her fine property to the daughter of William Leicester--the man who -had swept every blossom from the pathway of her own life. - - -THE END. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fashion and Famine, by Ann S. 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