Ingraham, J. H. (Joseph Holt), 1809-1860 [1845], Grace Weldon, or, Frederica, the bonnet-girl: a tale of bost and its bay (H. L. Williams, Boston) [word count] [eaf181].
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CHAPTER I.
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At the conclusion of one of those little romances, hardly to be dignified
by the name of novels, which, during the past year, we have thrown off
from the press, we promised one day a continuation. In that romance,
which bore the title of `Jemmy Daily,' we took juvenile subjects, and
brought them forward to the verge of manhood, leaving them just as they
were about entering into the whirl of life. The numerous applications from
`little folk,' that we have since been honored with, to redeem our promise to
write a sequel, we cannot well resist any longer; and hereby prepare to
make good our pledge. We shall begin our story by introducing, for the
benefit of those who have not seen `Jemmy Daily,' the concluding paragraph
of that work. It is as follows:
`It is now a period of nine years since Jemmy Daily was introduced to
his readers. He is now within a few weeks of being twenty-one, and by
his talents, faithfulness, and industrious devotion to business, from being the
youngest, he has risen to be the head clerk of Mr. Weldon's commercial
house. When he comes of age, it is rumored that Mr. Weldon will take
him into copartnership, which event, we have no doubt, all of our readers
would be very much pleased to learn. Grace Weldon will also be gratified,
for she is a great friend of our hero's, and is become a very beautiful and
happy-hearted girl of seventeen. But the blue-eyed Frederica we think
would rejoice most. She is now a graceful, blue-eyed maiden of eighteen
years, and chief-assistant in Mrs. Daily's fashionable millinery and bonnet-making
establishment on Washington street, into which this kind lady received
her after the deaths of the old blind German basket-maker, her father,
and little faithful Bricket.
`But it is not yet decided by the gossips, who seem to foreknow all events
matrimonial, and can see a love-match with half an eye, whether our hero is
likely to address Frederica or Grace; for he is tall, manly and handsome,
with a frank, generous expression of countenance, and a pure character, and
is worthy of any maiden's love and confidence. We have our own opinion
of the issue! Time will also decide; but we wish he would wed Frederica.
She not only is worthy of him, but affectionately loves him.
`As to Jack Brigs, the juvenile villain, we have no good to say of him!
He has spent two years in the House of Correction, and three years in the
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State's Prison, since we lost sight of him; and is now, at twenty-three years
of age, got to be the greatest thief and most skilful burglar in Boston, and
will, doubtless, one day get his desert at a rope's end.
`We have left full romance behind for another Tale. Shall we have “a
sequel” one day to Jemmy Daily, and see if his manhood fulfils the promises
of his boyhood? If, through the perusal of this Tale, one poor boy is
excited to honorable ambition; is led to love honesty and to hate vice; to prefer
a course of truth and integrity to one of falsehood and dishonesty; if, by
means of it, one intemperate husband and father is reclaimed; or one suffering
wife encouraged and strengthened, our object will have been effected,
and our labors abundantly and undeservedly rewarded.'
Thus ends the concluding paragraph of `Jemmy Daily.' We now proceed
to our story.
If the reader is at all acquainted with that region which lies on the eastern
declivity of Fort Hill, towards Broad street, he will remember having
seen a precipitous passage of stairs, descending from a court leading from
one of the narrow streets that cross the hill-side, down to the level of Broad
street, with which the stairs communicate by a narrow, dingy-looking passage.
This steep and dark flight, which is shut in closely by the tenements
of poverty, if not of crime, from its numerous steps is known as the `Hundred
Stairs,' or more commonly, by those living about it, as the `Devil's
Ladder.' It affords a short, but, in wet or slippery weather, from its steepness
and great height, a perilous thoroughfare between the streets on the
hill-side and Broad street and the docks.
It was about seven o'clock on a December night, a few months after the
point of time at which we have terminated the novel of Jemmy Daily, that
a person in a coarse, shaggy blouse, which was closely buttoned to his chin,
and a large, rough, fox-skin cap, drawn closely over his ears and eyes, stopped
at the head of the stairs. He had just come down the hill, crossing the
square by the flag-staff, to reach the street in which he was. From his dress
and outside appearance, one could not tell whether he was a gentleman or a
low fellow; but there was in his air and step something that betrayed that
he was, at least, a person `of fashion,' to use the term as one of mere distinction.
A lamp half dimmed with snow, for a wintry storm was wildly
sweeping through the streets, cast a faint light around him, and as he for a
moment raised his head a little, he exhibited the lower portion of a very
fine face. He was of good height, well formed, with great breadth of chest,
and had a youthful and imperious air.
He stood at the top of the stairs and gazed down the dark, cavernous avenne
beneath him, the shape of which, in the darkness, was only apparent
by the snow lying upon the bottom, defining its shape and direction. At its
outlet in Broad street, he could see the faint glow of light, but the passage
itself was dark and dangerous to the eye. Early as the hour was, few persons
were stirring, the storm driving all honest citizens to their fire-places.
On either side of the steep `wynd' which yawned below him, rose high
above him the dark brick walls of the buildings that crowded upon it. For
part of the way along the sides of the passage, the wall was a plain brick
surface, but lower down, on the right, were visible the doors and windows
of tenements. Also through the whole length of the passage were entrances
to the dwellings either of poverty or crime. In some of its details, this
place has been changed and modified since the time of which we are now
writing, but in its main features it is still as it was then.
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The man placed his hand against the wall of the house to sustain himself,
and slowly and carefully began to descend the precipitous flight.
`Confound this break-neck hole!' he exclaimed, as his foot slipped upon
the snow, and he saved himself from plunging headlong below by catching
at and firmly grasping one of the planks of the stairs. `If Jack doesn't
find better lodgings I will have nothing more to do with him. It is as much
as a man's life is worth to venture down here such a night as this. Well!
here I am, at the bottom, with whole limbs!' he cried, as he stood at the
bottom of the steps, and cast his eyes upwards to the height from which he
had so perilously reached the spot on which he was. `Jack has policy, I
see, in having his quarters here. A police officer would find hard handling
upon this Devil's Ladder, if he came after him! Now for my man!'
Close by his side, at the foot of the flight, was a narrow door in the brick
wall. There was a single window, a little higher up, near it; it was simply
a small door, that had once been a window, which it resembled still, deep set
in the brick wall. Across it was an iron bar, and to all appearance it was
firmly locked and barred from without, for at one end of the bar hung a
padlock.
At this door the man gave a single rap with the end of a stout stick he
carried. He waited a moment, and a deep voice from within demanded who
was there.
`Carl,' answered the visiter.
A noise of the turning of a key was heard, and then the person again
spoke.
`I have loosened the bolt; apply your catch-key. Are you alone?'
`Alone!' he answered. And drawing off his furred glove, he drew from
his breast-pocket a curiously-shaped key, resembling a long tube with a cross
cut into the end of it, and applying it to the iron head of a pin at one extremity
of the bar, he drew it out, when the bar, which seemed to have
been imbedded in the stone frame of the door, flew round upon its centre,
working or traversing like the balance needle of a compass, and the door
swung open.
`You have secured the entrance to your den, Brigs, with a good deal of
caution.'
`I have to do it,' answered the man. `There ant a person wot goes by
here would ever think any human was livin' here. It looks as tight and
lock-up as if it had been fastened up by the boss and he'd taken the keys
home in his pocket! But come in, sir. The snow driving in is enough to
put a fellow's blinkers out!'
The speaker was in the dark; and as the stranger did not require urging
to get out of the blasts that swept so fiercely by, he instantly obeyed him,
and the door was shut by the man who had admitted him.
`It is as dark as a tomb here, Jack!'
`I'll show you a light in a moment. I only want to swing the bar and
bolt round outside, to give it that lock-up look to cheat the Pollies!'
`They don't suspect you here, eh, Jack?'
`No. I am safe here, thanks to my wits and caution,' answered the man
as he turned the key. `Now, sir, give me your hand!'
`Not so fast, I can't see any thing, Jack!'
`You will see soon, sir. There we are, safe!' he added, as he opened a
door at the extremity of a short passage, across which they had come, and
conducted him into a low, semi-subterranean apartment, about twelve feet
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square. It contained a small stove, a couple of straw bottom chairs, a rude bed,
and a red pine table, on which stood the remains of a coarse supper, served in
rich porcelain and earthen dishes, oddly met together, with the addition of a
silver fork, pewter spoon, and a silver cream-pot, engraved with the arms of
some family. The walls of the gloomy apartment were damp and dingy,
the paper with which the plastering had once been covered, being torn off
from the ceiling to the floor in wide strips. The funnel of the little square
stove ran into the wide, broken chimney, across which was a rough board,
which served as a mouth-piece. Over it was a small cup-board, the door of
which was half open, displaying a shelf containing bags, and leathern sacks
of tools, and other things appertaining to the house-breaker's profession.
Opposite the fire-place was another door, which contained various disguises,
from a beggar to a gentleman, including sailors', farmers', stage-drivers', and
truckmen's costumes, besides the glazed caps, coats, and rattles of watchmen.
`There is a seat, Mr. Ellery,' said the occupant of this apartment.
`Thank you, Brigs. I will sit for a moment,' answered the visiter, taking
a chair near the table, at the same time throwing back his fur cap, and opening
his collar and turning it aside from his chin. As he did so the gaze of the
other was fixed closely upon his features, which were now distinctly visible.
His face was handsome, yet slightly flushed, evidently by indulgence in a
dissolute life. He was a young man, about four-and-twenty, and had the
air of a person of refinement and education. Beneath his shaggy blouse
his dress, such as was visible, was rich and fashionable. His whiskers were
nicely arranged, and his dark brown hair, escaping from his cap, curled upon
his brow, and fell in masses about his neck. His eyes were a clear hazel,
full and sparkling; but his mouth, though very finely shaped, wore an expression
of pride and imperiousness, which showed that these feelings might
often govern his character and conduct, to the destruction of all moral principle.
But for this forbidding expression, which lingered upon his lip, his
countenance would have been termed prepossessing, as well as handsome.
It was evident that one possessing such a face as his, could with facility disguise
his real character, and appear in two distinct personifications before
the world.
His companion was a person of a very different outside. He was a thickset,
strong-built young man, about two-and-twenty, in a sailor's check shirt
and jacket, with a flashy crimson vest, and tweed pantaloons, with enormous
plaids in the figure. His feet were encased in long-toed, fashionable boots,
much too small for him; and upon his coarse, dark hands sparkled no less
than four heavy stone rings. In his ears hung little gold wire ear-rings, and
on each cheek his side-locks, which were fiery red, were carefully curled
into long, lady-like ringlets; while behind his head, his hair was closely
shaven to his bull-neck, giving it the appearance supposed to belong peculiarly
to those water-dogs upon whom their masters' tastes inflict this style of
tonsure.
The face of this man deserves a paragraph by itself for its portrait. He
was originally of a complexion that was very white; but freckles had so
taken possession of the skin of his face, that he was now the complexion of
the hue of freckles, from his forehead to his chin. His eye-brows were
sandy, and very thick, his eyes small, and of a blueish gray or ashes color,
sharp, active, restless, suspicious, full of mistrust and savage deliberation.
His nose turned up to a point, and his lips were large and full, as if made
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of leather, and had an expression grossly sensual and depraved. His chin
was covered with a few straggling hairs, which, extending to his cheeks,
were doubtless intended to supply the place of whiskers. The shape of this
face was square and Dutch-like, and its permanent expression that of ignorance
and viciousness combined. In a word, Jack Brigs had not very greatly
improved his profile since we saw him last, as a boy, conspiring with
`Big Sam Burney and Bill,' to attack Jemmy Daily in Theatre Alley; in
which enterprise, these worthies, it will be remembered, were very roughly
handled.
`Did you find me easy, Mr. Ellery?' asked Jack, after he had surveyed
his features a few moments, as if trying to divine from them his motive in
visiting him on such a night.
`Yes, Jack. It is not very difficult to find the Devil's Ladder. And besides,
you gave me such directions that I could not well miss you. But I
was staggered a little on seeing that the door was so barred up!'
`That is my contrivance, you see, and I take pride in it! Big Sam came
here with me last night, and when he saw my fixins he said as how he'd
never see any thing equal to it! He said unless I was seen to go in, nobody'd
ever suspect this was more than an old under-ground room filled
with barrels, or such lumber, and locked up!'
`No doubt you have to keep pretty close, eh?'
`Yes, since my last clearance from the Charlestown jug. I said when I
was comin' out, I would find quarters where the devil couldn't suspect my
being. I knew if I went about my old haunts in Ann street and Richmond,
that Clapp would have his eye on me before I'd got to work, and the first
thing any body did, I'd be nabbed on suspicion!'
`It's enough for you to be taken up for your own work, eh, Jack?'
`It is, I assure you. So, as I knew I should have eyes on me, I resolves
to come in this part of the town, where I was a stranger.'
`How came you to pitch on such a break-neck hole as this? Confound
your stairs! I came within an ace of pitching from the top to the bottom!'
`You might have come round through the alley in Broad street, but the
stairs is nearer; and besides, it looks more suspicious comin' in that way.
The Pollies is al'ays skulking about on Broad street, but never comes up on
the hill-side.'
`How did you find this place?'
`Why, Blucher Bill, as they call him, told me about it in prison. He said
he had once boarded in the house above, and that they kept this for a hiding
hole whenever any suspicious noses were poking round. But when I came
here, I found that another set of folks had the rooms above, and that this
wasn't used 'cept as a place to keep old lumber in, by the landlord. So I
takes my dark night and bag of tools, and in two hours, between eleven and
one o'clock, made an entrance, cutting off the bars so nicely that nobody
could tell the place. I had a dark lantern with me, and after I got in I
sprung it. I found lots of old barrels, boards, and junk inside, and getting
over it, I came to this room, that used to be a sort of office years ago, when
this building was a store-house. I found every thing as quiet and snug as a
pocket, and set to work to settle myself here. I placed a double row of
barrels before the door, as they were when I entered, but made one of them
to move in and out easily, so as to be taken away or put up at any moment.
Behind this I piled lumber, leaving a passage to the door of this room, yet
arranging the boards so that I could drop them at any moment. So you see
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that all I have to do, if I am broken in upon, is to close my tiers of barrels,
and let fall my lumber behind them, and no one would ever suspect any
body to be beyond. But I am not left without a chance of escape. The
stairs that lead up to the scuttle into the tenement above, are still there, and I
have filed off the nails that secured it, so that at any moment I can lift it,
and ascend into the room above. That room I have been into, pretending to
be a carpenter sent there by the landlord to do a job, and find it is used
for a store-room; so that if I enter it I can escape by its window. So, you
see, I am not penned up!'
`You are certainly very nicely fixed, Jack. But it is a confounded hole!
I wonder that you can be content here!' As the young man spoke he
glanced around him with a look of disgust.
CHAPTER II.
The burglar looked to one side as if he did not altogether relish the close
remarks of his visiter upon his habitation, and then replied, in a tone of impatience,
`You are very particular about my lodging, Carlton. To be sure I am
not so well fixed as you are, with your mahogany furniture, and pier-glasses,
and satin window-curtains. But the truth is, I don't stay here only in the
day time, when I am fast asleep. Soon as night comes I am like the owl,
and fly off. To be sure,' he added, glancing round upon his rude lodgings,
`to be sure, they might be better. But mice are no choosers when the eats
are about!'
`But then you get so much by your trade, Jack, one would think you
would make yourself comfortable. I don't understand how the pleasure of
robbing can compensate for such lodgings!'
`I shall get a little more and then go somewhere where I ant known, and
settle down,' answered the burglar. `But, to tell you the truth there is a
pleasure in my profession. I like it for its very danger. I laugh when I
think how much the Police think about me, and how I manage to keep them
at fault!'
`Yet you have been three times in prison, Jack.'
`And I have escaped being there a hundred times for that three!'
`As you have but two months ago served your last sentence out, I should
think you would take good care not to be there again.'
`I shall do my best; and if I'm taken, why it's the nat'ral consequence!
We al'ays expects it one day or other!'
`Now I've got my feet a little warm, I will tell you what I am here for,
Jack.'
`Some of the old business, Mr. Ellery?' he said, inquiringly.
`Well,' answered the young man, coloring, yet compressing his lip with a
determined look; `it is something like it.'
`I guessed so when you met me this morning and called me into C—'s
to ask me where I held out since I had got back from Charlestown. Times
has been no better with you then, Mr. Ellery?' he added, with a sort of gratified
look of malice.
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`No, Jack. To tell you the truth, I am hard run; and have been this
year, ever since you were in. I am thankful it was not for any of our matters
you were taken up.'
`I shouldn't have blabbed, nor had a hard feeling about it. You have
always acted as a gentleman should do, Mr. Ellery.'
`I am glad you think so. Now let us see if we can come to terms in the
business I want of you.'
`Well, I don't think there 'll be any difficulty if you pay well,' said Brigs.
`I have lost a good deal of my time the year I lay over there at Charlestown,
and the woman I left in charge of my money and things, I found had
stole half when I went after 'em. So I must look out for number one, Mr.
Ellery.'
`You shall have a fair share.'
`Is it at the uncle's again?' asked Jack, winking.
`No; I am afraid to try there again.'
`Has he suspected you?'
`No. But I am fearful he might. Besides, he has got his house so secure
now that it would be next to impossible for you to get in from without;
and if you should get in he would know it would be by connivance of some
one inside. As there is only myself besides the three old servants, whom
he would no sooner suspect than me, it would present difficulties you see,
Jack.'
`The old gentleman has lost his plate so many times that he has resolved
not to be robbed again! Yet, Ellery, I will try it if you say. I know I
could get in!'
`Brigs, I do not allow you to call me Ellery!' said the young man, haughtily.
`You must Mister me, if you wish me to be of service to you!'
`Very well, just as you fancy,' answered Brigs, with a dogged look and
a sinister smile. `But I don't think we are so very far removed from each
other! But don't let us quarrel about trifles. Misters are as cheap as
blackguards! What do you want of me, now? You talk about serving me,
and so you do when you pay me money; but I think you are serving yourself
most in this matter!'
`You are impudent, Brigs!'
`I say, man, don't quarrel. There's my hand, and I take back my
words! Let us to business!' he said, coarsely.
Carlton Ellery drew himself back with an air of pride, and folding his
arms together, without regarding his heavily knuckled hand that he offered
him, he said,
`Jack, you know me well enough not to offend me. Treat me with that
respect I demand, and I am your friend. Insult me by your vulgar independence,
and I will knock you down!'
`Very well. Two, however, can play at that game,' answered Jack,
laughing. `Have your own way. I had as lief be called Jack as Mr. Brigs.
But you young gentlemen have different notions. There is one man I will
never Mister, however, so long as my name is Jack Brigs!'
`And that man?' asked Ellery.
`Is James Daily,' answered the burglar, with a ferocious expression of
countenance, and clenching his fist, he let it fall heavily upon the table, as if
to enforce his determination by the most emphatic gesture he could command.
`Do you know Daily?' eagerly demanded Ellery, his countenance assuming
a singular expression.
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`Know him?' repeated the burglar, in a deep tone of vengence. `Know
him? Yes! and hate him like hell!'
`Then give me your hand, Jack,' cried the young man, rising and grasping
that of the burglar, and shaking it warmly, as if in his heart making a
compact of guilt with that man of crime. Brigs stared upon him with surprise,
and said,
`Are you an enemy of Daily's too?'
`Deadly!' answered the young man, speaking in the strong accents of
bitter hostility.
`Then we are friends on that point,' responded Brigs, with emphasis.
Carlton remained seated a few minutes in deep thought. The discovery
of the burglar's hostility to the young man in question, had evidently suggested
to his mind some new idea — some new plan of action.
`So you are Daily's foe!' he at length said, as if Brigs' remark was unheard
by him; `I am not a little pleased to know this, Jack. But we will
talk about this afterwards, for I have something to do in that quarter that
will please you if you don't love him!'
`You may be sure of me if I can do any thing to injure Jem Daily,' answered
Brigs, with a dark countenance.
`I think I can please you in your wishes that way, Jack,' answered the
young man, with a look of triumphant satisfaction. `You are the very man
I want. Between us, Daily is a dead man!'
`I don't mean to say I'd give him the knife, sir,' answered Brigs, hesitatingly.
`I don't mean either to kill the fellow,' responded Ellery, with a cold
laugh; `something nicer than that, Jack. But first let me talk with you
touching the main afair that brought me here, for time presses.'
`Vell, I'm ready to listen, if as how you are not long, as I have a little
job on hand for to-night I'd like to look after.'
`You can't do any thing to-night except for me, Jack. I have a pretty
affair for you of my own.'
`I though as how you had given up the old 'un!'
`Yes, my uncle! It isn't there; for, as I told you, he is too sharp, and
might suspect me. It is another house!'
`Whose!'
`Be secret, Jack!'
`I never togs a linker in the vay o' my prowesion!'
`No, I know you are as true as steel, Jack. The house is in Summer street.'
`Ah, that is a street for good pickin's in my line!'
`Yes, there is a good deal of wealth there.'
`Whose box is it?'
`Mr. Weldon's.'
`What, the rich merchant on Central Wharf?'
`The same, Jack.'
`I'm there!' answered the burglar, striking his hand upon his knee, and
looking into the young gentleman's face with earnest attention. `Have you
sounded the shores?'
`Every part!'
`Do you visit there, Mr. Ellery?' asked Jack, inquisitively.
`Yes,' replied Carlton, with a slight blush. `The truth is, Jack for you
must know all, as you are going to help me in Daily's business — the truth is.
I am confoundedly in love with Mr. Weldon's beautiful daughter, Grace!
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`The same I've seen walking to church with Jem Daily!' remarked
Brigs, with savage hate gleaming from his evil eyes.
`Yes,' answered Ellery, his brows meeting with dark feelings of revenge
at the ideas the burglar's words called up. `It is the same person you have
seen Daily walking with!'
`Is n't it in her father's store he's a clerk?' asked Brigs.
`Yes, and this gives him advantages over me! But his triumph won't be
long, Jack, if you are true to me!'
`I'll go the full length of the devil's bridle to stop his career,' said Jack,
in a fierce tone of implacable hatred.
`Miss Weldon is not only very handsome, but she will be a fortune,' continued
Ellery. `I am not only in love with her money, but her person; and
it would make me mad to see her in the possession of any one but myself;
and how then must it affect me to see her married to Daily! a fellow picked
out of the gutter!'
`And into the gutter he shall go again, if I can send him there!' responded
Brigs, clenching his huge, freckled fist, and striking it with a strong
blow upon the table. `But now about this fancy job.'
`It is, as I told you, at Mr. Weldon's. You know where his house is.'
`Yes, I one night followed Daily home there from a concert, with this
very young girl on his arm, and waited outside full an hour to give him a
blinker under his left ear when he come out! But a Charley, discovering
me lurking about, made himself too inquisitive, and so I cleared out.'
`Here is a plan of the house and premises,' said Ellery, taking from his
pocket a paper and unfolding it. `Here, you see, is Summer street; here
Winthrop place and Arch street. This is the square of the house, with the
out-buildings and yard.'
The burglar drew his chair nearer the young man, and fixed his small
gray eyes keenly upon the plan he had drawn up for his guidance. `I see
it plain, Mr. Ellery.'
`Well, those are the two front rooms, and this one, half the size, in the
rear, is the room you must get into. It can be entered by this window, where
I have placed a cross. I have left the window blinds and sashes unfastened,
and all you have to do is to climb over an iron fence on — street, and
clamber through some vines up to the half-circular balcony on which this
window opens.'
`Have you been there this evening?'
`I just came from the house, having taken tea there. After tea I desired
Grace to go to the library for a certain book, and during her brief absence
I threw up the window, undid the fastenings of the blinds, and loosened the
catch that confined the sashes!'
`By the keys of St. Peter, but you are a bold one, Mr. Ellery,' said Brigs,
with a quiet laugh. `You were cut out for —'
`That will do, Brigs! you have said quite far enough.'
`But you are a rum 'un! Who 'd think a young gentleman wisitin' a
young ooman, a courtin'-like, would have his eyes about him in this fashion,
planning work for the first burglar in Boston!'
Ellery looked grave. He did not relish the commendation of his accomplice;
for though his coadjutor in guilt, he still was a young man of fashion,
held a respectable position in society, and was the favored inmate of the
habitation of a rich uncle in the `west end,' who promised one day to make
him his heir. He did not, however, make any reply to his remark, but continued,
placing his finger on the paper,
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Here, in the room which you are to enter, is a side-board. Upon it are
several pieces of rich plate.'
`How many?'
`I did not count them.'
`You should have counted 'em, so as I might know I did n't leave none
behind, as I did do when I robbed your uncle's side-board! You should always
count!'
`There are about seven, I think; and inside you will find a large
number of silver spoons and forks. The whole booty will be worth full three
hundred and fifty dollars!'
`A-fair haul, but not so much as such a grand house ought to give!'
`There is, doubtless, more in some other part of the house. But I am
only sure of this. It is very rich, and some of it, being used at the tea-service
this evening, I noticed that it was heavy and costly, particularly the
cream-pot and sugar-bowl.'
`You are a cool'un, and no mistake,' said Jack; `it makes me laugh — the
idea o' your examinin' the cream-pot and sugar-bowl when you was quietly
takin' sugar and cream out on 'em for your cup o' tea! I dare say you
praised 'em to Mrs. Weldon, and told her how handsome you thought they
vos!'
`I may have done so, Jack,' answered Ellery, smiling. `Now I want you
to go to this house to-night about ten o'clock.'
`It is early!'
`They never occupy that room in the evening. I only detained myself
in it to converse with Grace after tea, for the object I had in view. You
will find it dark. Besides, I must meet you with your booty at Clow's by
eleven; for my part of the money on it I want at once! I am hard run,
and must have it to-night; at least, a portion of it.'
`Well, as you say,' answered Brigs, rising and putting on a box coat, the
collar of which hid his ears, and placing a small sack of tools under his arm.
`What am I to have?'
`One third, as usual,' answered Ellery.
`And all the risk,' he growled. `Well, I'm content.'
Thus speaking, he preceded his visiter towards the outer door of his retreat.
CHAPTER III.
On reaching the head of the precipitous staircase which we have described,
Brigs parted from Carlton Ellery, and took a direction across the
esplanade of Fort Hill, towards Summer street. Ellery, after watching his
receding person till it was lost to his eye in the darkness and mist of driving
snows, said, gathering his outer garment closely about his face,
`There goes as thorough a rogue as ever went unhung. Yet he is a useful
tool to me, and his love of money will make him faithful so long as I
can devise ways for him to obtain it. But when I fail to administer to his
avarice, he will betray me. So long as I can keep him in my pay, by giving
him a certain part of the profits of the robberies I plan for him, I am
safe. The fellow has my character in his base keeping, and I must humor
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him! Who would have thought that he knew and hated Daily! What a
discovery! Now, I will to Clow's, and await him, and there we will settle
the matter for Daily in some shape. This has been a lucky night for me.
Daily from this time is ruined, body and soul.
Thus speaking, Carlton Ellery turned down the hill towards Batterymarch
street, and following up Kilby into State, passed through Flag alley,
into Dock square. He traversed the walk along the winding sides of this
irrregularly shaped `square' for a short distance, and stopped before a
door which looked like the entrance into a low bar-room. The upper part
of the door was glass, and a light from within shone redly through a crimson
curtain drawn before it. The tenement was old and discolored, and seemed,
beside the bar-room, to be inhabited by various other tenants. Over the
door, before which Ellery stopped, was a small, faded, blue sign, on which
were the letters, `Clow's Tavern.'
Glancing round to see that he was not observed, Ellery ascended the
two granite steps, and opening the door, entered a small entry, shut in on
all sides, in which hung the lamp which had shone through the curtain.
There were two doors, opening to the right and left, from this enclosure.
On one was labelled `Bar;' upon the other, `No Admittance.' The former
Ellery pushed a little ajar, so that he could see into the tap-room, in which
were several persons of the rougher order, smoking and drinking. Closing
it again, he pulled a bell-knob, that looked precisely like a nail-head, at the
other door. After waiting a moment, it was opened by an under-sized, little
man, with a dark, Portuguese-looking visage, though he was a Boston-born
mulatto. He wore his black hair in long curls, or ringlets, upon his shoulders
and about his cheeks, and in his ears were suspended heavy gold eardrops.
His features were small, and delicately formed; but expressive of
the strongest passions of evil. Avarice burned in his black, shining eyes,
and was stamped upon his thin lips. He smiled pleasantly as he recognised
his visitor, and said, with a bow of respect,
`Come in, Mr. Ellery; I am glad to see you to-night.'
`You are always on the spot, Clow,' said Carlton, as he stole quickly
through the door, which the mulatto closed after him.
`I never leave my business, sir.'
`You 'll be a rich man one of these days, eh, Clow?' observed the young
gentleman, as the other ushered him up a narrow staircase, into a room over
the tap.
`I have no other way of revenging myself against my color and race,'
answered Clow, with bitterness. `Money, Mr. Ellery, will make men forget
that I have black blood in my veins!'
`You would hardly be suspected, Clow,' said Ellery, as he threw himself
into a chair, in a neatly-furnished sitting-room. `If you spoke Portuguese,
you might pass yourself off any where but here for one of that nation.'
`Do you know, Mr. Ellery, that is my thought, and has been the last five
years.'
`The deuce it is!'
`I have been privately studying Portuguese for three years, and speak it
now nearly as well as a native! It is my intention, so soon as I get rich
and master the language, to go to Havana or New Orleans, and there, as a
foreigner, take that position in society which is denied to me here!'
`You can do it, no doubt. You have a good education, Clow!'
`And I have read much. But let this pass. How can I serve you tonight,
Mr. Ellery?'
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As the aspiring mulatto spoke, he turned the key in the door, and seated
himself by a large case, that resembled a clothes-press, with this difference,
that the lower front portion of it served as a secretary. Upon it were papers,
account books, and writing materials. The room was half office, half sitting-room,
and, though small, contained many articles of luxury; as if the
mulatto, even now, sought to assimilate his condition with that of the classes
to whose level he was aiming.
`You have a nice room here, Clow,' said Ellery, looking round. `There
is an elegant book-case, well-filled; and those are rare ornaments in ivory
and alabaster upon your pier-table. You have a fine taste in pictures.'
`I amuse myself a little in that way. But your business, if you please,
Mr. Ellery!'
`Oh, ah! Well, I may as well divulge it without any backwardness, as
we have had dealings before!' And Ellery laughed with an effort, as if he
would sustain himself by lightly looking upon his own villany.
`Plate!' significantly and briefly inquired Clow.
`Plate!' responded the young man, in the same tone.
`Where?'
`It will be here soon.'
`Who?'
`Brigs.'
`Very good. How much?'
`About six hundred dollars worth.'
`It is a large sum.'
`I mean that that is the worth of it. I shall ask for only three hundred,
or thereabouts, upon it; but I leave it to your generosity, Clow. Three
hundred I must have.'
`Well, I dare say, if it weighs well, I can let you have it. To-night?'
`Yes. The truth is, Clow, I am in a close corner. I can trust you, and
I will tell you. You know, since my right hand man, Jack, has been in
limbo, I have had my resources straitened; for I was like a sportsman without
a dog. I could find and hit my game, but I could never get possession
of it. Well, to make up for my loss in Jack's useful services, I resorted to—
to — making my pen write another man's name!'
`Ah, bad, bad!' said Clow, shaking his head.
`I know it, Clow. But what could I do?'
`What allowance does your rich uncle let you have?' asked the mulatto,
abruptly.
`A stingy thousand.'
`That should be enough to support a young gentleman who has no board
to pay; for, I believe, you live with your uncle.'
`Yes, it is my home.'
`And you will be his heir.'
`He tells me so. The truth is, Clow, I play, and lose my allowance-money.
Then I have to replenish in some way.'
`If you lose, what do you play for?'
`You are turned inquisitor to-night. If I lose, do you not gain! If I
won at play, would you get a hundred per cent. out of me when I wanted
funds?' retorted Ellery, with quick displeasure. `I play because I have a
passion for it. As I told you,' continued Ellery, more calmly, `I forged a
note, and raised money on it. By good fortune, I won enough for once to
take it up at maturity, and the person whose name I forged never knew it.'
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`It was a great risk. Whose name was it?'
`I will tell you, Clow. It was my uncle's.'
`The safest you could take. But you ought to be careful; for you may
risk your fortune!'
`He would not expose me, should he detect me.'
`Perhaps not. But he would be sure to disinherit you!
`That I have thought of, and it is what makes me so anxious to get money
to-night.'
`Have you another forged note abroad?'
`Yes, for five hundred dollars. It is due to-morrow. I have, fortunately,
two hundred. Brigs is off now on an expedition by which I mean to realize
the balance. I must have the money, so as to be in bank the moment the
doors are opened, and pay it.'
Clow sat thoughtful a moment, and his looks were very grave. He regretted,
from his heart, that his promising `customer' should thus risk inheriting
a fortune, much of which he hoped one day to get into his possession.
Moreover, he was in advance to Carlton full eight hundred dollars, to
be repaid with sixteen hundred when he should get his inheritance, which it
was probable would soon fall to him, as his uncle, Colonel Duane, had recently
been severely attacked with the gout, and had been threatened with
apoplexy.
`What would you have done had you not fallen in with Brigs?' asked
Clow, coldly.
`I should have come here to you, and tried your generosity on the old
security.'
`I am already in advance to you, Mr. Ellery,' said Clow, turning over the
leaves of an account-book on the desk by his side, and arresting his finger
upon a page, over the top of which was the name of Carlton Ellery; `I am
in advance to you, on the “old security,” as you smilingly are pleased to
term it, but a very little less than nine hundred dollars. Your rashness in
forging your uncle's name, and risking this security, (slight as it is,) will
prevent any further advances in that way. So take warning!'
`Do you menace me, sirrah!' cried Ellery, with a flashing eye.
`I caution you.'
`What right have you to caution me. I shall do as I please!' answered
the young man, haughtily.
`So shall I, Mr. Ellery,' quietly replied Clow. `You are in my debt,
and are therefore in my power. I have only to say the word, and to-morrow
night you make your lodging in one of the cells of Leveret street!'
`You dare not arrest me, knowing that the law would not sustain you in
your advances. No, no, Clow; you are too bad a man voluntarily to show
face in a court of justice. You dare not present your account against me;
for you know you yourself would be arrested for usury. You are in my
power, not I in thine!'
The mulatto sat with a calm countenance while he was speaking, but
there was a malicious light shining from beneath the lids of his bead-like
eyes.
`We will not quarrel about words, Mr. Ellery. You have confessed to
me a forgery, and told me that unless the note is lifted to-morrow, you will
be detected. All I have got to do, is to refuse the money on the plate you
have sent Brigs for, and then are you not in my power! Or I have only to
secure your person here till after bank hours! Thus are you equally in my
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power! I can ruin you, young man, if I choose! All I ask, on your part,
is that courtesy which I will have from all who deal with me for their own
interests!'
Ellery, pale and silent, covered his face in his hands for a few moments,
and groaned heavily. This young man was not wholly lost to a proper
sense of shame, and love of personal reputation. He had acquired a passion
for gaming, which opened the way to all those other moral delinquencies
which lie in the path of this vice. Losses led to temptations to resort to
criminal means to replenish his purse, and these means were afforded
through the instrumentality of the notorious burglar, Jack Brigs, whom he
one night arrested in the act of getting out of a window of his uncle's house,
after having robbed his desk of two hundred dollars in gold. Ellery had
been aroused by the noise of a window that Jack broke in getting out, and
being up walking his chamber, devising some expedient to get money, he
was upon the burglar as soon as he touched the ground. Together they
struggled for a few moments, but Ellery had the advantage, Jack's hands
being both filled with gold.
`Let me go, sir,' said Jack, in a low tone, `and I will give you half the
gold. The old one won't know but I have taken it all off.'
Ellery felt the force of the temptation under his circumstances, and, after
a moment's faint struggle against it, he yielded. The burglar gave him half
the gold, and was released. From that moment there was a compact of
crime between them, and from that hour Carlton Ellery ceased to be an
honorable man. That compact of crime that night had been invisibly sealed
by the Father of Guilt, and onward and downward, from evil to evil, henceforward
was the course of the victim. Yet with such caution did Ellery
pursue his criminal course, that he was unsuspected by his uncle and friends,
and in society sustained the position he held before he yielded to his first
temptation. A vice once embraced, be it that of gambling, of intemperance,
or of gross sensuality, opens at once in the heart of those who before were
upright, doors for every vice to enter in. The soul takes to itself corruption,
and in all its nature becomes corrupt. Thus it was with Carlton Ellery.
Gaming led to every other vice and passion; and he who before was sober,
became an inebriate; he who was truth itself, loved falsehood; he who was
chaste, became a libertine; he who was mild, became passionate; he who
was humble and courteous, became proud and overbearing! These opposite
phases of character he did all in his power to hide from society. But they
were visible, and acted out in the gaming-room, the midnight revel, and in
the abodes of vice and crime, which from time to time he frequented, as he
has done to-night. His darker passions in no instance manifested themselves
more strongly than they did against James Daily, when, a few weeks prior
to the opening of our story, we discovered that Grace Weldon, of whom he
was passionately enamoured, was loved by him, and that this love was,
without a shadow of doubt, requited. Accustomed, since his compact with
Brigs, to let his evil nature have sway, he suffered the feeling of jealousy to
grow and rankle in his heart, till he felt against his rival all the malice of a
demon. The discovery which he had just made, that Brigs was also the foe
of his rival, filled his soul with a ferocious kind of joy; for he saw that by
his aid he could devise some means of fulfilling his purposes of revenge.
What these purposes would be, were still vague ideas in his mind, not yet
vested with form or tangibility.
`Well, Clow,' he said, removing his hands from his face, `I see I may as
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well give up to you! I did not mean to irritate you. Let us be friends!
You need not fear for your money advanced me. The old man will soon
slip off, and then I will make you a present of a cool thousand over and
above what I owe you.'
`Pledge me never to forge your uncle's name again.'
`I promise it, Clow.'
`Then we are friends.'
`There is the bell!' cried the mulatto, rising up.
`It is Jack!' exclaimed Ellery, with animation.
The next moment the burglar followed the mulatto into the room, and
flung upon the floor, at Ellery's feet, a sack of plate.
CHAPTER IV.
As Jack threw the heavy sack of silver upon the floor, Ellery rose, and
springing towards it with a glad cry, opened the mouth of it, and poured the
contents upon the carpet.
`Eight pieces, Jack! One more than I thought for,' he exclaimed, with
delight. `Ah, my buck, you are as true as steel, or rather, I may say, as a
blood-hound — for put you once on the scent, and you never flinch till you
have fastened your clutch upon your game!' This is a fine prize!' he
added, as he surveyed the glittering pile as it reflected the beams of the
lamp. `How did you manage to get possession of it, and so soon?'
`You see — but first, Master Clow, a tumbler of rum, for I am confounded
dry, and I've had hard work to-night. You see that, Mr. Ellery!' and as he
spoke, he drew up the sleeve of his jacket, and exhibited a deep wound in
his arm. `Who, do you suppose, gave me that?' he demanded, stretching
out his bleeding arm, upon which the blood had partly congealed. `Who,
do you suppose, drew that blood?'
`You have got into a bad scrape, Jack, I fear, in this matter. Was it a
Charley?'
`No — but I'll tell ye,' answered the burglar, in the low, deep tone of a
man whose heart is inwardly glowing with vengeance; and drawing a fragment
of a silk handkerchief down over the gash, that he had removed to display
it, he said, `you see, boss, I found the window, and all, just as you said.
Every thing was dark as a doused glim. The coast being clear, I got over
the iron fence and in among the vines, and so upon the balcony, over which
the plants crept. It was a nice curtain they made, and a Charley might
have passed by without never a guess that Jack Brigs was snugly hid behind
a woodbine, within five feet of his skull-cap. Well, I tries the blinds,
and they comes open like a pair of arms, to welcome me into the house; I
then tries the window, and it gives as easy as if the fixin's was oiled for the
occasion; but, then, in these great houses, I al'ays finds every thing works
still and quiet. No creakin' doors, no squealing windows, nor squeakin'
stairs! All is solid, and as it should be. I considers the risks o' bein' caught
al'ays less in a rich man's dommy than any other! Well, the window slid
up just as soft as if it was my partner in the business, and then I listened
before going in — for you know I had only to walk in as through an open
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door. Hearin' nothin', I crept soft, and found myself in the room. I then
closes the curtains to keep from being seen from outside, and then springs
my “darkie.” I then saw by the light of it that all was just as you said;
and there, on the sideboord, stood starin' me kindly in the face, them'ere two
silver waiters. So I walks up, and pockets 'em quietly in my sack, and then
opened the sideboard, and finds all the rest just waitin' for me to take 'em.
I had hardly got 'em bagged, when I hears somebody — when I hears a
hand on the door knob in the hall. I instant douses my glim, and prepares
for a touse if I is discovered. A young lady opened the door, and leaving
it open so that the hall lamp would shine in to give her light, she walks
straight to the sideboord, that stood right in the range of the light from the
hall. I was crouched down at the end of it, seated on my bag, and all in the
dark. She took something from the drawer of the sideboard, and in shutting
it again, dropped her handkerchief. She stooped to pick it up, and saw my
foot sticking out, for I could n't get entirely out of sight. As soon as she
saw this bear she opened her pretty lips, and began a scream — but before
she had got out half a note, my hand was across her ivory castanets, and a
pretty piece of music was spoiled.'
`Villain, did you dare!' cried Ellery. `Tell me, was it Miss Weldon?'
`Yes — the same one I had seen Daily with, and for that reason I did n't
like her; for what he likes, I hate!'
`Did you dare —' and Ellery made a motion to grasp his throat.
`Do n't be in a rage, Mr. Ellery,' answered Jack, coolly and unflinching.
`I did n't harm the girl. I was n't to let her give the alarm, and so bring
the whole house about my ears. You would n't have liked it, if I had been
caught, and told that I was only in your service!'
`You would not have betrayed me had you been taken! But proceed;
I feel as if I could crush you for defiling with your touch the lips of this
lovely girl! Go on, ruffian!'
`Ruffian is a very good word. Breath is cheap, Mr. Ellery; but every
epithet you apply to me in this fashion shall cost you dear!'
`I do not fear you!' answered Ellery, chagrined and vexed beyond
measure that Grace Weldon, whom he jealously loved, should have been
thus in the grasp of this low wretch, whom he despised, while he used him
as his tool. `Go on, and let me hear the end of this quickly.'
`I did n't hurt her mouth — but said to her in her ear, “Hush, and be
quiet, and I will release you. I am a burglar, and have all your father's
silver in my sack. I must get off, not only in safety, but with my booty.
Make one motion towards giving the alarm, and I will take your scarf
mantle and tie it about your head, and fasten you to the marble column of
this sideboord. Be peaceful, and you shall be unharmed.” “I will,” she
said, as well as she could; and I took my hand from her mouth. I then
shut the door and locked it, and told her to keep quiet until five minutes
after I was out of the window. I then opened my glimmer, and took a good
look at her face — and, confound me, if I ever saw such a beauty. I could
have kissed her —'
The burglar instantly found a hand firmly grasping his throat, and his
words choked in their utterance.
`Villain — base, infernal brute!' cried Ellery, fiercely, and with a single
effort of his arm, he flung him staggering across the room. Brigs drew his
knife, and leaped towards him, his eyes glaring like a tiger's. The slight
bandage upon his wound was burst by the strain of the sinews as he grasped
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his weapon, and the blood gushed out, and bathed his wrist and hand in
gore. At the bloody sight, more than from fear of the knife that he held
gleaming in his hand, Ellery started back, and retreated against the wall.
The burglar's arm was raised to strike the blow, and then suddenly fell
nervelessly by his side, and the knife dropped from his relaxed grasp to the
ground.
`Another time, Mr. Ellery! You have the advantage of me now, for the
blood has weakened my arm, and made its strength no more than a child's.
I would have killed you; for I have pride, if I am a villain — and like not
to be called hard names. You had best pick your words more carefully, or
you and I must have a reckoning, and I swear to you when it comes it shall
be a bloody one!'
`Be at peace, gentlemen,' said Clow. `You are both of service to one
another. It is natural Mr. Ellery should have some feeling about this matter
of your laying hands on Miss Weldon, as I know he is interested in her
as much as your enemy Daily is.'
`Is that true, Mr. Ellery?'
`It is, Brigs. Daily is my rival — therefore I am his enemy!'
`That alters the case. If you can defeat him in this affair, I am your man
to help you! But I did the young lady no harm. She stood perfectly
quiet, and looked very firm and calm, though pale as a white statue of some
of the marble goddesses I've seen in great houses. She met my gaze steady,
and without fear, and, blast my eyes, if I did n't feel a sort of respect for her,
so I said, kindly,
` “Well, miss, you are a fine girl, and no mistake. You do not seem to be
afraid, and understand what you ought to do without any compulsion. I
hope you will say I treated you civilly. My card I should be happy to leave
with you, but I dare say you will excuse me, as I do n't happen to have my
card case about me. Good night, miss!”
` “Good night, sir,” she said, as sweet and quiet as ever was, and her
voice never trembled no more than mine did, and she eyed me so steady-like,
that I verily believe if she had had a pistol she would have had the courage
to try to take me prisoner before I could leave the house. “Good night,
miss,” said I. `I am sorry to leave you. Five minutes I give you to keep
silence, and then you may open music with a full choir! She smiled, confound
her, pale as she was, and I was half a mind to give her a —'
`Dare to breathe that word!'
`Well, then, I did n't follow out my mind, and shouldering my sack, I
made for the window, and got out, closing it after me. I reached the side-walk
in safety, and then prepared to make tracks; for I knew I should soon
have the hue and cry. I pulled off my shoes, so that I could have the advantage
of not being heard, and started down the court. I went kind of
slow at first, for I thought, as I was getting over the fence, I saw a man on
the opposite side of the street. I was n't wrong. I had hardly gone ten
paces, when he crossed over, and walked very rapidly after me. Now, says
I, if I run I'm gone; for he 'll be sure I'm what he suspects, and then, ho!
for rattles, shouts, and Charlies! So I walks on at a round pace, taking long
strides, without seeming to hasten. He came nigher and nigher, and I
stretched on, hoping to get under the dark shadows of the Franklin arch before
he came up with me, intending to turn and throttle him if he was pursuing
me. As I passed underneath a lamp, I turned to see his face, and who
do you suppose it was?'
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`Daily.'
`You 've guessed. It was he, and he had in his hand a flute.'
`He was going to serenade Grace — the low upstart! I have heard that he
has done that thing before. Let us hear! I hope you gave him his deserts
when you discovered who he was,' said Ellery, vindictively.
`I saw he was coming on faster and faster, the more I tried to keep ahead
of him. But when I discovered who he was, I shortened my pace, for I was
then close to the arch. He came up with me just as I got under it. You
know all is dark there. I dropped my sack, drew my knife, and turned upon
him all at once.
` “So, Daily, we have met again,” said I. “As this meeting is of your
own seeking, take the consequences!”
` “Jack Brigs; it is thou,” he said, just as coolly as if he had met an old
friend, and I had presented him my open palm, instead of a knife grasped in
it. “I thought it was you. You have been breaking into Mr. Weldon's
house, villain! I saw you climb from the window. Put up your knife,
reffian! I do not fear you! Surrender at once; for you know I am your
master.'
`When he said this, I felt all the blood in my body boiling at my fingers
ends. I gave a cry like a tiger, and sprung on him. He struck aside my
knife with his flute, which broke into half a dozen pieces with the contact.
The knife grazed his clothes on his left side, and I fell against him from the
failure of the stroke which I meant for his heart. He closed with me, and
taking me by the neck, threw me backward, and knocked my head against
the stone lining of the arch, till I saw stars as thick as sparks from a locomotive.
I made out to seize his arm in my teeth, and then he released his
hold of my throat to plant me a blow between the eyes. I now fought mad,
and somehow I fell, and he on top of me. All this while I held my knife in
my grasp, and was trying to shorten it, so as to put it under his ribs. But
he saw what I was at, and kept me from it. I now tried, as we lay on the
ground struggling, to pass my hand over his back, and put the point in between
his shoulders. I came near doing it, when he pressed his knee upon
my elbow, and deadened it so, I could n't stir a muscle. Then, somehow, he
reached the knife, and got it from me, and then sprung to his feet. Well,
the upshot of it was, in trying to get my knife, he put it into my arm. This
I did not like; and if ever there was a madman, it was me when I felt my
blood was drawn. I howled like a Spanish bull, and went at him as if I had
been the devil. I threw him down by main force, and as he fell my knife
fell, and rebounded some distance. I was about to leave him and get it, and
finish him, for I saw he was hearly senseless, when I saw three men coming
down towards the arch. I had only time to catch up my sack and fling it
across my shoulders — pick up my knife — leave Daily as he was, and take
care of myself, which I had hard work to do, as I soon heard the music of
rattles, and in the direction of the arch. I soon reached here in safety, and
there is the end of my story. If I have n't earned my thirds, Ellery, it is
not my fault! Another tumbler of rum, Mr. Clow, for my arm pains me.'
`That is not your fault, Jack! You have done well. I can almost forgive
your insult to Miss Weldon for your affair with Daily. Between you
and I, Jack, that young gentleman must be taken in hand, and done for, unless
you have already fixed him!'
`No, I only stunned him. If I had got my knife in time, he would never
have played on the flute again!'
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`I am glad, on the whole, you didn't kill him. It would have made a
great noise, and, besides, I have a better plan in my head for wreaking our
vengeance upon him. You shall know it soon, Jack. Now, Clow, let us
see how much I am to have on this.'
`Three hundred and twenty-five you asked for.'
`Yes, but Jack must have his thirds also; for I want every dollar of this
for my draft, you know. Weigh the silver, and let me have five hundred.'
The mulatto opened a mahogany case on one side of the room, and displayed
a pair of scales within. Into one of the balances he placed the pieces
of plate, after ascertaining that they were solid silver, and carefully weighed
them,—Ellery and the burglar looking on. Clow finding their value a sufficient
equivalent for the sum desired by Carlton, he closed the case, and
took from a drawer of his secretary ten notes of fifty dollars each, and
placed them in his hand. Three of these Carlton gave to Jack; and, in a
few moments afterwards, took his leave. Jack remained to have his wound
dressed by Clow, who was a skilful leech, as it would have been a betrayal
of his share in the night's adventures for the wounded burglar to have gone
to a surgeon. No sooner had Brigs had his wound dressed, and had also
left, than Philip Clow, the mulatto, wrapped himself in a blue cloak, and
concealing his features with the cape, sallied forth, and took his way towards
Washington street, cautiously, as he went by the street lamps, guarding his
features from the observation of those he met.
CHAPTER V.
It was about ten o'clock when Philip Clow, the rich mulatto, left his habitation,
and proceeded in the direction of Washington street. About the
same time a young girl of exquisite beauty of feature and form, and an expression
remarkably gentle and pure upon her youthful face, was seated at
her needle in a small parlor in the rear of a millinery. It was Frederica!
None who have read `Jemmy Daily' will have forgotten Frederica, we are
quite sure. She was now in her eighteenth year, and although we remember
how beautiful she was as a little girl of ten, yet each summer since then
had added to her charms, and now she had not her peer in Boston for loveliness,
unless it might be Grace Weldon. Yet many would give the palm
to Frederica, even with this comparison. Both, indeed, were equally beautiful!
But their style of beauty was so different that judgment could not
be given, for the eye, bewildered by the conflicting charms, would refuse to
decide! Grace was tall and graceful, with dark brown or chestnut hair, large
rich brown eyes, full of fire and tenderness, and a bright complexion, just
shaded with brunette. Her air was remarkable for its sweet dignity, and
her step was light and elastic as that of a mountain roe. Her heart was
gushing over with joy and mirth, and her laugh was heard all the day long,
just as birds sing all day long. Her mind was accurately cultivated, and intelligence
and good sense beamed from her looks. She was skilled in drawing,
embroidery, and music; but her greatest ornaments were her filial love,
her love for home, and her accomplishments in housewifery; for though
born to luxury, and an heiress, she had been wisely educated by her father
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to be a poor man's wife, if need were! Grace knew that she was beautiful,
but she knew she was good also; that her mind was fairer than her person;
therefore she was not vain. She, however, was glad she was beautiful,
for James Daily's sake; for she knew he loved her both because she was
beautiful and good. Altogether Grace Weldon was a charming person, and
one who would turn any man's head who had head and heart enough to appreciate
female virtue and worth.
Now what shall we say of Frederica? She was inferior to Grace only
in the eultivation of her mind. As an orphan and the protége of Mrs.
Daily, whose apprentice she was, she was denied the advantages which
wealth and a different social position had conferred upon Grace. She had,
however, closely improved the opportunities Mrs. Daily conferred upon her,
and James Daily was by no means a bad teacher; and, boarding in the same
house, he devoted much of his leisure time to the improvement of her mind.
He taught her many of the graces of female education — first learning them
himself that he might impart them to her. Thus her mind became cultivated,
and intellectually she rose superior to the humble circumstances in which
she was placed. Frederica's eyes were a deep, sunny blue, large, and frankly
opened, and beaming with purity and truth. Her complexion was as fair
as the lily, and a tint of the moss rose bloomed in her cheeks, which were
delieately oval. Her hair was light flaxen, soft as floss, and, till of late, fell
thick and abundant in shining masses upon her neck; but recently she had
imprisoned as much as she could of it in a comb behind; but a good many
truant tresses escaped the confinement, and now danced upon her neck at
every motion of her head as she sat at her work. There was an expression
upon her pure countenance like that of one of Raphael's angels — calm, devotional,
tender! The beauty of her mouth was wonderful, and seemed
formed only for words of love and prayer. One would never look for a
merry laugh from the infantile beauty of those half-parted lips, as one would
from the ruby mouth of Grace; though Frederica never spoke without a
smile. At the least movement of her lips a smile went rippling away from
its corners, just as shining circles are formed in the sunny lake, when its
calm surface is broken by a pebble.
She was now seated on a low chair, arranging flowers in the sides of a
fashionable hat. The hat was for Grace Weldon, though the two maidens
were unacquainted. Grace had entered the shop a day or two before, and,
struck with the gentle beauty of Frederica, she became interested in her,
and ordered a bonnet, requesting Frederica to trim it, saying, `Trim it in
your own taste, for I know you can do nothing ill!'
Frederica was now trimming the boanet for the beautiful stranger, and as
she worked at it, the words of praise she had spoken came often to her
mind, and she felt happy to reflect that she was kindly regarded by one
whom she felt it would be happiness to know and love.
`A light placed upon a table higher than her head, cast its light upon her —
the lovely bonnet-girl. She was dressed in a neat blue and brown muslin,
the blue in it harmonizing with the deep azure of her eyes, and the brown
with her hair. This little matter of taste in the selection of colors, spoke
volumes for the refined delicacy of her mind. She wore no ornaments of
any kind, save a plain ring, which James had given her on her last birthday.
That one ring, however, was dearer to her than every thing else she
had on earth, save, perhaps, a silvery lock of her aged father's hair — the
old blind German, whose death cast her upon the benevolence of Mrs.
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Daily. The light fell full upon her, revealing the maidenly outlines of her
youthful form just developing into the rich fullness of their womanly beauty.
The attitude in which she sat was inconceivably graceful, yet natural, and
the movements of her fingers, which were very white and pretty, were captivating.
She speaks, as if to herself.
`There, that orange flower with the rose-bud, will be very becoming together,
' she said, holding it up and surveying it. `Delicate orange and
scarlet are most becoming to a fair brunette, and I observed that Miss Weldon,
though very fair, had a shade of brown, the least thought of it in the
world! How very beautiful she is! And how richly and yet tastefully she
was dressed! I don't know how it was, but I thought of James while I
was gazing on her noble and youthful face! Ah, me! James doesn't love
Frederica as he loved her when she was a little girl! But I love him
more — more every day! (There, that sprig of jasmine will make it look
lovely!) Why did I think of James when I looked at Miss Weldon? Oh,
I can tell, I think! It is Mr. Weldon James is with. Can it possibly be
her father? I have heard James, a long time ago, speak of Mr. Weldon's
daughter, and said she was at school in Troy. Can ti be that this beautiful
stranger is the same?'
As Frederica asked herself this question, she sighed heavily, and the bonnet
gradually fell heavily upon her knee, while her face became, all at once, very
sad and thoughtful. Tears, at length, filled her large blue eyes, and when
she found they were dropping fast upon the ribbon of the bonnet, she brushed
them away and resumed her work.
`Yes, it must be the same; for there is no other Miss Weldon who can
be so beautiful as James said his little friend was. Yes, she must be the
same who was so kind and charitable to him when he was a poor little boy,
and lived close by us, when father and poor little Brickett were living. I
hope it is not — for — because,' — and Frederica sighed and looked very
sad. `No, no! I wouldn't wish her to love James, or that he should love
her. It would break my heart! Dear James does not know how I love
him with all my being! He is insensible to my silent devotion! He gave
me this ring; but there was wanting something, which I sought for timidly
with my eyes, in look or word, with the gift, which his face expressed not;
yet all was kindly in its expression. He looks affectionately upon me as I
would have a brother look, but not as I would have James look! He regards
poor Frederica only as a sister, while poor Frederica adores him,
trembles with joy at his footsteps' most distant sound, and is filled with happiness
at the slightest tones of his voice when addressed by it! Yet he sees
not that I love him — not as a sister loves, but with a love which absorbs all
my being, and makes him an idol of the purest and profoundest worship!'
She had to cease working with her fingers upon the flowers in the hat, to
brush away the tears, for they blinded her eyes.
`Poor Frederica! she was right in her conjecture of the state of James's
feelings towards her. It will be remembered, that after the old German
basket-maker's death, Mrs. Daily took Frederica and adopted her as her
own child. The youthful, or rather childish friendship, which had existed
between James and the beautiful little German girl, had continued from
year to year without interruption. They were as sister and brother, knowing
no difference whatsoever, until James had reached his eighteenth year, and
Frederica her fifteenth. From this time a gradual change began to form
itself in their feelings. James's brotherly regard deepened and strengthened
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[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]
in its character, and from calling her Frederica, he began to address her by
the endearing title of `sister;' while, as a brother, he began to take the
most cordial interest in the improvement of her mind. Precisely at the
same time that this more gentle and endearing deportment began to manifest
itself on the part of James, a change of an opposite nature was taking place
in the feelings of Frederica. The sisterly love which she had felt towards
James, began to assume a tenderer sentiment in her heart; and love for him,
the most pure, the most tender, yet strong and deep as her own being, took
possession of her soul.
James could not be blind to the change which he discovered in her; but
unsuspecting himself, (for he knew he had no heart to give to any one in
love save to Grace Weldon, whom he had truly loved from a boy,) he attributed
the blushing embarrassment, the quick dropping eye-lid when he
rested his gaze upon her, the hesitating accents of her stammering replies
when they were alone together, to the modesty and bashfulness peculiar to
young girls just verging into womanhood. He never dreamed that she
loved him with trembling! Thus it went on for nearly three years, up to
the time of our story; James living in the same house, seeing her daily,
treating her as a sister, kindly and tenderly, yet never suspecting that the
lonely orphan was living only in his life! He had entered and found her in
tears, and passing his arm around her, kissed her, and sought her confidence.
This very tenderness made her still more unhappy; for she felt how hard it
would be to turn the current of deep love, so brotherly as his, into the channel
through which her own flowed.
Frederica now took up the hat and held it out, to observe, first the effect
of the flowers inside, and then turned it this way and that, to view the general
effect.
`It is very pretty! It will become her looks, and make her still more
beautiful and winning! If it should be Miss Grace Weldon for whom I
have done this — yet why do I let such emotions rise within my bosom? If
James loves her, shall I wish her less lovely? Can I hate or deform what
he loves? Oh, no! Yet — yet I would rather he would not see her in this
beautiful hat! But after all, it may not be Grace, and I have no reason to
believe James loves Grace; and I — perhaps if he knew,' she said, blushing,
and looking down, `it was more than sisterly love I entertain towards
him, he might remember I was not his sister, and love me as I love him!
Ah, it is a charming hat, and will make her look very lovely! When James
comes I will ask him if Miss Weldon is returned to —. No! I will not
ask him!' she said with spirit. `I will not let him detect even my
thought! Ah, me! Frederica,' said the lovely, ingenuous-hearted bonnet-girl;
`if James love you not, you will be so unhappy that this world will
have to you neither sun-light, nor music, nor flowers! There is a step! It
does not sound like James's! Yet it must be! the door opens with a pass-key!
'
She half rose, and then reseated herself with a beating heart, and a
heightened color deepening the rose of her cheeks. The entrance to Mrs.
Daily's dwelling was by a narrow, paved court, from the street, the front
door being in the north side, the house standing end to the street. The shop
occupied the half on the right of the door, upon the street, while the half
on the left hand served for the habitation. There was a communication between
the shop and the back part of the sitting-room Frederica was in, as
well as a door opening from it into the front entry. It was the echo of the
step coming into the brick passage, which Frederica had heard.
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The step was heavier in the entry than James's, and she began to feel
some vague apprehensions, for she was up alone in the house, Mrs. Daily
having a little while before retired, when the door opened, and James Daily
entered. The moment she saw him she shrieked, and stood tremblingly
gazing upon him with looks of anxious inquiry, but unable to utter a word.
His face was sprinkled with blood, and those parts visible were deadly white.
His coat was torn, and soiled with mud; he was without a hat, and altogether
looked like a man who had had a fierce encounter with one of his species.
`Do not be alarmed, sister,' he said, smiling; but the bloody stripes upon his
face made his smile look so ghastly that she shuddered. `I am no so much
hurt as I seem!'
`Oh, James, James!' she cried, casting herself upon his shoulder, her
affectionate alarm breaking out into words and tears, `Say, say you are not
badly hurt? I shall die to know you are in danger! Oh, who has done
this? Where are your wounds? Let me — let Frederica be — be —.'
She could proceed no farther! A paroxysm of nervous weeping choked
her utterance, and James was forced with soothing words to calm her excited
fears!'
`It is nothing, dearest sister! I have been roughly handled, but I am
only a little lamed! Let me have water and a towel, and I will soon show
you my face as sound as ever; and when I take off this torn coat and put
on my dressing gown, which you will get for me, I shall be quite as good as
new! So, be a good, dear girl, and don't spoil your eyes!'
`Are you really unhurt, dear James?'
`Yes, I assure you. It is nothing of consequence!'
`You look so fearfully!'
`Then haste, child, and bring me the basin of water, and I promise you
if you find a scratch as big as the prick of a needle on my face, I'll stay at
home a week, and you shall doctor it homeopathically!'
Her anxiety disappeared with his cheerfulness, and hastening for the
water and napkin, she soon had the happiness to see him remove the blood
from his face, leaving it without a wound. And when his dressing gown
replaced his soiled coat, he looked, save being a little pale, quite as if he
was altogether a very different person from the sanguinary looking individual
who had a few moments before entered the house. He now proceeded to
satisfy Frederica's curiosity, by informing her briefly that he had seen a
burglar leaving a house with booty, and pursued him, when, after a desperate
struggle, the thief escaped from him, leaving him in the plight she had
beheld him in when he entered.
`But the blood?' she said, not yet satisfied of James's safety.
`He drew a knife upon me, and in wresting it from him, and to save myself
from his revengeful assaults, I wounded him in the arm. It was his
blood which you saw.'
Frederica clasped her hands together in deep gratitude for his escape, and
then pressing her head upon his hand, in which he held hers, she wept for
very joy. He drew her towards him, to kiss her, with that pure, brotherly
affection which so beautifully characterized his love for her; but she gently
withdrew herself from his embrace, influenced by a feeling which it is difficult
to analyze, but not difficult to be understood by those who have studied
the delicate mechanism of a female heart.
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CHAPTER VI.
[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]
The young girl wept for a few moments, without heeding the tender assiduities
with which James Daily tried to soothe her, though withal surprised
at her excessive grief, accompanied, as it was, at the same time, by an apparent
wish to shun his kindly sympathies. Poor maiden! the more gently
he spoke, the more reason did she feel she had to let her tears flow; for she
felt that its tones could not always be for her! Deeply distressed, and
ignorant of the true cause of her grief, and finding he could not soothe her,
he sat by her, regarding her with surprise and sorrow.
`What, dearest sister, can I do to restore you once more to cheerfulness?'
he said, after surveying her a few moments in silence. `You see I am not
hurt; and if I were, this grief is too great. It shows me you love me very
much, and that I need not regret, as I have more than once done of late,
when I reflected how dear you were to me, that you were not my own
sister!' and he let his fingers bury themselves in the rich masses of her
glorious hair, and lifting them from her neck, he admired their lustre an instant
in the play of the light.
Slowly she lifted her face from his hand, upon which she had laid her
forehead to weep. Her tears were sealed suddenly up; though a few glittered
like dew-drops upon her cheeks. Her face was calm — the calmness
of effort. She put back her hair slowly with one hand, and then fixed her
gaze upon the lips which had uttered those fatal words; words that had
pierced her heart like arrows! words containing in themselves death to all
her hopes! Till this moment she had a hope she had cherished in the corner
of her heart! She thought that he only need be told her love for
him was deeper than a sister's love, to awaken in his bosom, all at once, that
sweet passion of his heart for her, which slumbered there all unknown to
him; and which he believed (as he suffered himself to reason) was only a
brother's love for a sister. But now this little, timid, trembling hope of her
young and loving heart, was slain by these few words: `I need not regret, as
I have more than once done of late, when I reflected how very dear you
were to me, that you are not my own sister!'
Alas! how these words sunk like lead into the deep fountain of her love!
Steadily she fixed her deep blue eyes upon his face, and neither spoke,
nor moved lip or eye-lash. She sat like some pale, beautiful statue of
Niobe. He drew back with surprise, and looks of alarm. Her pure, young
face was so full of woe — so pitiful in its look, that tears came fresh to his
eyes, he knew not wherefore.
`Frederica! my sister — my own dear sister, speak to me! Do not look
so piteously grieved. Your looks are enough to make one's heart break.
For God's sake, Frederica, alter the expression of your countenance! I
cannot bear to have you look upon me so!'
A smile, like the first glimmer of a wintery dawn, cold and faint, passed
slowly over her lips, which were motionless. This was more painful than
her sad, fixed gaze, and James, unable to endure the scene any longer,
caught her hands, and pressing his lips to her cheek, strove to rouse her
from a condition which alarmed him for her reason! Yet what cause there
was sufficient to induce this painful state, he could not divine. Her hand
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and cheek were cold as marble to his touch, and seeing her eyes fixed, he
was about to call loudly upon his mother for her assistance, when she struggled
for utterance, and spoke:
`Do not — do not — I am well now, quite well!' she articulated, in
broken sentences, and in a voice so soft and low, that he could scarcely hear
the words. `You see I smile, James!' and she did smile — oh! how sadly—
how touchingly! James felt his heart swelling with emotion. He was
overwhelmed with wonder and sorrow. `Don't — alarm — alarm mother!
I shall be quite well! I — I couldn't breathe well! It is over now!' and
the poor girl breathed heavily several times, as if she had been laboring under
a sense of suffocation. `There, James, you see I am much better now,'
and she smiled more naturally upon him, and the soft expression of her eyes
came back. He saw that she was indeed better, and greatly relieved, for he
knew not how to understand it all, (as Frederica had never appeared so before,)
and he impulsively pressed her to his heart.
`God be thanked! I feared you were losing your reason. What has
been the matter with you, dearest sister?'
`Nothing, James, it is nothing. I am well — at least I will try to be
well,' she added, in the most touching accents, which, to those who knew her
heart's secret, if heard by them, would have been infinitely painful.
`I am so very happy you are recovered. I never was more alarmed!
You smile to reassure me. Thanks, thanks! I feel that you are safe now.
Was it a headache?'
`A rushing of the blood, I believe, from the heart to the head! Do not
speak of it, James. It will not recur. It was a weakness. I shall try and
be stronger than this.'
`We will not speak of it. This is a sweet hat you were trimming,' he
said, taking up a hat from the table. `A velvet drab, bound with blue color,
and white and pink flowers inside! If you are making this for any one in
particular, I can tell you the complexion of the lady who ordered it.'
`I have not just trimmed that. It was not made to order, but only by my
fancy. It was, however, purchased to-day by a young lady.'
`A blue-eyed lady, with a delicate complexion, I will promise you,' he
said, smiling, and turning the hat round and surveying it.'
`Yes. But how did you know?' she asked, her voice still tremulous, yet
making in her soul a superhuman effort to appear interested, and not let him
suspect the state of her heart; for the generous girl, now that she felt there
was no hope for her love, would not that he should be made unhappy by
knowing of how much unhappiness he was the innocent cause. It was this
noble sentiment that enabled her to control herself when reason had nearly
left its throne, and all seemed darkness and chaos around her.
Before replying, struck by her deep tones, he looked upon her still pale
face, deeply touched by the sadness seen through its cheerfulness. He saw
that she was making an exertion to appear what she did not feel, and he was
impressed with the conviction that some secret sorrow lay at her heart. This
impression made him resolve to seek out the cause, and use his influence to
remove it. But the present, he felt, was no time to refer to the subject; for
she looked as if each moment she would dissolve in tears, of which, in spite
of all her restraining efforts, her eyes were swimming full!
`None, dearest Frederica, but a blue-eyed young lady (if she has taste
would chose blue,' he said, in a cheerful tone. `You know I am something
of a critie in these matters. Nothing, now, looks so badly as blue on a brunette,
or scarlet on a blonde. Let them exchange colors, and they would then
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wear what would be in good taste, and becoming. The light brunette should
wear straw-color, and the very florid, pinks! It is not all ladies that know how
to choose becoming colors. Two-thirds of them, I have noticed, as they come
into the shop, when I have been sitting here unobserved, select velvets and
ribbons from the richness of the pattern, without the least reference to what
is becoming to them. You may always know a lady of taste by the harmony
that prevails in the choice of her colors, selected with reference, primarily,
to her style of complexion. You smile; and that is what I want, to
make you smile! I would be willing to go to work, and try to trim a hat
after my own fancy, if I thought I could make you laugh at me!'
`I will promise to laugh, James.'
`Will you? Then here is a hat — a delicate lemon-color! I will — but
I see it is quite trimmed, and in the most perfect taste. Now, I will bet
you — let me see, Frederica, what I shall bet you! It shall be a pair of
snow-white gloves, for you always wear white gloves, against — against that
vest pin-cushion you were to make me! I will bet you the one against the
other, sister mine, that the lady who purchases this hat will have, let me see,
dark eyes —'
`It is made to order,' said Frederica, dropping her eyes, and trembling
lest she should betray herself, as he took up the hat, in the front of which
she had been arranging the flowers when he came in.
`To order! Then I sha'n't fail to guess. She was young — she was
beautiful?' he said, interrogatively.
`Very, very beautiful. You put your hand to your head often, James!
Are you not ill?'
No — it is but a slight headache, the effects of my rencounter. Let us talk
about this fair bonnet-buyer. You say she is very beautiful?'
`Oh, very lovely indeed, James,' she said, sighing.
`Let me see! Lemon; that is a fair brunette's choice. She is a fair
brunette! She must have dark-brown eyes, and brown hair shaded so deep
as to be almost black. A jet black hair would have chosen deeper crimson,
and orange instead of lemon! Am I not right, sister?' he inquired, smiling.
`You have described her, James,' she answered with difficulty, while her
bosom began to heave with deep emotion.
`You are ill again, Frederica!'
`No — no! Don't think of me, James. You described the lady as if you
knew who it was.'
`I haven't the least idea.'
`Can you guess? Have you no friend whom you think this hat would
become?'
This was a very courageous question for Frederica; but she felt a nervous
desire to know the worst. James laughed, colored slightly, and looking
handsomer than she thought she had ever seen him, he answered, with that
happy look with which one recalls pleasant objects.
`Yes — there is one, Frederica, you have heard me speak of! She has
been absent, from time to time, the last four years, at a boarding-school, at
Troy; but a few weeks ago returned to remain at home permanently. It is
Grace Weldon. She,' he added, with praiseworthy emotion, `who, when I
was a poor lad, starving and in rags, and she a lovely child of ten, gave me
food and clothing, and the sixpence with which I was enabled to purchase
my first little stock of newspapers! You have not forgotten this, Frederica?'
'No, James, no; I have not forgotten,' responded Frederica, who felt as
if her heart was bursting.
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[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]
`Perhaps it was Grace who ordered the bonnet. Do you know the name
of the young lady?'
With a great effort to appear calm, Frederica replied,
`It was a Miss Weldon.'
`Miss Weldon! Then, surely, it must have been Grace,' he cried, with a
glow of delight; and taking the hat in his hand, he again examined it with
new and pleased interest. `Yes; it will become no other person so well as
Grace! What perfect taste she possesses! With what just harmony the
colors of the ribbon, of the flowers, of the velvet are chosen! No one could
choose so perfectly!'
Frederica could not repress a slight sigh. She did not tell James that
Miss Weldon had left the choice of every thing to her own taste, and that in
praising Miss Weldon so warmly he was praising her! She felt happy in
his commendation, though his thoughts were not of herself while he commended.
She was too generous, the noble girl, to rob Grace, her rival in
his affections as she was, of a single word of the praise he bestowed upon her.
James went on to say, still admiring the hat,
`Yes, sister; this hat is a manifestation of the cultivated mind of Miss
Weldon. Praise too, and not a little either, is due to your own fine taste
and judgment. But for so skilful an artist to execute, these colors would
have failed in their effect. United, your taste and that of Grace together,
you have produced a perfect thing in its way! So you saw Miss Weldon!
How were you pleased with her, sister?' he asked, and awaiting, with deep
attention, her reply.
Frederica did not lift her long fringed eye-lids; but, with them cast down
and tremulous, a deep glow in her cheeks, and a just perceptible quiver of
the under lip, while with her fingers she mechanically rolled up the ribbon
of the bonnet into the shape of paper candle-lighters, she answered,
`I thought her very lovely and — and very happy.'
`I am glad you were pleased with her appearance. But why did you
think her happy, and mention it so sadly, too?'
`She laughed, and was gay, as if her heart was light. I loved her — I
mean I felt then that if I knew her I should love her very much!'
`Indeed you would, Frederica. Grace is a charming girl — lovely in
mind as in person, and her heart overruns with good and noble feelings. I
have seen much of her of late, and the more I see of her, the more I discover
in her to — to admire! I wish you did know her. I know that she
would love you, Frederica.'
`I am a poor orphan — a humble bonnet-girl. She would not care to
know one like me! She is rich and happy!'
`And are you not happy, Frederica? Why this word so often?' he
asked, with a slight tone of kind reproach. `Are you not happy?'
`Oh, yes — yes, I am very happy,' she said, hardly knowing what she
said; and she did feel happy then, for James held her hand in his, and she
was by his side, though he loved her not with that love she sought for in his
heart, and for which her own was breaking.
`Grace, it is true, is rich, but she is not proud, my sister. You must
know her. When does she send for this hat?'
`To-morrow.'
`Take it home to her yourself, Frederica, and please me. I wish her to
see you, and you to see her. Two persons so dear to me should love each
other!' he said, blushing at his first open confession of an interest in Miss
Weldon; for, till this moment, he had hardly dared to confess it to himself.
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Did poor Frederica hear aright! Had the last blow to her hopes at
length fallen upon her soul! She knew already that she was loved only as
a sister. She had heard him say, in the frankness of his heart, that he
wished she were his own sister, so dear was she to him! But she only
feared he loved another as she would be loved! She had trembled lest
Grace should be that other! But now he had confessed. He had said
that Grace was equally dear to him. But she herself was dear only as a
sister! herself he loved only as a sister! He could not love Grace as a
sister too! If he loved her, it was with that love she mourned for in her
heart of hearts! And if Grace and herself were alike dear, she could
measure his attachment to Grace by his brotherly affection for her. Oh,
then! oh, how fond and dear must that lovely and happy one be to him, if
he but love her with half the love which, as a brother, he bestows upon
me!
Such were the reflections that rapidly passed through her mind; and, almost
overpowered by the sensations of sorrow which rushed upon her, she
hastily rose, and excusing herself to him, in scarcely articulate sentences, she
left the apartment, to retire to her pillow, which she bathed with tears of the
most poignant grief; for in one short hour all her hopes of love had been
crushed!
CHAPTER VII.
The following morning James found himself too much indisposed, from
the injuries he had received in his rencounter with Jack Brigs, to leave the
house. The effects of the blows he had received were now more sensibly
felt than at the time he received them. He therefore wrote a note to Mr.
Weldon, stating that he was not well enough to go to the counting-room
that forenoon, but without telling him the cause of his indisposition.
`Sister,' he said to Frederica, who, pale and silent, had brought his coffee
and toast to his room, where his mother sat questioning him, with maternal
anxiety, respecting his meeting with the burglar, whom he informed her was
Jack Brigs. `Frederica,' he said, kindly, `if you are quite well be so kind
as to take this note to Mr. Weldon. He is probably at his house now at
breakfast. Do you know where he lives?'
`Oh, yes,' she answered, hurriedly.
`You can take the bonnet too, sister, at the same time. Then you will
see Grace. Also learn what you can about the robbery.'
`But I am not sure it is this Miss Weldon's hat,' said she, coloring, with
a look of embarrassment.
`Do you know, dear mother? Was it Miss Grace Weldon who ordered
this bonnet?'
`I now recollect the young lady with her did call her Grace,' said Mrs.
Daily.
`I am right, you see, sister,' he said, smiling. Frederica made no reply;
but taking the note, left the room, and in a few minutes was heard to quit
the house.
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`Mother, what is the matter with Frederica of late?' he said, after a few
moments thoughtful silence.
`Is any thing, James?' inquired Mrs. Daily, looking up in his face with
surprise.
`Is she perfectly well?'
`She makes no complaint of illness.'
`Yet I fear she is not well. Does n't she work too closely, and confine
herself too much?'
`Not more than I do.
`But she is young, mother; and young persons require more air and more
exercise. I hope she is well, but I think her health is delicate. I must
walk out with her round the common two or three times a week. She must
have more exercise.'
`What have you noticed in her?'
`Only that she is very nervous. The least thing excites her! Now, last
night, when I came in — to be sure I looked rather badly hurt — she went
nearly wild; and when she found I was not so much injured after all, she
wept till I thought she would weep her eyes out! She lost all command of
herself! I hope she is quite well!'
Mrs. Daily looked her son steadily in the face with a thoughtful gaze, and
an expression sad and touching passed across her countenance. The truth,
which with the quick, observant eyes of a woman, she had been suspecting
for a long time, now pressed itself upon her mind. She could see, what she
perceived was unsuspected by him, that Frederica loved him with a love
tenderer far than that a sister entertains towards a brother. She felt sorrowful
for her, at this conviction, for she saw that James had no reciprocal
feelings — that he regarded her solely and only as a sister.'
`Mother, you look very grave!'
`I am sorry you are ill, my son,' she answered, evasively, for she was unwilling
he should make a discovery of a fact, the knowledge of which would
render him unhappy. Much as it would have delighted her to have James
and Frederica, by-and-bye, married, much as this subject had dwelt upon her
thoughts in her hours of meditation, she shrunk from first suggesting it to
him now; for she had penetration enought to discern that it would be impossible
for him to love Frederica otherwise than as a sister; moreover, she
more than suspected that his affections were bestowed upon the lovely daughter
of his employer.
`I shall be better by afternoon, and be able to go down on the wharf. I am
only a little dizzy this morning. I am much better since I have eaten
something. I trust I did not badly wound Brigs. What a course of wickedness
that man has pursued!'
`What house did you see him coming out of?'
`Of Mr. Weldon's, I thought, though the window of Col. Redway's mansion
is so nigh it that it might have been his. It was one or the other. I
did not allude in my note to it, as the robbery, ere this time, is known, in
which ever house it occurred; as I met a police officer and informed him of
it, and who the robber was. Whatever the booty may have been which
Jack obtained, he got off with it, unless he was arrested after he left me.
The officer I encountered after I got up, probably has apprehended him by
this time, as they are familiar with all the haunts of men of this class. And
when I told him the name of the burglar, he answered confidently, “I know
the rogue well, and he is as good as in my hands!”'
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James was too modest to inform Mr. Weldon in his note that his indisposition
was owing to his courageous efforts to detain the burglar; and moreover,
he did not like to confess that he was near the house at that hour for
the purpose of serenading his daughter; for he would naturally, thought he,
ask him how he happened there at such a crisis; and James was altogether
ignorant of the deceit of lying. If he answered at all, he could answer
only the truth as it was.
Before going with Frederica, we will turn back again to the night preceding,
and follow the mulatto, Philip Clows, after he had quitted his abode
in the precincts of Dock Square. He took the direction of Washington
street, and kept on his way with his cloak covering his mouth, and his hat
slouched down low over his brows. Whenever he passed a lamp he would
bend his head to prevent the light falling upon his features and betraying
his personality to any one who might pass. After a walk of about ten
minutes, he came in front of the millinery kept by Mrs. Daily, and stopped
on the walk opposite to it. Not three minutes before his arrival, James
Daily, just returned from his battle with the burglar, had gone into the
house, and closed the door. The shop was shut, and all about the house
was quiet. The mulatto remained a few moments watching the outside of
the house with a stealthy air, and then rapidly crossed the street, and trod
softly up the passage to the front or side door. Here he cautiously listened,
and then advanced to the window of the back sitting-room, in which there
was a light. The curtains were drawn, but not so closely that he could not
see into the room by getting down upon one knee and peering through a
space in the lower part of the window. The sight he beheld caused him to
start back and utter an exclamation that sounded like an execration drawn
from his lips by surprise and anger. He beheld Frederica in tears, and James
with his arm folded around her, soothingly, as we have already described
this scene. He could not distinguish what was said, but he saw enough to
convince his own mind that they were lovers.
The quick, fiery passions of the mulatto would not suffer him to survey
in quiet a scene which aroused all the jealous fury of his nature; for, be it
said, and no doubt it will be heard with surprise, Philip Clow was deeply in
love with our lovely bonnet-girl! He rose up, and clenching his hand as if
it grasped a knife, he shook it thus clenched towards the window, with the
most vindictive menaces. He had not yet seen the features of the youth
who thus aroused his fierce resentment, nor would he have recognized them
had they been visible, as the face of James Daily was unknown to him.
After vain efforts to listen with success to their conversation, and maddened
at the discovery of a rival, who seemed so well acquainted with the
object of his mad passion, the mulatto, with a deep curse, turned from the
window, and hastened from the court. Recrossing the street to where he
had before delayed to inspect the house, he opened a wooden gate directly
over against Mrs. Daily's shop, and knocked at a side door situated precisely
like that at the milliner's; for in this neighborhood most of the tenements
stood end to the street, with a shop in front, and a dwelling in the rear.
The shop appertaining to this edifice was that of a mantua-maker, and one
of the most fashionable in the city.
The door was opened by a yellow girl of extraordinary beauty, with the
large bistre-brown eyes and finished profile of the Louisiana quadroon. Her
age could not have been more than eighteen. On seeing, by the lamp she
held, who it was, a look of displeasure came over her, and she drew backward
coldly.
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`Is your mistress up?' asked the mulatto, in an authoritative tone.
`Yes,' was the scarcely audible and reluctant response of the young girl.
`Then I will see her,' he said, going up the crooked stair-way and entering
a front room that looked upon the street. `Leave the light with me,
and speak to her.'
The young girl obeyed, and left him alone, in a neat parlor, tastefully
hung with pictures, having handsome drapery at the windows, and very
commodious furniture. A table on one side of the room containing a bunch
of paper measures, portions of partly made dresses, and some few shreds and
`cuttings' strewn upon the carpet, gave indications of the mantua-making
occupation of the mistress of the house.
While the mulatto is waiting for her to come in, we will briefly show what
relation they stand in to each other, and how it is that poor Frederica has
happened to be so unhappy as to have unconsciously created an interest in
this dangerous man's bosom — dangerous for his fierce passions, for his intelligence
without principle, for his wealth, for his ambition to rise above his
race, for his power and deep subtlety.
The money which he had accumulated from time to time by his consociation
and dealings with such opposite yet kindred characters as Carlton Ellery
and Brigs, he invested in tenements, for it was a part of his aspiring
disposition to be a holder of lands and houses — to be a landlord over white
tenants. Where he could not purchase, he rented, and then under-rented
to others at a large advance upon the rent he paid. In this way he had got
into his possession three of those old-fashioned houses that are yet seen in
such numbers on Washington street, and under-rented them to shop-keepers
and others. One of these was the house he was now in. The present tenant
had held it at lease from him a little more than a year and a quarter, the
last quarter's rent having been due some days before, but yet unpaid. It
was while he was at this house two weeks before to collect his rent, and
while seated in the window, in a blue broadcloth cloak, false black whiskers,
and a luxuriant wig of glossy raven hair, a costume, or rather disguise, he
always wore in the street to conceal his African origin, he was attracted by
the face of Frederica, who was at the window opposite.
`Who is that beautiful girl, Mrs. Anson?' he asked of his tenant.
`I believe it is the daughter of Mrs. Daily.'
`Who is Mrs. Daily? They are strangers there.'
`Yes. They moved in the first of the month. She formerly kept higher
up, near Essex street.'
Clow sat closely surveying the lovely girl as she was seated at her work,
and after a few minutes he said abruptly,
`Do you know this Mrs. Daily?'
`Yes, a little.'
Clow said no more then, but on going into the street he went into the
milliner's shop. Frederica rose as he entered, to serve him, for his appearance
was very much that of an Italian gentleman; and very different from
Clow, the mulatto usurer and lender of money on stolen plate, when in his
tap-room at home. Indeed it would be difficult to recognize both characters
as having the same identity of person.
Upon a nearer view of Frederica the impression her beauty awakened on
seeing her at a distance through the window, was deepened. He stood a
moment gazing upon her with surprise and admiration, which he had selfcontrol
enough to conceal from her observation. He purchased a ribbon,
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and the sound of her voice as she spoke, thrilled to his soul! He left the
shop, feeling that his heart was no longer his own, and with the resolution
that henceforward that young girl's destiny and his own should be one and
united, if in the compass of human power!
The next day this aspiring mulatto entered the shop again, and made a
trifling purchase; but seeing that his intense regard of her features embarrassed
her, and caused her to drop her eyes, and that on the third time he
entered she rose hastily and retired from the shop into the back room, leaving
Mrs. Daily to wait upon him, he resolved for the present to keep away
from her, and in the meanwhile form some plan of action. He had, unfortunately,
the tenant of the house opposite in his power, and through her he
determined to effect his object of forming an acquaintance with Frederica,
and endeavoring to win her affections; for one of the chiefest points of this
man's ambition, next to associating in society as a foreigner of wealth, was
to win and marry a beautiful woman of the superior race, to an equality
with which he aspired. Frederica's fate it was, by waking in his bosom a
sudden and deep passion, to be the object of his wild and daring purposes.
In a few minutes after the quadroon had left the room, Mrs. Anson, the
mantua-maker his tenant, came in.
CHAPTER VIII. THE INTERVIEW.
The mulatto partly raised himself from his seat at the window on the
entrance of his tenant, but instantly checked his involuntary movement of
respect, and reseated himself, throwing the fold of his rich cloak with a
haughty air across his breast, and folding his arms within it; for Philip
Clow was not a man intentionally to yield any point in which he had an
accidental superiority over a white person.
`You wished to see me, Mr. Clow,' said Mrs. Anson. Philip made no
answer, and she stood before him, silently watching his dark countenance, in
which passion and ambition were deeply engraven, intermingled with the
lines of that cunning intelligence which characterized him, and which had
placed him so much above his race in wealth and influence.
Mrs. Anson was an interesting-looking woman, about thirty-five, with
traces of former loveliness; a pale cheek, an unsteady and timid eye, and
evidently without the decision of character necessary in any interview with
Clow; yet circumstances might have just now produced this appearance in
her, for she looked as if she feared the man in whose presence she stood.
`Yes, madam,' at length answered the mulatto, compressing his lips very
closely together after he had uttered these two words.
`You have not come, I hope, sir, to ask me to pay you your rent. Did
you receive the note I sent you by Isabel?'
`I did, madam.'
`You then know the circumstances in which I am placed. It is painful
for me to have to speak thus of my husband, sir; but the one hundred
dollars which I had saved to pay you, and which I carefully kept from his
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knowledge, he some way discovered, and has expended at the bar-room, or
lost at the gaming-table. Thus I am left without the means to pay you a
second time!'
`And so it will be a third! This story about your husband may be true,
or it may not be!'
`You know his character, sir, and I need not disguise it from you. He
has been constantly absent since he obtained the money, coming in only towards
morning, in a state of intoxication.'
`You should arrest him, madam!'
`He is my husband!' answered the wife, with touching emphasis. `His
only fault is his intemperance.'
`I have nothing to say about your husband. I came for my money, Mrs.
Anson.'
`It is impossible for me to pay you, sir.'
`How much money have you?' demanded the mulatto, coldly, fixing his
black, lustrous eye upon her colorless and distressed face.
`Not seven dollars in the world.'
`What is your stock in the shop below worth?' he asked, in the same icy
tone.
`Scarcely fifty dollars. I keep nothing of any consequences on hand; my
work being principally custom-made. You certainly cannot —'
`And your furniture, I suppose, would bring about a hundred dollars more
at auction. You are in arrears to me one hundred and forty.'
`But sir — oh, Mr. Clow, you cannot mean to ruin me by taking possession?
' cried Mrs. Anson, clasping her hands together, and surveying his
dark, immovable features, with a deprecating look that bordered on despair;
for she well knew the character of the wealthy mulatto.
`Such is my intention, madam. To-morrow morning early I shall send
an officer to your house!'
`Oh, sir, for God's sake spare me! Indulge me a little while! Perhaps
in two or three weeks —'
`Two or three weeks is not now! Do you not know that landlords never
indulge! Such is the rule of white landlords; and am I expected to be
more humane than a white man?' and the mulatto smiled with an ironical
expression that caused her to shudder, for she felt there was no longer any
hope for her. She threw herself, or rather sunk, into a chair that stood by
the table, and leaning her head upon it, she covered her face with her
hands, and the tears of deep anguish were visible trickling through her
fingers. Clow looked at this exhibition of sorrow with a smile of peculiar
triumph. He rose up, after a moment, and approaching her, laid his hand
upon her shoulder. She started with a recoil from the touch, and gazed up
into his countenance with fear.
`Madam, you are in my power!' he said, in a deep tone.
`Mercy, mercy! Mister Clow! Give me — oh, give me another month!'
`You are in my power. At a word from me you become an inmate of
the city prison! But do not shrink. Be calm. It is not my wish to injure
you. It is, on the contrary, my desire to serve you. Compose yourself,
Mrs. Anson, and listen to me. You have done me one favor, by taking my
sister Isabel with you to teach her your trade. My object in placing her
with you, contrary to her wishes, and incurring her anger thereby, I do not
now reveal. It will appear in due time. I trust she serves you faithfully.'
`Yes.'
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`You objected to taking her because she had the blood of the African
race in her veins! But I forgave you a debt for doing it, and so we are
both favored. She got too far advanced in womanhood to remain longer in
such a house as mine, and it is better she should be here. You do not
forget that I make you responsible for her movements, and that she never
goes out.'
`Yes, sir. But for this restraint she is bitter both against me and you.'
`She would scarcely speak to me when I entered, the resentful girl. I
will talk with her soon. I have been so busy the past few weeks, I have
had no time to speak with her. She shall be satisfied with my motives.
Now, Mrs. Anson, about this rent still due me. Your husband, I have no
doubt, has placed you in this dilemma.'
`I have not deceived you. You know how reckless he is, Mr. Clow. You
knew him in his better days.'
The mulatto slightly frowned. He was not pleased with any reference to
reminiscences of this kind. He knew well that he himself had been the
main instrument of Charles Anson's ruin; for, amongst Clow's other means
of making money, he once kept a gambling saloon in a quarter of the city
not far distant from the head of Hanover street; and in this place the husband
of the mantua-maker took the first step to infamy. At the time he was
a young dry-goods merchant in Old Cornhill, and married to a lovely and
amiable girl; but the temptations held out to young men at Clow's saloons
drew him within their vortex, and he was ruined. His wife opened a
mantua-making establishment, and the husband became a miserable drunkard,
dependent upon her for support and a home; and, as we have seen, by
robbing her of her rent money, had placed her in the power of the man
whom, of all men, in his sober moments, he hated.
`Yes, I knew he was once better off than he seems to be now,' answered
the mulatto, evasively. `Your debt to me is the subject before us.'
`And upon my heart too!'
`I have said I am willing to serve you.'
`Will you, then, give me time?' she cried, a smile of hope lighting up
her pale face.
`I will give you time, if you will give me your service!' he said, significantly.
`How do you mean, sir?' she asked, with a misgiving of she knew not
what.
`You shall hear. What I am about to say to you, I say in confidence.
Your secrecy is to be the condition of my clemency towards you.'
`Yes, sir.'
`You know that I am rich,' continued Clow, in a tone of conscious power,
and drawing his person up haughtily. `To be rich has been my whole aim—
the one subject of all my thoughts, of my very dreams, from the time I
was old enough to know the difference between a mulatto boy and a white
boy! I had not reached my fifteenth year, when I made a resolution that I
would gain wealth; for I saw that wealth was power! I thought, then,
that gold would blind the eyes of the world to my complexion, and that it
would purchase me equality! A very few years showed me my error, for
I saw that I must have education too! I had begun to gather wealth, by
what means I could, for all means to me were made lawful by the end, when
I discovered that I needed to study. I bought books, I took lessons, at great
prices, in secret, of masters; for many refused, unless well paid, to teach a
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mulatto. Five years I studied in all my leisure hours, till I became well
educated, and familiar with the literature of the day. I had now money and
education. I richly clad my person, and sought admission into the society
for which I had toiled! I sought it in this way, madam. There was a ball
to be held on the evening of the anniversary of the independence of the
country — on the evening of July the 4th. Tickets were advertised to be
sold, at a given price. I purchased one, and presenting myself at the door,
was refused admittance. But I threw down my ticket, and passed into the
hall. There was instantly a great uproar, and amid a scene of indescribable
confusion, I was ejected — cast forth like a dog!'
Here the brow of the mulatto grew black, and his dark eyes flashed beneath,
like lightnings from beneath a thunder cloud. Drops of perspiration
stood upon his upper lip, and his cheek was pallid. The wife of Charles
Anson had listened to his singular narrative with deep surprise, and now
regarded him, under his strong emotion, not without fear; yet it was a fear,
mingled with a sort of consideration of respect for the native pride and ambition
of his character. If it had been pride without guilt and ambition,
without destitution of principle, his character might indeed have commanded
her respect. But the mulatto was as wicked as he was aspiring; as dangerous
as he was powerful.
`I now saw that neither wealth nor education would open to me the
closely guarded portals of society. About this time I saw, by accident, in
New York, a foreigner. He was a Portuguese noble, I was told. This
man resembled me. I was taken for him, and addressed by his name. This
mistake gave me a joy that I cannot describe. It opened to me a new mine
of ambition, and I saw before me still the attainment of my ambition — the
rising out of, and standing aloof and superior to, my degraded race! I resolved
no longer to seek to obtain admission into society as an educated and
wealthy mulatto; for I knew the folly of the attempt. I determined to
apply myself to the study of the Portuguese language. I at length mastered
it. I could converse in the tongue as if I were a native. I associated
with them in New York, and here, and wherever I could meet with them.
They acknowledged me as one of their nation. They never suspected my
African blood! Nay, among them I saw men even darker than I! It is
but recently I have fully acquired the language, and I have been for some
weeks looking forward to visiting the South and Europe as a Portuguese
gentleman!'
The lady looked upon his haughty and animated face with a surprise she
did not make any effort to hide from him. Her amazement kept her silent. Yet she could not but feel that what he proposed was possible, as she surveyed
his finely cut features, his intelligent expression, and called to mind
that air of suavity he knew so well how to assume when he chose to please.
`I have resolved to leave Boston, and, as a foreigner, take a stand above
my accursed and ignominious condition by birth! But, madam, I must
have my revenges! I am not to be wholly defeated, even here, in my aim,
and the object of my life's ambition! I have seen a maiden of your race,
who must be my wife! I have sworn, and I here solemnly repeat my oath,
that I will, ere I leave this metropolis, win and take her to wife! She is
one of the fairest maidens of thy proud white race! I care not whether she
be poor or rich. She is beautiful! She is fair as a lily, with cheeks like
the moss rose-bud, and eyes of celestial blue! Such a person only shall be
the wife of Philip Clow! Such an one I have seen and love!'
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The mulatto, excited by his narrative, had, for the last few moments,
paced to and fro before the table, with a quick and determined step. He
now paused, and taking a seat opposite to her, fixed his eyes steadily upon
her face.
`You look derisively, madam,' he said, in a tone of forced calmness. `Yet
I am in earnest in all I have said.'
`Whom have you seen?' asked Mrs. Anson, anxious to divert his displeasure.
`Who is this maiden?'
`Her name I only know is Frederica. She is the daughter of the milliner,
Mrs. Daily, opposite, and it is there I have seen her. You have seen her?'
he demanded, earnestly.
`Yes — at the window.'
`And at the window I first saw and loved her! I have told you my purpose
touching her. You must aid me in this object, madam!'
`I?' exclaimed the mantua-maker, with alarm.
`Yes, you, madam!'
`I have no knowledge of her, Mr. Clow.'
`You must make her acquaintance.'
`How?'
`There are a hundred ways. You can call and give her work. You can
make errands for her to cross the street, and see you about the work. You
have wit, and must use it! Remember you are in my power, and only on
condition that you serve me faithfully in this affair, which I have so closely
at heart, do I release you from my power over you! If you are successful
in bringing about an interview here, in this room, between me and this lovely
girl, I forgive you the debt, and, besides, will richly reward you. As a
woman, you have plans and schemes at your finger's ends by nature. These
you must contribute to the furtherance of the object I have in view. I will
give you three days to bring, by some ruse or other, this maiden where I
can speak with her — where I can, without interruption, plead my passion.
Moreover, you must first pave the way by speaking of me in the terms
which your discretion and tact will instruct you to make use of. Three days
I give you to bring this about!'
Thus speaking, the mulatto rose up and took her hand.
`We understand one another, Mrs. Anson?'
`Yes, sir,' answered the lady, in a faint tone.
`Remember that your safety depends on your faithfulness to me!'
`Yes, sir,' she answered in an embarrassed and undecided tone, making an
effort to release her hand.
`Then good-night, madam,' he said, and was about to press his lips to
hers, when the door was flung open, and Charles Anson staggered into the
room.
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CHAPTER IX. A CATASTROPHE.
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Charles Anson stood a moment supporting himself by the door, gazing
from one to the other of the parties. The mulatto released the hand of his
wife, who sprung back from him with a countenance glowing with resentment.
Clow smiled with cool derision at her angry emotion, and then saying
in a low tone, `Remember! be faithful!' he crossed to the door in which
the husband stood, to go out. Happening to lift his eyes to the face of
Charles Anson, he recoiled a step from its expression. Instead of the vacant
stare of the inebriate, he encountered a look of the sternest indignation
and fiercest revenge. The sight the husband had witnessed had sobered
him in an instant. He removed his hand from the door, and stood erect
and defying in the path of Clow.
`Back! you pass not forth till I avenge this foul dishonor in your black
blood!' he cried, in a tone as determined as it was unlooked for by Clow.
`I saw thee, slave, and what thou wouldst have done, but that she, whom my
vices have left exposed to such degrading insults as this from thee, spurned
thee! Down upon your knees, dog, and ask that woman's pardon for the
wrong you meditated!'
The mulatto stood calm, firm, and with a derisive smile curling his thin
lips. He had scarcely ever seen Charles Anson only under the influence of
wine, and aware that when he opened the door he could not stand without
clinging to it, he regarded this only as a sudden outbreak of the phrenzy of
drunkenness. He therefore laughed in his face, and said, in a tone of authority,
`Give way, Anson, and let me pass. You are tipsy!'
`Villain! slave! infamous black! This is not wine, but sense of wrong.
What I have seen has sobered me! So beware! for I am a lion roused.
Down on your knees to her, and ask her forgiveness!'
As he commanded him to do this he advanced a step towards Clow with
his hand clenched.
`Do you dare me?' cried the mulatto, pale with rage, and thrusting his
hand quickly into his bosom.
`Dare and defy you! I thank thee, Clow, for this hour! To you I owe
much! We have a long account to settle! Through your hellish temptations
I became what I am! but what I shall be no longer! You degraded
me, and you are now become the instrument of saving me!'
`This shall be the instrument of your destruction, Charles Anson,' cried
Clow, drawing a pistol forth and leveling it at his breast. `You know not
the man you have dared to menace!'
`I know you, Philip Clow, but I do not fear you! You shall kneel as I
have bid you, before you quit this room!'
As he spoke he dashed his cap in Clow's face, and springing upon him,
caught his arm and wrested the pistol from his grasp. With the same act
he flung him from him, and then confronted him with the weapon in his
hand. The mulatto stood trembling with rage. His eyes fairly blazed with
the intensity of his fury. His white teeth shone like those of a hyena when
about to bound upon its prey.
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`Now, Clow, the scale is turned,' said Charles Anson, in a deliberate
tone. `This moment is the happiest in my life. There is my wife, and
there is the floor! Down dog!'
`Charles — oh, Charles!' cried his wife, who had stood till now almost
paralyzed with fear at the rapid progress of events, but fearing the most
dreadful results if he continued to persist, she now clung to his arm.
`Not one word, Anna! not a movement of the lip. It is my honor I
would have atonement for! The villain would not have dared to venture
this outrage if he had not believed I was too low and degraded to resent it!
I am no longer so, Anna! From this hour — from this scene I am a man!
He shall kneel to you!'
`Never!' repeated the mulatto in an under tone that seemed to come from
the very depths of his chest. And with folded arms he stood erect and defying,
a smile of contempt mantling his lip.
Charles Anson advanced a step towards him, and cocking the pistol, spoke
but one word and pointed to the ground — `Obey!'
`Never!'
`Charles!' shrieked his wife, and flung herself upon him.
`The pistol went off, and the ball entered the bosom of his wife! With
a cry of suffering the unhappy woman sunk to the floor, the crimson tide
gushing from the wound!
`Charles — my husband, you have killed me!'
The hapless husband stood gazing upon her, petrified with horror at the
accidental deed he had done. Her words rung in his ears, and maddened
him. He dashed the pistol to the floor, and glared through the smoke that
filled the apartment, for the mulatto. He had disappeared! He was about
to rush forth in pursuit when the voice of his wife arrested him.
`Charles, leave me not! I am dying!'
`Dying?' he cried, returning and taking her head from the chair on
which it had fallen, and placing it tenderly on his knee; `dying! oh say not
so, Anna! Live now for me! I have my reason once more restored! I will
be a true and kind husband to you! Dying?' he repeated, gazing frantically
upon her fast clouding eyes, and watching the gathering paleness of death
pass upon her countenance; `dying? oh, say not so! See! I have checked
the flow of blood with your handkerchief! The wound is above the heart!
You will live! Let some one go for a surgeon! You will not die! You
shall not die! Oh God, she is dying!'
`Yes — yes, Charles! I am — I am dying! I shall be with you but a
few — few minutes! Be — beware of that man!'
`Yes, if you die he lives not an hour longer,' he cried, with fearful energy.
`What did he here?'
`The rent — the —'
`Yes, I am accursed! I understand it all now! I robbed you, like a
villain, as I was, and thus placed you in his power! Speak to me, Anna!
Do love me now that I have awakened to my sense of duty and love!'
`Too — too late, Charles!'
`No, oh no! Forgive my conduct! Dying? Oh, leave me not, Anna!
She is dying! Forgive! say you forgive me! By my hand too! Oh, this
is indeed Divine retribution! It is too fearful, too terrible, too just for mere
accident! Anna! one word — speak to me — say that — Her eyes
close heavily — her lips move not! Oh, God, her heart has ceased to beat!
Her pulse is still! She is dead!'
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He knelt beside her, bending over her in a sort of stupefaction of grief
and wonder, his eyes fixed upon her rigid countenance, and gazing upon it
as if he did not realize what had occurred. His own visage was scarcely
less pale than that of the dead. At intervals his lips would part, and he
would murmur indistinctly the word `Dead!' Footsteps and voices below
stairs reached his ear, yet he moved not. The door opened and many persons
came in, yet he lifted not his sad gaze from the face of his wife, whom he
felt, with an anguish that was darkening his soul with horror and remorse,
that his vices had slain. A watchman laid his hand heavily upon his shoulder.
`Who has done this?' he asked him in a tone of horror.
`I!' was the deep response.
`Murdered his wife!' repeated several voices in the room; for faces were
thickly gathered around the scene.
`Yes,' answered the unhappy man, rising to his feet and looking round
upon them, while with his hand he pointed to the body. `Yes, I murdered
her!' and then he laughed.
Those he addressed shuddered at his words and fearful laugh, and the
words, `he is mad,' was whispered among them.
`No, I am not mad! I am sane and I am sober!' he answered, in a tone
strangely calm. `Watchman, I did this deed! Do with me what you do
with murderers!'
He spoke with a degree of reckless despair that awakened a degree of
pity and sympathy for him, even in the minds of those who were horrorstricken
at the deed. He stretched forth his hands to be bound.
`Did you do this, in truth?' asked one of the watchmen, who began to
doubt, from his manner, whether he was really the murderer.
`Dost thou need more confirmation? There is the pistol with which I
did it!'
The watchman picked it up, and exhibited it to all eyes. There was now
no further hesitation on his part.
`Come with me!' he said, sternly.
`Willingly, oh how willingly!' he said, in accents that were inconceivably
touching. `But do not take me away yet! Let me kneel and kiss her!
The grave will soon hide her from me! Let me embrace, once and forever,
those lips that never spoke to me but in kindness! One moment, watchman,
and I will go with you!'
He knelt down and gazed an instant upon the face of her for whom his
early love had returned all too late; a face still lovely, though wasted by
care and sorrow. The tears dropped from his eyes thick and fast, like an
April rain, upon her marble cheek. He laid his hand upon her forehead.
`Cold! cold! how cold! Those eyes are sealed! Death has sealed them!
She will never open them to look upon me again! Their light is hid from
me forever! In one moment, good watchman!' He pressed his lips to her
eye-lids, and then upon her lips. His heart seemed bursting with suppressed
sobs, and his whole frame shook till the floor vibrated beneath his knees.
Suddenly he rose up. His face was rigid with a forced calmness. `Come,
I go with thee whither thou wilt.'
The crowd made way, and he was led forth between two strong men, to
be lodged in prison. There, for the present, we leave him.
On reaching the street, after the fatal catastrophe in which he had been
an actor, Philip Clow walked rapidly away up the street, leaving behind him
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a scene of alarm and confusion; for the shriek of the slain woman, following
the report of the pistol, had been heard in the streets and neighborhood,
and, as we have seen, had soon collected together, even at that late hour, a
concourse of people. Finding that he was not pursued, and yet ignorant that
the wound had caused the death of her over whom he held the arm of a
tyrannical and evil power, he paused to deliberate what plan he should pursue
to bring about his ends with reference to the lovely object of his passion.
Mrs. Anson, if only wounded, he was aware, would not now be able to aid
him, and vexed at the failure of what he conceived would have been an
effectual means of seeing Frederica, where he could declare his passion to
her, he walked slowly on, meditating upon some other way of achieving his
object.
In this manner he insensibly moved homeward, and ere he was aware,
found himself on the threshold of the inn or rather tap-room which he kept
only nominally; for he was seldom visible in the bar himself; and when he
was there, it was in the coarse garb and appearance of a mulatto in an humble
station; than which, as we have already said, nothing could be more opposite
to that he now assumed.
He stood for a moment upon the steps of the door, which was by the side
of that leading into the tap, and which, through an entry, conducted to his
private and elegantly furnished rooms above, open and known to but few
besides himself.
`I have it,' he said, `I will be my own agent. I am glad that this woman is
wounded, and should be rejoiced to know that she is dead. I was a fool to
make a confidant of her, and open to her all my hopes, and fears, and views,
as I have done. But I was in a confiding mood, and as she seemed to listen
with sympathy, I laid bare before her my soul. It was a weakness, but it
is as if I had not spoken with her, if that ball sped as fatally as I believe it
did! So! it served him right! What demon could have got into him all
at once? I trembled before him at one moment! He was roused like a
lion! That man will continue to be sober, and in him I have a deadly enemy!
But he shall do me no harm! If she dies, it shall not be my fault
that he isn't hung for it! I am not known in the affair! Yet it was my
pistol that did the deed!' he cried, with a sudden start, and deep execration
at his carelessness in omitting to take it away. `I will at once hasten back
to see if I can recover it.'
`Brother!' said a voice quickly, close at his side.
He had heard no footsteph, and turned with a start at the sudden surprise.
`Isabel! what do you here?'
`There has been murder in the house!' she said, in a low, deep whisper,
as if trembling.
`She is dead, then?'
`Yes, and he — the husband has been taken to prison.'
`Did you bring my pistol?'
`Your pistol! He said he did the deed!'
`Yes — yes,' he answered, quickly; `but it was with my pistol! Say you
he confessed to the murder?'
`He did, Philip.'
`It is strange. And my pistol?'
`The pistol was taken away by the watchman.'
`And my name upon the silver plate!' he cried, with a tone of personal
alarm.
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`And her blood upon thy hand!'
`No. I swear I killed her not, Isabel!'
`Thou shouldst have thy pistol then, ere the morning reveal thy name
upon it!'
`I must abide it! You say he has confessed. I then shall not be accused.
I am glad thou art here! Come in! I have much concerning thyself
to say to thee!'
CHAPTER X. THE MULATTO AND HIS SISTER.
Philip Clow, it will have been seen by those who have followed us
thus far in our story, was no ordinary man — a mulatto by birth, and endowed
by nature with an active, intelligent, and strong mind, united with
great sensibility, and a spirit bold and aspiring. He had not advanced far
into the years of boyhood before he became sensibly aware of the difference
between a mulatto boy and a white boy. He saw that he was regarded as
belonging to an inferior order of the race of mankind, and that he was
degraded from his very birth. He grew up intelligent, observing, and being
unusually handsome for one of his class, he was not a little caressed, by
the gentlemen who visited the shop of his father who was a genteel barber;
but he was not long in discovering that he was caressed only as a beautiful
spaniel dog would be; so he began to grow suspicious and reserved, and
gradually to cherish a deep but silent hatred against the white race.
The rest of his history is known, as detailed by himself in his interview
with his tenant on the evening of her death. Philip had a sister much
younger than himself, and with the same regularity of feature and sprightly
beauty of countenance that had distinguished him when a boy. His father
was dead, having left him considerable money, and one or two tenements,
and the care of this young girl.
As he despised his own class as heartily as he hated the white race, and
refused to associate with them on a level with their degradation, he resolved
that this sister, whom he tenderly loved, should be strictly guarded
from associating with those of her own blood, and educated in the most finished
style that money and his own talents as her teacher would enable him
to accomplish. He therefore kept her at home with him in great seclusion,
and for years, while educating himself, educated her; pouring into her
mind the flowers of that knowledge which he gathered for his own.
When they had ascended from the street to his room, or more properly,
library, he closed the door and seated himself opposite to her. She looked
terrified, and trembled; for the sanguinary scene she had just left still
pressed upon her thoughts. Besides, from Philip's manner, she thought
she was about to endure from him one of those severe reproofs for some
misdoing, she knew not what, which from time to time she had from him;
for, though naturally bold and spirited, she stood in fear of her brother.
`So that woman is dead!' he said, with singular emphasis, after being
seated a moment, and speaking as if his thoughts had been dwelling upon
that event.
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`It was a fearful sight, brother,' answered the girl, in that richly-keyed,
reed-like voice peculiar to the young quadroon girl.
`Well, it can't be helped. I did not do it. Yet I would give much to
have that pistol in my possession before it is examined and my name seen
upon it. But let it pass. I can say I sold him the pistol—or that he stole
it. Did you not say he confessed it?'
`Yes! and they took him to prison!'
`Then let it be so. He will not say I did it!'
`He seemed overwhelmed with horror and remorse, and to triumph in
being dragged off.'
`So I should suppose, from what I know of the man. But let this pass by.
We have nothing more to do with the matter—nor let it be mentioned again.
I would these proud white faces would all slay one another. Then we
would rule. But why do I say we. It would be a nation of base slaves,
as all of our accursed race are, spite of their boast that they are free. Free!'
he repeated, with utter scorn. `Free, because they have not one master
like their southern brethren, but a thousand and ten thousand. Every white
man is their master. They bow and cringe to them, and do mean offices
and hide in low alleys and bear their haughty derison. Out upon such freedom!
I will have no lot nor part in it! I would not be a leader even of
such a servile people, who tremble beneath the glance of a blue eye and
cower at the waving of a white hand. I come out from the herd and leave
them in their own miserable bondage to the iron fetters of social laws,
stronger and more oppressive than the chains of the southern planter.
Better be slaves to him than in bondage to every individual of a race that
despises them and tramples on them!'
The mulatto spoke with strong excitement, his eyes flashing and his manner
stern and defying. Isabel shrunk back from him with fear, though by no
means unaccustomed to hear such language from his burning lips. She
was not, either, insensible to the feeling that governed him; for, in educating
her, he had instilled into her mind a portion of his own spirit of hatred of
the white race, and aspiring ambition to rise superior to his own. She remained
silent, and waiting till he should speak again. Her appearance was
striking and interesting. The attitude in which she had thrown herself
unconsciously, as she drew back from his flashing eyes, and shrunk from his
ringing words, was a beautiful embodiment of graceful alarm. Her figure
was symmetry itself, and every movement of her body was like the undulation
of a wave. Her hair, of a shining black hue, was parted on the brow
and smoothed adown the temples with perfect simplicity. She wore earrings
with coral-drops, and a necklace of coral, with a small gold cross
pendant upon the bosom. The coral contrasted finely with the bright hazel
brown hue of her skin. Her features, as we have before remarked, were
perfectly regular, the nose and chin in particular being beautifully chiseled,
while her black, arched brow, and large, full, Arabian-looking eyes completed
the portrait of a face of no ordinary beauty. Her dress was a neatly-fitting
green muslin, with large scarlet rosettes in the pattern, and as her hair was
tied with a cherry-colored ribbon, red seemed to be with her, as with most
quadroons, a favorite color. Her countenance was bright with intelligence,
and seemed capable of expressing great feeling and strength of passion,
whether the tender or the terrible.
`Isabel,' said Philip, after a few moments silence, `you cannot sympathize
and feel with me as I would have you.'
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`Nay, Philip, I have one feeling with you, on this subject,' she said, earnestly.
`Do not reproach me thus.'
`Well, I am glad you say so. I am very glad to hear you say so. If
you act not with me, who will you coöperate with? Are you a mulattress?
do you belong to the herd of slaves that hide in the cities' alleys, and live
by the lowest avocations! Are you one of them? No! You were, but
are not now. Are you then a white maiden? Can you sit on cushions in
the broad aisle of their proud temples, and worship? Can you mingle in the
dance with them? Can you even be admitted to their boarding-schools?
Are you one of them, I ask? No. There are the two great sides. You
belong to neither; nor do I. We stand alone. We have cast off the one,
and are not received by the other. But this shall not always be. I have
sworn that they shall receive both you and me. They will not do it frankly,
and therefore they shall be deceived into it, and I will obtain right by stratagem
and plotting — by art, cunning, and duplicity. I hate them; but yet I
would lose my left hand—aye, my arm to its very shoulder, to have the other
hand openly, frankly, and equally taken by men of the white race.'
`I would scorn them, brother!' answered the young girl, proudly throwing
forward her head in a very spirited manner.
`I do scorn and despise them; yet I tell you, sister, I would fawn upon
them — nay, I could lap the dust from their feet, if I could be taken up by
them the next moment and treated as a man. But fawn I never will, for
this will never come by fawning. I will gain it by art, and money, and
power, and stratagem. You, too, must aid in the work.'
`What would you have me do?' she asked, with surprise, and looking perplexed,
seeing that he fixed his gaze on her as if expecting her to make some
reply.
`What would I have you to do? Do you know for what I have educated
you?'
`To have the pride of knowing you could render your sister equal to the
daughter of the white race.
`More than this; though when I look on you, and converse with you, and
reflect what you are — when I see in you the fruits of my labors and the
realization thus far, of my hopes, I am proud. But more than this. I have,
by educating you, forever placed you beyond the reach of every female of
your race, and forever erected a barrier to your descent to their level. You,
neither I nor you, can remain between two elements; if too buoyant to sink
into the one, we must rise into the other. You can never be the servant of a
white maiden, and must therefore be an equal.'
`Why, then, have you placed me, the last three weeks, at Mrs. Anson's?'
she asked, with a look of curiosity.
`You were not there as a servant, but to learn a reputable trade; not that
I wished either that you should learn a trade; but it was a fashionable resort,
and I wished to test you there in the presence of the ladies who came
in. I wished you to be seen. I wished you to attract notice and remark.
I wished to pave the way for your introduction into that society I mean you
shall yet move in; for you are fitted, both in person and mind, in address
and accomplishments, to grace any circle in the metropolis. Of this you
are conscious. What artist paints so exquisitely? What performer on
the harp or piano plays with more skill? What Italian singer ever poured
forth such melody from her throat as flows from yours, with such ravishing
sweetness and power? No, Isabel, my sister, I placed you not there to
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servitude or apprenticeship, but to surprise the ladies of fashion who daily
thronged the saloon of Madam Anson! No one knew your talents, and
powers, and accomplishments, but your masters, who knew not, when they
secretly taught you in your retired apartments, that their pupil was a mulattress—
a despised daughter of the negro race. No, forsooth, they took
you, as you well know, for a Jewess. Had I told the truth, would I
have got such masters for you as I obtained. Would they have degraded
their art, each to communicate it to a mulattress, think you? Oh, no! It
was by concealing the stain of your birth that I achieved all I did. Even
Madam Anson objected to taking you, when I told her, — for I cared not to
disguise it to her, — that it was my sister I wanted to place with her. But she
was in my power — she owed me money — and the creditors' power is the
greatest and most fearful power on earth. She was in my power, and she
obeyed my wish. I did not explain to you my object in placing you with
her, because I would rather have you act out naturally your part. You
have done it well, for I have heard of you as well as watched you. Your
name and beauty — nay, be not confused — are in a hundred mouths; and
not only of the proud and beautiful of your own sex, but of the young, rich,
and select, of the opposite one. But no one knows you, nor whence you
came. This secret Madam Anson has kept, as I ordered. The very mystery
thrown around you has increased the interest in you; and to-day I
heard, as I entered a coffee-house in my Portuguese character — I heard a
discussion between two fashionable young men, whether you were a quadroon
or a Jewess; while both repeated much that they had heard of your
beauty, talents, and education.'
Isabel looked embarrassed, but it was evident that she felt gratified, as
well at the sensation she had unconsciously created, as by the flattering commendations
of her brother.
`I was, indeed, much talked to, and a great many questions were put to
me, by beautiful girls, and even gentlemen who came in with them pressed
their conversation upon me, till I became so much annoyed and even alarmed,'
she added, with a brilliant smile, `that I told Madam I would for the future
keep in the rear shop or up stairs; and after that I remained away from
sight, while I was at work, all I could; but I was not aware of your purposes,
Philip. What end do you have, or had you in view, in making me
so conspicuous?'
`I will explain to you; know first, however, that my object has been thus
far successful, as you shall now hear; for I will conceal from you nothing.'
CHAPTER XI. THE MUSLIN SCARF.
The mulatto, before proceeding to unfold his plans to his sister for her
aggrandizement, rose from his chair, and took several turns up and down the
room, with the step and air of a man undecided precisely how to broach the
subject upon his mind. At length he threw himself upon a sofa, and said,
in a subdued under-tone:
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`Isabel, come here!'
She rose, and sat by his side in silence. He took her hand in his, and
gazing into her face, said,
`I need not tell you, sister, that you are very dear to me. I need not
assure you that I love you better than any thing else on earth! Do you
wish me to assure you of this?'
`No, brother; I know you love me!'
`You do not always feel that I do. The reception you gave me to-night,
at the mantua-maker's, was cold, and almost defying.'
`Because I believed you had placed me there because you had been
angry with me for insisting that you should no more appear in two characters;
one, especially, so low as that you assume at home by day.'
`That which you call assumed, is real! What do I seem to be when I
assume this?' he asked, with a scornful curl of his thin upper lip.
`You appear like one of the degraded class you so heartily despise.'
`Appear! No, that is my real character, sister. I am a mulatto, and one
of the degraded class I despise. As you see me now,' he said, surveying his
fashionably-dressed person, his well-arranged black locks, his mustached lip,
and luxuriant whiskers, `as you behold me now, you see me in my assumed
character!'
`No, this is natural! Education has made a gentleman of you, dear
brother,' she said, with enthusiasm.
`Education! A gentleman! I could laugh at your unmeaning words,
did I not feel them so bitterly. Education has made me a curse to myself.
Instead of making me a gentleman, it has only rendered my degradation more
marked! It has made me feel, with keenest sensitiveness, my debased
position, and — but I will say no more! I cannot speak of this. By-and-bye,
I shall act! I wish now to talk with you. But, touching the low shop
I choose to keep, and the low character I choose at times to fall back upon—
at present I cannot give them up! My shop is a mark — and, under my
humble avocation, as that of Clow, the mulatto's restaurant, I have a cloak
for all the various business that I transact. My shop is a barrier between
me and the law. Few that know me as Felipe Silva, the foreigner, know
me as Philip Clow, the taverner! Of these few, one is dead, and the others
will keep my secret. Not even my own bar-keeper, should he meet me in
my own passage, when I go forth as de Silva, would know I was his
master! Yes, his master! I am his master; and he is white, and I am —
a black!'
`Brother, you are fairer than many men I have —'
`'St! I have heard of white negroes — Albinos they call them; white
even to the hair and eye-lashes. Yet were they less negroes? But let
that pass. By-and-bye, I shall have but one character. At present I must
have two. Hear what I have to say. You are assured that I seek your
good!'
`Yes, Philip.'
`I do. I need say nothing to awaken your pride or ambition! I know
what you feel in reference to your degradation from the accident of birth.
Now, I have a plan by which you can avenge yourself upon the haughty
race that deride such pretensions as ours. You are wondrously beautiful!
Dark as you are, your beauty will command admiration every where! But
those men who admire you would debase you, and make you the slave of
their passions! They would, and will, look upon you only as a rare prize
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for their lusts! And why? because you are of the race you are! They
will allow no virtue in its maidens, no honor in its men. He who could ruin
you, would boast of it in the halls of dissipation, and in the walks of fashion!
But your destiny is to be different from that of the daughters of our groveling
race! I have told you why I took you from the retirement and profound
seclusion in which I have kept you, since I saw the first dawning forth
of that beauty which I now behold in its maturity. I foresaw its power.
The time has now come when it should be wielded with all its effect. Will
you second me in any project to place you in a position to which your education
and beauty entitle you?'
`I will, Philip,' she answered earnestly, her dark eyes lighting up.
`While you were at madam's, you were seen by a young gentleman, who
has spoken to me of you, not knowing who you were, but supposing you, as
others have done, to be a Jewess. One of my motives in placing you there
was, that he might see you under those circumstances first. I knew the man
so well, that I was persuaded when the rumor of your beauty, and the mystery
thrown around you by the silence preserved by Madam Anson, reached
him, as I intended it should, at all events, that he would go to see you.
Your beauty ensnared him!'
`Who was he, brother?' asked Isabel, quickly.
`He is a young man who is heir to one of the largest fortunes in the city,
and who belongs to the most aristocratic blood of New England. You shall
soon see him. This man I have destined to be your husband!'
`My husband!' she cried, with a look of surprise.
`Yes.'
`A stranger!'
`He is a white man!' responded Philip, with inimitable irony. `Nay, he
is of the proudest blood of their race!'
`I cannot marry a man I do not love!'
`Thou must learn to love him — for he is to be thy husband, and you are
to be his wife!'
`But does he consent to this strange union?'
`Consent! No, no; not yet — not yet!' answered the mulatto, with a
scornful smile. He knows nothing yet of my plan. Within three days you
shall see him.'
`Where?'
`Not here; for he must not know that you and I are one in blood. He
must not suspect that we are at all known one to the other. I shall leave it
to you, when he does see you again, to follow up your conquest! You must so
fascinate and bewilder his senses, that he shall become your very slave. You
possess the power to do what you will with him, or any gay man of the
world. You must act with the skill of a fisher, and use every glance, and
smile, and word, as links of a chain with which you are to bind him! You
must remember you are to gratify both revenge against the race, and your
ambition to be raised to their level! This idea must not leave your thoughts
for a moment. Be faithful to yourself — to me, and you will be successful.
This man that you must learn to love — or assume to love, I hate, Isabel; for
he has, more than once, shown his contempt for me and my race, though I was
doing him service; and I will never forgive him until I am avenged, by making
my sister his wife! You see that I have many and strong motives; but
I need not press them. You know what I require.'
`But I have never seen him, Philip. Besides, if he so haughtily despises
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our race, I begin already to hate with you. How, then, do you command
me to love him?'
`You must act a part. I care not whether you love him or no, so that
you achieve the object I have in view! He is handsome, accomplished, and
as I have said, white and aristocratic, and will one day be wealthy; though
now he is something loose and dissipated.'
`I will see what I can do,' she answered. `Oh, did I know and love this
person, then how cheerfully should I enter into your wishes!'
`Do you love any one?' he asked, with a quick, keen glance at her as
quickly changing face.
`No — that is — no — I do not that I —'
`You have seen some one, then, who has interested your feelings,' he
said, with stern suspicion, his brow darkening.
`No.'
`That faint “no” is not a strong enough negative. Who is this that stands
between me and my hopes and designs?' he cried, pressing his hand upon
her shoulder, and looking as if he would read her soul. Is it one of thy own
accursed and bondage-loving blood?'
`No, brother,' she responded, with an eye that flashed resentment at the
thought.
`Then, 't is worse! for one of thy race might wed thee; but if thou hast
placed thy love on one of the race of those who are our natural foes, thou
art loving one who, knowing it, will think only of making thee his slave!
Speak! Who hast thou dared to fix thy thoughts upon?'
`I know him not; yet I love him, Philip,' she answered firmly. `I have
but thrice spoken to him, or he to me, and then only a passing word.'
`His name?'
`I am ignorant of it.'
`When saw you this person first?'
`Two weeks ago.'
`At Madam Anson's! Fool that I have been, to risk so much. It never
entered my mind that thou mightest be caught in the net I set for others!
What said he? What was his rank — his appearance?'
`A young gentleman, with a fine countenance, and an air manly and
noble!'
`Thou hast his picture, like a true lover, at thy finger's end. I see my
folly! Had he dark hair and eyes?' he asked, quickly. `Was he tall,
with a dark complexion, and very richly dressed, in the extreme of fashion?'
`No. His hair was fair-brown, and his eyes a mild and expressive blue.
His complexion was very beautiful and clear, with the cheeks slightly red,
and colored deeply by the least emotion. His dress was plain, but very
gentlemanly!'
`It was not he, as I hoped,' said the mulatto, in a tone of disappointment.
When saw you this person first?'
`Two weeks since.'
`Where?'
`In this manner,' she said, coloring. `I was seated at the open window
at work sewing, when the wind took my muslin scarf from my neck, and
bore it out, and carried it through the air quite across the crowded street. It
fell fluttering at the feet of a young gentleman —'
`This same one?' quickly interrupted Philip.
`Yes. He was just coming out of the bonnet store opposite. He took it
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up, and seeing me at the window looking anxiously after it, he crossed the
street, and as the door was open, he entered, and handed it to me, with a
smile, and some pleasant words upon the accident.'
`What were the words?'
`I have no recollection of them. I only know the tones of his voice were
very agreeable, and lingered long afterward upon my ear.'
`Fool that I have been. Did he leave then?'
`Yes, directly, and passed on.'
`And you were so foolish as to suffer his image, from this little act, to
dwell in your thoughts.'
`I could not help it. Nor did I then suppose there was harm.'
`Great, and, I fear, irreparable harm! But I may blame myself. When
again did you see him?'
`The next day after but one, standing at the window in the upper showroom
of the house over the bonnet-maker's.'
`Did he bow?'
`No.'
`Did he regard you closely?'
`No.'
`And this you called a meeting?'
`It seemed like one to me!'
`It did!' he responded, with a peculiar intonation. Now, the third
meeting?'
`It was three evenings ago, just at twilight. Madam Anson desired me
to cross the street, to purchase a ribbon at the bonnet store, and just as I
was opening the door to enter, he was opening it to pass out. On seeing me
he smiled, bowed, and said,
“`Are you chasing another muslin scarf, miss?”'
`And what reply made you?'
`I do not recollect that I made any. I was surprised and confused. He
directly passed out, without saying anything further.'
`And you have not seen this gentleman since?'
`No.'
`And you confess that on these three occasions he had such a mysterious
power as to win your heart? This is absurd! It is a freak of fancy, and
you must think of him no more, unless, indeed, he prove to be my man; but
that, from your description, is impossible. You think you love, Isabel,' he
continued, in a kinder tone, `where your imagination has only been entertaining
itself. In a few days you will quite forget this person, whom I
should exceedingly like to find out. I ought to be angry; but I will treat
the matter as lightly as it deserves. I am gratified that he seems not to
have discovered your partiality for him; else it would lead to worse still.
But I have all confidence in your discretion!'
`You may have, brother,' she answered, proudly and firmly.
`Are you ready to coöperate with me in reference to the person I spoke
of?'
`I can never give my hand to one, while another has my heart!'
`Are you mad!'
`I will wed this youth, would he wed me, and none other!' she answered,
with a positiveness that surprised him.
He was silent for a few moments, and suppressed, with an effort, his deep
rage and disappointment.
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`If you persist in this determination, I will soon correct this fancy of
yours. The young man you love shall die by my hand, ere I am defeated
in my long-cherished purpose!'
`If he dies a violent death, I shall know then on whom to avenge him,' she
answered, with a flashing glance.
Philip well knew the spirit of the young girl before him, and that when
awakened, it was more terrible than his own. He, therefore, concealed his
emotions, and said, mildly,
`Nay, I will not harm him. I will, however, go about to find out who he
is.'
`Beware, lest he come to harm, brother,' she said, in a very determined
and quiet tone of voice.
`I would know who he is.'
`And if he prove well, why not let him take the place of this stranger,
whom I know not! I pledge myself to you, soul and body, that if you give
me leave to cast my net about this noble youth, who has already ensnared
my affections, I will win him, for I shall leave no means untried; for in my
success will be involved my happiness!'
Philip stood a moment in deep thought. Gradually the cloud passed from
his brow, and then he said, with a look less bitter,
`I will think of this. To-morrow I will give you my decision. To bed
now, for it is three hours past midnight!' He gave her a light, conducted
her to the door of an inner room, bade her `good-night,' and turning the
key, went slowly to his own chamber.
CHAPTER XII. THE TWO MAIDENS.
We now return to Frederica. It will be remembered that she had promised
James Daily to comply with his request, and, in person, take home the
bonnet, which she had, unknowingly, made and trimmed for Grace, and also
be the bearer of a note from him to Mr. Weldon, excusing his absence from
the counting-room, on account of indisposition; the nature of which indisposition,
he did not, however, explain in his note.
It was about nine o'clock, the morning following that eventful night in
which all the events and incidents related in the foregoing eleven chapters,
took place, that Miss Weldon was standing in the drawing-room window of
her father's stately mansion on Summer street, gazing forth without any definite
object before her eyes. She was clad very simply, in a white morning
dress, that finely displayed her noble figure. Her soft brown hair was laid
plainly back from her brow, and bound in a rich knot of shining braids low
in her neck. She was paler than usual, and there was an expression of
anxious thought upon her countenance, for she had not yet ceased to think
of her rencounter with the burglar the evening before, which, though at the
time she carried boldly through, yet now made her tremble even at the
recollection of her danger. The house, too, was in some confusion, which
would account for her anxiety of look, two officers having just left it, after
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she had given to them, in her father's presence, a description of the burglar's
appearance.
`You have deserved all the praise the officer bestowed on your courage
and self-possession, Grace,' said Mr. Weldon, entering with a paper in his
hand, from the rear room, and advancing towards her with a parental smile
of approbation.
`I felt that presence of mind alone would avail me, his appearance was so
murderous. I have not slept for dreaming of him!'
`If you had not chanced to have seen him, it might have been impossible
to recover the plate; but your description of him, both last night after you
alarmed us by entering the parlor and making known the robbery, thus giving
me an opportunity of sending to the Police, and to the officers that left
just now, will doubtless enable me to recover it; for they say they know
who the man is from your description, as surely as if they had also seen him
take it!'
`I am glad I have been of service, father; but I confess,' she added,
smiling, `that I should rather not have met him. But I will banish the matter
from my thoughts.'
`That is the best way. Here is an advertisement I have penned, offering
a reward of fifty dollars for the recovery of the plate! I shall send it to
the newspaper after I go to the counting-room. You are still looking very
sad and restless! Are you not well, child? I fear this adventure has affected
your nerves.'
`No sir. I am quite well.'
`I am glad you are. You must not dwell upon it, for you are not wont
to be a weak-hearted girl! But good by, my child! I hope to find you in
better spirits at dinner!'
The merchant affectionately kissed the forehead of his lovely daughter,
and left the room. Grace was by no means weak-hearted. Her sadness
did not altogether proceed from nervousness. She had looked from the window
after the burglar had sprung out, when she saw, on the opposite side of
the street, a person she believed to be James. She saw him pursue the
man, and listening, heard, a few moments afterwards, as she thought, the
sound of a far distant struggle. She had expected James that night to serenade
her, and converse awhile with her through the trellised leaf-drapery
of the window, as he had often done before, not clandestinely, to conceal
their interview, but because it was pleasant thus to talk with each other, the
lover remaining outside leaning upon the window, the maiden within, bending
her ear to listen to his low tones of love and fealty. He had not made
his appearance after she had thought she discovered him, and therefore she
was now tortured with anxiety lest some evil had befallen him, if he had
striven to stay the burglar's retreat. A dozen times she had it upon her
lips during the morning, to tell her father the true cause of her anxiety; but
the natural reserve of a young girl to confess even to a father, her interest
in a lover, restrained her. In going to the counting-room he usually passed
the house, and half an hour earlier than now; but she had been at the window,
save when called away a few minutes to speak with the officers, when
she left a little sister watching, for more than that time, and yet had not seen
him pass.
`It is foolish, I know, to feel so, and I dare say I am nervous; but I am
persuaded that James would have returned and informed us of what he had
seen, unless he had been overpowered; for that a struggle took place
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between some persons soon after they went down the place, I am convinced!
and that it was James I saw I am sure, for otherwise he would have been
here! This suspense is painful! If I knew where his mother lived, I
would go there and inquire for him.'
Grace did not know that the shop she entered, and where she spoke for a
hat, was kept by his mother; indeed, she did not ask the name, but pleased
with the beauty and taste of Frederica, and with the hats which she had
made, she engaged her to make one for her. It is doubtful if Miss Weldon
knew that James's mother kept a milliner's shop, though she was quite well
aware she was in humble life, and followed some respectable pursuit. People
in large cities do not know about each other's affairs as in small towns. Grace
had never asked him, perhaps from a feeling of delicacy, what was her mode
of living, and he had never spoken to her of his mother, save to say that he
loved her very tenderly, and meant some day Grace should see her and
know her. He had also spoken of a young friend he wished she should
know, meaning Frederica. Miss Weldon had, moreover, it will be remembered,
been absent at Troy for the most part of her girlhood, and it was
only during the past two or three months that the intimacy formed in the innocence
and faith of childhood, between her and James, had been renewed
under the banners of young Cupid. She had been out but little since her
return, and therefore it is not surprising she should be a stranger to circumstances,
which at first sight it would seem surprising that she was not familiar
with. This explains, also, her not having known Frederica, and why
her face, to the latter, was that of a total stranger.
Grace had hardly finished speaking, when her eyes were attracted by a
young girl of exquisite symmetry of figure, which a small shawl did not
hide, a green veil over her face, and carrying in her hand a band-box, who
with a hesitating step seemed to be examining the house. Grace thought
the form familiar to her and was trying to recollect where she had seen it,
when the young person put aside her veil, and looked earnestly at the name
on the door, for as there was a wide portico intervening, the plate was several
feet distant, and the letters upon it small. She stepped nigher and nigher,
as she tried to make it out, and yet without having noticed Grace at the
window, who had instantly recognized the sweet countenance of the bonnet-girl,
and was now observing her with interested attention.
Frederica having satisfied herself that the name was `Weldon,' upon the
plate, ascended the steps of the portico to ring the bell, while Grace, with
the exclamation to her sister, `little Lizzy,' now a little Hebe of thirteen
years, who at that moment entered the room, of `my new hat, sister!' almost
ran into the hall, to anticipate the footman's duty in opening the street door.
`You are very kind, to bring it yourself,' she said to Frederica; `I did
not mean you should be put to this trouble.'
`Oh, it is a pleasure to me,' said Frederica, lifting her large blue eyes up
to the beautiful face of Miss Weldon, and wondering at her beauty, while
the latter gazed with deep admiration upon the heavenly countenance of the
fair bonnet-girl. Their eyes met, and Frederica blushed and looked confused
and sorrowful, while Grace laughed good humoredly, and said,
`Come in, Frederica, which I think you said is your name. Come in,
and see me try on my hat. I know it is very beautiful, and I want you to
see how it becomes me. It will gratify you, I know, to witness the effect of
your own taste!'
Frederica entered with a gentle step and downcast eyes, for her heart was
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heavy, she knew not why; only she wished Grace was less lovely and fascinating,
or else, being lovely as she was, James had never seen her! But
she hoped he loved her not, and this hope buoyed her up.
She followed Grace through a stately and wide hall, hung with pictures,
adorned with busts and statues in niches, and a spacious and elegant stair-way,
winding from its extremity. Passing the foot of it, Grace led her into
the family parlor, a room richly furnished, but more with an eye to comfort
and ease than luxury.
`Sit down, dear child,' said Grace, `you must be fatigued.'
Frederica seated herself in a velvet-covered arm-chair, while Grace
opened the band-box and drew forth the hat. It was, indeed, as the reader
knows, for we have described it already, a beautiful creation of the lovely
bonnet-girl's taste.
`What a love of a hat!' exclaimed Miss Weldon, holding it up to view,
turning it round and admiring it with that manner and look with which a
pretty woman always admires a new and tasteful hat! A new pair of gloves,
a new dress, a new shawl, are each admired and commented upon, each in
its way, and as each deserves. But a hat — a new hat — a fashionable hat,
and especially such a hat as Grace now held elevated at the end of her
graceful arm! a pretty woman has for it a look all its own — gratified,
coquettish, wistful, smiling, triumphant! — a look indescribable, but such as
alone she bestows upon `a love of a hat!'
Frederica could not help being gratified at her praise, and she raised her
large azure eyes and smiled acknowledgment. Grace was struck by the
constrained, grieving expression that the sweet smile she gave her struggled
with, and she turned her gaze from the bonnet to fix it with sympathizing
curiosity upon her countenance. Frederica understood this look, and fearing
she should betray her emotions, she strove to throw off the heavy feeling
that lay like lead at her heart; a feeling, not jealousy exactly, for Frederica
was too benevolent and good to be jealous, but it was its shadow passing
across the bright mirror of hope which lay at the bottom of her heart,
and wherein, till of late, had been reflected, undimmed by a single doubt,
the face of James Daily!
She succeeded in overcoming her feelings, and rising, offered to assist
Grace in trying on the hat. Grace accepted her aid with a smile, and when
the hat was on, she stood before the glass to admire — which shall we say,
the hat or her own beautiful features beneath? This is a question for the
ladies; for none can so well decide whether it be the hat or the face that
is looked at when a bonnet is tried on. Hats in windows do not usually attract
so much attention as hats on, overshadowing a bright pair of eyes, and
reflected from a French, full-length mirror.
But, however it be, it is very certain that the hat did not look like the
same hat on her head, and seen in the mirror. If it was `a love of a hat'
before, it was `a bewitching hat' now! and Grace, too, never looked lovelier
than with it on! Here rises a second question, whether it was the hat that
increased the beauty of the face under it, or the face under it that lent
beauty to the hat. This we leave to be decided in the proper court, which
is held spring and autumn, in sessions of six weeks or more, at White's elegant
bonnet-saloons.
`There can be nothing prettier,' said Grace, after having sufficiently admired
the effect, turning round to poor Frederica, who trembled with fear to
behold her so beautiful and
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erica! No less lovely herself than Grace, she knew not she was so —
thought not of any charms she possessed that could win and hold him she
loved, save the strength, and purity, and single-hearted devotedness of her
love.
But Grace, handsome as she was, when she caught a glimpse over her
shoulder, in the glass, of the face of the young bonnet-girl, had a thought
come into her heart—for lovers think with their hearts — that she would
not like to have her for a rival!
`You have made this bonnet very perfect,' said she, looking in her face
with gentle interest.
`You are very good to be pleased with it,' she answered, modestly.
`Is the person who keeps the shop your mother?' asked Grace.
`Oh, no, I have no parents.'
Grace looked sad, and laying down the bonnet, she took Frederica's hand,
and said, with indescribable kindness of tone and look,
`I feel very sorry for you, very! Is the lady kind?'
`She is like my mother. I know no difference.'
`What is your name besides Frederica?'
`It used to be Frederica Kauphen.'
`Used to be?' repeated Grace, feeling at each word she spoke a growing
interest in the lovely girl.
`Yes, but I now write it Frederica Daily, which is my kind foster-mother's
name.'
`Is Daily the name of your foster-mother?' cried Grace, with an emotion
of surprise, while she slowly released her hand.
`Yes, Miss; but I have remained too long,' said Frederica, fearing and
trembling lest any thing more should be asked, for she saw the deep surprise
with which Grace heard Mrs. Daily's name.
`Not yet,' she said, gently detaining her. `Has Mrs. Daily —'
Miss Weldon checked herself. She would have asked `if she had a son
James.' But a feeling of womanly delicacy arrested the inquiry on her lips.
But she fixed her eyes on the pale, interesting face of the young girl, with
a look of inquiry, of doubt, of pain! Frederica had opened the door, when
she recollected James's note.
`I had forgotten,' she said, without raising her eyes. And without speaking
a word further, she placed the note in her hand, and left the room, and
hurried, lest she should be recalled, to pass forth into the street.
CHAPTER XIII. THE ENCOUNTER.
Grace stood a moment wondering at the sudden retreat of the lovely
bonnet-girl, but her attention was instantly recalled to the letter in her hand.
She saw that it was James's handwriting, but very irregularly penned,
and written as if with a trembling hand. She hastened to her father with
it, anxious to know the contents and why he should have written unless he
were ill. At this thought all her former apprehensions rushed upon her
mind, with the conviction that he must have been injured by the burglar.
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Mr. Weldon had gone to the wharf; and Grace, without hesitation,
opened the note. Its contents confirmed her fears, though he said nothing
of the cause of his illness.
`And this beautiful girl who brought it,' she said, the conversation she
had had with Frederica, rushing upon her mind, `lives in the same house
with him. She must be the person he has spoken to me of, but he never
said she was lovely — oh, how lovely! Did he fear to awaken my jealousy.
And she has just come from him. He is ill and perhaps she has been watching
and attending upon him. Oh, happy girl. But I am suffering already
from jealousy, I fear. It leads me to forget James's condition, which calls
for all my sympathy. He can't be very ill,' she added, glancing at the note
again, or he could not have written. Ah, me! If that lovely girl is an inmate
of his mother's dwelling, and sees him daily, I am sure she must love
him. Yes, that is plain. This will account for her manner and her sudden
retreat when I spoke of him. Oh, my poor heart begins to throb very
strangely. But I will not feel so. Such emotions are unworthy of myself—
unworthy of James. Perhaps she loves him only as a sister.'
For a few moments the beautiful girl stood with the open letter in her
hand, her finger on her lip, her large hazel eyes cast down and thoughtful,
her cheeks glowing with heightened emotion. Poor Grace! She was, in
spite of her generosity of character, in spite of her native pride of spirit and
consciousness of beauty, in spite of her confidence in James's fealty, and integrity
of character, becoming fairly jealous of the pretty Frederica, now
that she understood what her position was in Mrs. Daily's family; for she
vividly recollected now all that James had ever told her of his mother's
protégé the young German girl. She drummed upon the carpet with the
point of her little foot, and the finger upon her lip did not press the mouth so
firmly as to prevent a gentle pout from protruding itself upon it. But she
banished these feelings and a different kind of emotion caused her cheek to
grow pale and her lip to tremble. She was thinking less of Frederica now
than of James. His illness filled her with solicitude, for she felt he must be
very ill not to be able to go down to the counting-room, which he had never
failed to visit betimes every morning since he had been with Mr. Weldon.
She felt a strong impulse to put on her bonnet and shawl and go to visit
him. She would have done so, if she had not seen Frederica. But she
did not like to let her, whom she could not help regarding in some light as
her rival, though a very gentle one, know the strength of her attachment
for him. It was a natural feeling for one of her sex, and this feeling of itself
restrained her. Yet she became impatient of the suspense.
`He says in his note that he will be down after dinner. That is perhaps
to prevent our feeling anxiety. I know if father were here he would at once
send or go and see him. I will despatch the note to him at once, and wait
the result. I dare not write to ask father to go, for after all he may not be
so very ill, and then my father would laugh at my anxiety; for he knows
quite as well now as I wish him to, how much I love James.'
The note was despatched at once by a footman to the merchant's counting-room.
During his absence, Grace was revolving in her mind the interview
she had had with the lovely bonnet-girl and endeavoring to remember if
James had ever spoken of her in any manner from which she could infer that
she might be his rival. Of James she had no jealous fear; for she knew he
was devoted to her and the very soul of honor and manly affection. But
she did not like to have him so near, or rather to have so beautiful a girl so
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near him constantly. She was, in a word, jealous of Frederica but not of
James. She was becoming quite unhappy about the matter, when the
footman returned and entered the room.
`Here is a note, Miss Grace.'
She sprung to seize it.
`My dear Daughter,
`I have received a line from James, saying he is not well. Be so kind
as to go and see him, and let me know how he is, and if he wants any thing
to be done for him, and send me word. His absence confines me to the
counting-room. His mother lives at No. — Washington street, below Summer.
It is but a step.
`Your loving father,
`Warren Weldon.'
On reading this, Grace colored with quick emotion. A struggle was at
her heart. She would have flown to obey, but the beautiful apparition of
the bonnet-girl passed across her path, and she stood undecided. She made
a step forward — checked her progress — again paused to combat with her
feelings, and then said, firmly,
`No, I will not go. I dare not expose my heart's solicitude before that
lovely girl, whom I fear. I will send John.'
`Did you call, Miss Grace?' inquired the footman, putting his head into
the drawing-room.
`Yes — no. You may go, John. I do not want you now.'
The servant disappeared; and she took a turn up the luxuriously furnished
apartment, returned again and stood fixed and thoughtful.
`I have it. She forgot to present her bill for the bonnet — I to offer to
pay it. It will be an excuse to call and settle it.'
Quicker than she ever threw on her shawl and hat before, the beautiful
heroine of our story enveloped her person for the street, and with her veil
dropped over her face, took her way up Summer street, towards Mrs.
Daily's. When she had got up opposite to Trinity church she abruptly
stopped.
`She will guess my object. I will not go.'
She hesitated between pride and love, when a voice accosted her.
`Good morning, Miss Weldon. This is a fortunate encounter for me.
You seem to have come out for a walk round the Common, from your morning
costume and the step with which you seem to have started. If you had
not stopped I should hardly have overtaken you.'
`I am sorry you should have put yourself to the trouble to try,' answered
Grace, smiling slightly, yet with a certain reserve in her manner.
The young man slightly colored at this very delicately-pointed hint that
she had rather have passed on alone, and then remarked,
`I was about to call on you, hearing that your house was broken open
last night and much plate stolen. I was going to offer my services towards
effecting something in the way of detecting the rogues.'
`Thank you, Mr. Ellery,' said Grace who walked on at the same fast pace
she had before held; for she did not feel like talking then, and especially
with one whose particular and marked addresses for some time past had
annoyed her. She knew nothing against Ellery's character, for he was artful,
cautious, and prudent in the management of all his vices. His
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standing was equal to her own in society, and he was the heir presumptive of a
fine property at the demise of his uncle, Col. Duane. He was handsome in
person, educated, and possessed a pleasing address. But the heart of the
young lady was already given, and therefore, the persevering attentions of
Carlton Ellery were annoying. To tell him that her heart was another's
she had not considered herself called upon to do, though she had very significantly
shown him that she could never regard him other than as an indifferent
acquaintance. Ellery had, however, discovered her attachment to
James, was convinced of their betrothal to each other, and therefore arose in
his heart that hostility towards him which has already manifested itself in
words, as it will yet in actions.
By this time they had entered Washington street. Annoyed by his
presence Grace now resolved to go into Mrs. Daily's to avoid him, and pay
the bill for the hat without asking after him, hoping accident would enable
her to gather some intelligence there of his true state and if he were in any
danger.
Before them, as they advanced, her attention was attracted by a large concourse
of people gathered in the street directly opposite Mrs. Daily's door.
Her heart throbbed, for a maiden's fears and hopes are always apparent
when she is in love, and the lover is their first object. She trembled lest
this crowd at that spot should in some way concern James. As she came
nearer, persons passed out of the multitude and went by, on whose lips the
words, `Murder!' `A foul assassination!' caught her ears. She turned
pale and stopped. `What is this all, Mr. Ellery?'
`Do not be alarmed at the crowd, Miss Weldon. Take my arm and
I will conduct you safely through.'
`No, I will not go on. They talk of murder. Who is injured?' she
scarcely was able to articulate.
`A woman was killed by her husband, marm, in that are house last night,'
officiously answered a man with `a shocking bad hat,' who overheard the
trembling question, and glad to have an opportunity of giving the news to
a person ignorant of it.
`A woman!' repeated Grace, with a sensation of relief, mingled at the
same time with horror at such a fearful announcement.
`Yes, marm. He shotted her dead with a loaded pistol. And the people
are goin' in an' out to see the blood on the carpet and look at the body. If
you'd like to see'em, marm, I'll elbow a way for you through the muss. The
woman as is killed is Mrs. Anson, the Manty-makeress.'
Grace made no reply, but clung involuntarily to Ellery's offered arm, with
a feeling of sickness at the heart which such dreadful intelligence was naturally
calculated to produce; for the person murdered had been engaged to
make a dress for her only the day before.
`Thanks, Grace,' said Ellery, as he felt her arm clinging to his for that
support without which she felt she should have fallen. `Will you go on, or
return.'
His manner and the familiarity of his address, as he felt her arm on his,
caused her to make an effort to release it; but he had taken it in his as if to
keep her from being torn from him by the crowd, and it was not until she
had repeated his name very firmly and with a look of surprise and displeasure
that he released it.
`Pardon, Miss Weldon! You mistake my motives. I intended no offence.
The crowd —'
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`I will return,' said Grace, who feared he would accompany her into Mrs.
Daily's, and she did not wish him to do so, or suspect her errand; besides
she saw that it would be difficult to reach the door, as both side-walks were
filled with people, as well as nearly all the breadth of the street. As she
spoke she turned and hastened to go back. Ellery kept by her side.
`A horrible affair, Miss Weldon. I have seen that Anson—a dissipated
fellow! I am not surprised at your emotion. Perhaps, if you are going to
the Common we had best turn up Winter street.'
`Thank you, sir. I go down Summer street,' answered Grace. `Good
morning!' and she was turning the corner when a man met her, and fixing
upon her and Ellery a sudden glance of surprise, bowed slightly to the former
with a peculiar smile, which inspired in her bosom instantly a strange
fear of the man, combined with a suspicion of something evil in Ellery who
had received his glance. He was dressed in a blue Spanish cloak, thrown
across one shoulder, wore a small, foreign-shaped hat; was of a very dark
complexion, with burning black eyes, and luxuriant whiskers that nearly
enveloped his chin and covered his cheeks. On his upper lip he wore a
slight and very elegant jet-black mustache. He moved with a haughty
step and an air at once suspicious and defying.
`I will also accompany you that way,' answered Ellery. `Did you notice
that gentleman? He is a wealthy Portuguese who is visiting this country.
I was introduced to him — let me see — at — at the Albion!'
Grace made no reply, but walked steadily down Summer street. She
had felt herself insulted by the manner he had seized upon her hand and
called her by her Christian name! She was not now sorry for the act, as
it gave her a good occasion for treating him with coldness, and putting an
end to his hopes of ever winning that hand he had dared to seize upon with
such boldness, when accident had placed it in his power. She therefore resolved,
not only to show him her displeasure, but convince him that he had
no longer favor with her.
`I am surprised, Miss Weldon, that you have seen fit to take umbrage at
so slight a matter,' he said, in a tone between pique and raillery. `What
shall I do to atone for my great crime?'
`Leave me,' she said, calmly, but very firmly.
`I will leave you, Miss Weldon, and trust that when we meet again you
will be in sweeter humor,' answered Ellery, his eye kindling, and his cheek
burning with anger. `But I will tell you before I go, that there is one suspected
of breaking into your house last night, you little dream of! Would
you like to know his name? It was to tell you and your father that I
thought of calling on you.'
`Who is it?'
`One who has recently involved himself by play, and needs money to
make up embezzlements. The virtuous James Daily, better known as
“Jemmy Daily, the newsboy!” added Ellery, with a look of derision and
triumph.
Grace was thunder-struck. She stood perfectly still in the street, and
looked him full in the face. The expression of his countenance made her
shrink.
`It is false, sir. I saw the burglar! He was a ruffian. The feelings that
led you to make this foul and bold accusation, against an innocent man, are
unworthy of a gentleman, and are easily understood by me! Is it possible
Mr. Carlton Ellery has let a low spirit of jealous revenge cause him to forget
truth, to invent falsehoods, to seek the ruin of a deserving man!'
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`I mean not that Daily was the burglar. But I do mean that he was a
party interested, and that he joined the burglar after he had got out of the
house with his booty!'
`'Tis false!' answered Grace. `It is, I can see, a conspiracy of revenge,
on your part, to ruin a rival. I treat it with the contempt it merits!'
Thus speaking, she turned from him, and the next moment was within her
own door.
CHAPTER XIV. THE REVELATION.
Three weeks have elapsed since the events related in the last and the
preceding chapters. James Daily, after a days' confinement to the house,
had resumed his duties in the counting-room; and by questioning him, Mr.
Weldon had learned from his lips the gallantry and courage he had shown
in his attempt to arrest the burglar. He being quite restored to health
again, Grace once more recovered her cheerfulness. But, often as they saw
each other — and it was almost every evening — she never spoke to him a
word of the lovely bonnet-girl's visit to her; nor did he allude to it. Both
seemed tacitly to avoid, from some reason or other, which, perhaps, those
who are read in lovers' hearts can divine; any mention of her. Yet, between
ourselves, dear readers, Grace was `dying,' as the expressive phrase is, to
speak of her to him, and to ascertain if really she could have any ground of
jealousy; not that she believed James loved Frederica, but that she loved
him! But the instinctive feeling we have just spoken of, aided, perhaps, by
a little pride, withheld her. His silence we will proceed to explain, by letting
the reader witness the interview that took place between James and
Frederica on her return from her visit to Grace with the hat.
`Is not Frederica returned, dear mother?' he had asked, after she had
been absent full an hour.
`Yes, James. She has been below in the shop full half an hour.'
`She has! It is strange she did not come up. Ask her to come up and
see me. Is the crowd still as great over at that poor murdered woman's
house?'
`Yes; it seems to increase. The street is thronged with people.'
`It is very strange we did not hear of that murder last night, and so near
us! But, I suppose, we were all sleeping heavily. Ask Frederica to come
and see me.'
In about five minutes, the lovely orphan entered the little back sitting-room
up stairs, where James was impatiently wondering why she still delayed
to come. She was pale, and a look of sorrow was upon her gentle face.
`You have been back so long, dear sister, and I did not know it,' he said,
affectionately. `I have been listening this half hour for your step. You
took the note and hat?'
`Yes, James.'
`Why are you so sad and silent; and stand so, with your pretty fingers
rolling up your apron string. One would think, sis, that you had lost a
lover!'
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Tears came into her eyes, she colored deeply, and seemed all at once
greatly distressed. With affectionate solicitude, and not without surprise, he
rose, took her by the hand, and led her to a chair by the side of his own.
He then looked into her face with curiosity and painful interest. She still
wept, though making efforts to appear calm. At length she succeeded, for
his hand smoothing the hair soothingly upon her brow was more than she
could bear; for it was, she felt, with fraternal love only, that he thus sympathised
with her; and it seemed to her as if she had rather he would hate
her, than love her thus! So she made a great effort, and became calm—at
least outwardly calm.
`What has happened, Frederica?'
`Nothing — oh, it is nothing!' she answered with difficulty.
`Are you ill?'
`No, not now!'
`Did you deliver the note?'
`Yes.'
`Then Mr. Weldon will know that I cannot come down, and get one of
the other clerks to attend to my duties. Why do you tremble so? You are
very pale.'
`I am quite well.'
`Why do you withdraw your hand?'
`I did not mean to, James. I do n't know what I do!'
`You must be ill,' he said, with affectionate solicitude.
`No—I am not ill. It is not that I am ill, James.'
`Was Miss Weldon pleased with the hat?' he asked, as if desirous of
diverting her thoughts.
She made no answer. Her young bosom was singularly agitated.
James became alarmed, and would have called to his mother.
`No—I am better! I am foolish, James,' she said, with a faint smile.
`You are very strange! Has any one hurt your feelings? Has any one
insulted you in the street?'
`No—oh, no! I saw Miss Weldon, and she said the hat was very
pretty.'
`Did she try it on?'
`Yes.'
`And it became her?' he asked, with animation, as he imagined, with all
a lover's ardor, how beautiful she must have appeared in it.
`She looked very lovely in it, James.'
`She is very lovely, Grace.'
`Frederica is my name, James,' she said, with a sadness of reproof that
was singularly touching.
`I meant to say Frederica,' he answered, coloring. `I was thinking of
Grace.'
Frederica sighed, for she knew that well. Her interview with Grace,
brief as it was, had confirmed her suspicions that she was attached to him
whom she herself loved with all her soul's idolatry; and that this attachment
was reciprocated, she had every reason to believe. Poor Frederica! she
had cause for sighing over her shattered hopes. She now resolved to ascertain
certainly, ere she left him, the truth of her suspicions; for, though gentle
and lovely beyond compare, the young bonnet-girl had firmness of character,
and was by no means wanting it decision. It was grief—deep sorrow of
the heart, and not weakness, that now governed her, and caused her to weep
so freely.
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`She is very lovely, James,' she responded, with emphasis.
`Scarce lovelier than thyself, dear Frederica! Indeed, I know not, if in
a contest for the prize of beauty, thou would'st not carry it off! Yet she is
very beautiful and generous; good and intelligent as she is beautiful! She
possesses every charm that adorns her sex, and is rich in every quality of
the mind and heart that gives excellence to character! I wish you knew
her, dear Frederica. It would be only to love her.'
`I do not wish to know her, James. I am but a poor orphan, and in
humble condition. She is rich, admired, and perhaps loved by one to whom
she has surrendered all the priceless treasures of her heart!'
`You say truly, Frederica,' answered James, with emotion, his cheeks
glowing with the bright hopes of the future. `She is loved by one who has
poured into her heart all the wealth of his own, and who knows that he is
loved in return, with a devotion pure, sincere, and lasting as her own
nature!'
`And this one who thus loves her?'
`Frederica, I have never breathed to you the secret of my soul! But, as
a sister, I can confide in you; for I know I shall have your sympathy and
joy. Do you not remember when, in my boyhood's destitution, I was relieved
from great wretchedness, nay, from starvation, I and my dear mother, by the
bounty of a young girl of ten?'
James had no need to remind her. Frederica knew this too well.
`By that sweet child's act of charity, and through her influence with her
father, I by-and-bye became a younger clerk in his counting-room. I am
now the head clerk, and you know that I have the prospect of becoming a
partner in the house. Now, all this that is past, and all the present, and all
the future, under Providence, I owe to her! This young girl became the
idol of my boyish gratitude, she has become the shrine of my heart's manly
devotion! From boyhood I have loved my benefactress next to you;
and it is my happiness to say, dear Frederica, that I have the sweet assurance
that her affections as a woman are wholly my own! Yes, dearest
sister, I look forward to a happy union with Miss Weldon, ere many months
are passed by. I am the envied one to whom she has, to use your own
words, “surrendered all the priceless treasures of her heart!” '
Frederica heard this fatal confession like a statue, pale and immoveable.
All her fears were confirmed, all her sweet hopes wrecked! She had nerved
herself to bear this revelation; but the confirmation of her fears fell heavily
upon her young and loving heart.
`You look sorrowful, Frederica,' he said, regarding her with surprise.
`I do not mean to look sorrowful,' she said, with an effort to smile. `If
you are happy in loving that noble maiden, I am happy because you are. I
did not mean to be sad, James.'
He gazed upon her with surprise. Her manner — her voice — her looks,
all were singular and unwonted. Unsuspicious of her love for him, beyond
that of a sister for a brother, he expected joyful congratulations. It was for
these that he wished her to see Grace — to behold her beauty — her graces of
person and mind; and then he intended to surprise her with joyful intelligence
that they were lovers! But so different from his anticipations was
her reception of this information that he regarded her with fixed surprise,
and began to reflect upon the probable cause. But he was baffled. Never
suspecting that she entertained towards him any other, or a different affection
than that which he entertained towards her, a purely fraternal one, he
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was without any key to enable him to solve the mystery. He sat looking
attentively upon her, as she sat, with eyes cast down, the lids trembling with
the vain effort to shut in the tears, her cheek without color, her bosom agitated,
and her hands clasped upon it, as if she would stop the wild beating
of her bursting heart within it.
Gradually, slowly, thought by thought, the truth of the matter came
clearly to his mind. It was impossible for a person of his judgment and intelligence,
as well as his own little experience in affairs of the heart, to be
longer ignorant of the true cause of her sorrow. The truth each moment
pressed itself more forcibly upon him, and the conviction filled him with the
profoundest grief. He now saw that she loved him with more than a sister's
love! A hundred circumstances rushed all together upon his mind to confirm
it! He wondered that he had not suspected it before! He condemned
himself for his want of penetration; for he felt that if had been earlier aware
of the character her affections were taking, he might have spared her much
unhappiness that he now saw she must necessarily endure since the discovery
she had made that he loved another!
`Yes,' he reflected, `had I known this, or even suspected it, I would have
been more guarded! Believing, doubtless, that I loved as she loved, she
has given all my fraternal affection a meaning I never intended! Poor
Frederica! Silent, sad, and broken-hearted she seems. I must do something
to repair this unintentional disappointment! But how? What shall
I say? How can I soothe? What consolation have I to offer? A painful
position I am all at once placed in! As a brother she cannot receive my
love — yet as a brother I still love her! But I fear I must love her no
longer as such! It must be that we separate. I can no longer justify
myself with dwelling in the same house with her. It would be a restraint
upon me, and unhappiness to her! To-morrow I will seek out another
boarding-house. This is why she did not come up when she first came in!
This is the secret of her wild grief when I was hurt last night! It is the
key to unlock much that is past; and I see, as I take a retroscpect, that I
have, all ignorantly, been strengthening this unhappy attachment!'
`Frederica,' he at length said, after several minutes' silence.
`James,' she answered, deeply coloring, and speaking with trembling lips.
for she instinctively discovered the train of his thoughts, and knew that he
had detected the true state of her heart. This knowledge was a source of
pain to her.
`I fear I have been imprudent,' he said, tenderly, yet with embarrassment.
`I have been very blind not to see that you have honored me with
a deeper interest in your heart than that which a brother holds in a sister's.
I have been wrong to forget that we are not brother and sister! Forgive
me, Frederica! I blame myself greatly.'
`Oh, no!—oh, no!' she answered, lifting her blue eyes to his face with
generous warmth, but instantly dropping them before his; `you have done
nothing — nothing, James, but what is right. I have been to blame! Let
me bear the disappointment. I should have known that you would love that
beautiful maiden! I should never have forgotten that I was a friendless
orphan — a dependent on your bounty, and too humble even to be your
sister! Forgive me, James.'
`Frederica, do not talk thus. You grieve me with such words. I know
you speak them from the lowliness of your gentle spirit; but they grieve me.
I have loved you, with all my heart, as a brother. As a sister you are still
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very dear to me. I know not whose death would cause me most sorrow,
yours or Miss Weldon's. You are as dear to me, as a sister, as she will be
to me as a wife! Forget your error, dear Frederica! Love me as a
brother; and that generous heart, of which I am all unworthy, even were
my affections free, bestow upon some noble young man who will cherish you
and love you!'
`No—no! Do not cut me to the heart, James!'
`Forgive me! But there are young men whom you can render happy
with your heart's riches! For some favored youth keep your pure love,
which has been bestowed so unworthily upon me!'
`James, I have but one heart — it knows but one shrine, and though it be
forbidden to kneel upon the altar of its devotion, where another more favored
worships, it will ever love and adore afar off! Do not ask me to forget! I
will offend you no more! I will speak of it no more! God bless you, and
God bless her! For me —'
Tears and emotion prevented her proceeding. She rose, and hurried
from the apartment, leaving him overwhelmed with surprise and grief.
CHAPTER XV.
The day after this painful interview, James changed his apartments to
another house, and for the next three weeks rarely saw Frederica except in
his mother's presence. To the latter he had, on the same day, freely confided
all, and although she was disappointed in the union she had looked forward
to, between her son and Frederica, she was prepared for this revelation
of his love for Grace Weldon. She, therefore, coincided with him in the
propriety of changing his home for the present, until Frederica should in
some measure overcome this attachment. During the three weeks that followed,
the unhappy Frederica was silent and sorrowful. When James did
enter the shop, at intervals of two or three days, she would make an effort
to appear cheerful; but it was an effort that it pained him to witness.
During the same three weeks, Clow had been laying his plans both for his
own ambitious ends, and his sister's elevation. Carlton Ellery, who, by
means of money raised on the plate, had paid his forged draft, had also been
busy plotting; for he had revenge to gratify, and a rival to overthrow. Jack
Brigs had not been idle, though he kept very close in his den under the
`Devil's Ladder,' for fear of the Police. He had also envy and hatred of
his own to indulge. Poor George Anson, the husband of the murdered
woman, had been examined and fully committed for trial; no suspicion being
directed against Clow, as he had feared, on account of the mark on the pistol.
Isabel, the quadroon, had also made, in the meanwhile, a most brilliant
debut as a cantatrice! Thus three weeks have produced changes, and advanced
materially the march of our story.
We will now take the reader to the handsomely furnished private chamber
of the mulatto. It is seven o'clock in the evening. Clow is walking up and
down his room in a rich brocade dressing gown; for in all points this ambitious
man imitated the luxury of the race he hated. The apartment remained
pretty much as when we last saw it, save that a writing desk was
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open upon the table, and letters and writing materials, and written papers
strewn upon it.
His face wore a look of unquiet reflection, as if he was troubled and perplexed.
He stopped by the table, and took up a letter that lay upon it,
which he had finished writing a few minutes before, and begun to peruse it.
At this moment a door at the extremity of the room opened, and Isabel entered.
She was dressed richly, and her hair was arranged with great taste,
as if for the opera. She advanced towards him with an anxious expression
upon her fine countenance; a look of earnest solicitude. Without lifting his
eyes. he said, morosely.
`I have waited for you! You have been long dressing! There is what
I have written! Read it!' And he placed it before her.
`It does not suit me, brother,' she answered, firmly. `If you will allow
me to pen it, I will satisfy myself.'
`Well, write it, then! But first promise me, that after you have had this
interview with him, and fail to impress him with your beauty and love, you
will quietly yield to my wishes in respect to Carlton Ellery!'
`Yes, I promise, brother,' she answered confidently, her dark eyes smiling
brilliantly with the thought of conquest over one she loved. `In permitting
me to have this interview, you are doing me a kindness that I know how to
appreciate, dear brother!'
`I trust you will appreciate it,' he said, with a peculiar sinister smile.
`Now write your missile, and let me see how you will improve upon mine!'
She took the pen and proceeded to write, folding the letter sheet in the
form of a note.
`Sir, — The writer, a lady not altogether unknown to you, is very desirous
of seeing you on a subject in which her happiness and your honor are
most intimately concerned. If you will so far place confidence in an anonymous
communication as to regard this bold request, have the kindness to
call at No. 17 Dormer Place, — street, at eight o'clock, to-morrow evening.
Placing full trust in your benevolent nature and generous spirit, the
writer feels that she may look for you without fear of disappointment.'
`That is better, perhaps, because more artful! How does it concern his
honor?' he asked quickly.
`This is only to make the lure more certain, brother,' she answered, quietly,
yet carefully avoiding lifting her eyes to meet his, which she felt were
fastened upon her face with incipient suspicion.
`It is very well done, girl,' he said, glancing over it a second time, and
speaking with a gratified smile. `I will destroy mine. Now seal it and
direct it to the person. To-morrow I will see that he has it!'
`You seem to be strangely willing now that I should see him,' she said,
fixing her eyes upon his, which dropped suddenly before her gaze; `day after
day you have been putting me off, and thwarting me, but now you are
even willing to take the letter in person rather than he should not have it.
This is very kind in you, brother!' she said, with the slightest possible
shade of irony; which, however, he did not seem to notice, though he
colored as he replied,
`I want it over, and you to be convinced that he is indifferent to you, so
that you can give yourself to my views! You have been obstinate long
enough!'
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`I promise, if I fail in my purpose, I will be as yielding as you could
wish!'
`You will do as I desire?'
`Yes.'
`Use every art to ensnare him?'
`Yes.'
`Then you will not fail of success.'
The letter, or rather note, was now folded by the young girl, and addressed,
in a delicate hand,
`James Daily, Esq.,
No. — Central Wharf.'
`Now retire,' said Clow, taking the note. `There is my bell! I expect
a visiter! As soon as he is gone I will go to the opera with you. You do
not sing till eight, and it is now but seven.'
The young quadroon left the apartment with a slight expression of gratification
animating her dark, handsome eyes, but which she strove to conceal
under a look of composure and indifference. After she had passed through
the door, he followed her steps, and locked it; and at the same moment a
foot-fall outside of the other door of the apartment, and a low tapping upon
the pannel with the finger nails, announced a guest.
Clow crossed the room, opened the door, and admitted Carlton Ellery.
`You are ever at your post, Philip,' said this young man, with a gay air,
but which nevertheless did not conceal a certain look of conscious degradation.
`You are also prompt, Mr. Ellery,' answered Clow, with civility, as if desirous
of conciliating his co-worker in guilt. `What news do you bring tonight?
'
`Why I am quite full of news; but more than all, I am full of that lovely
little Jewish opera singer! I have heard her, last night was the third
night, and I am in raptures. She is divine! I do not know which most to
praise, her voice or her beauty!'
`I have no time to talk of singers, Mr. Ellery,' answered Clow, concealing
under a cold look of disapproval his deep inward satisfaction. `What
more of our matter with regard to this young merchant's clerk?'
`It progresses favorably. To-morrow, as you know, will be the crisis.
Every thing has been most artfully laid! He will fall, and there is no help
for him!'
`He must fall,' responded Clow, with strong feeling.
`You are, if possible, more his enemy than I, Philip! What can have
made you so much his enemy? I have asked you more than once, but your
bitterness just now surprises me. What is there between you and Daily?'
`It matters not! He has crossed my path twice. I am two-fold his enemy.
He is a marplot to my plans, he is an obstacle to my dearest wishes.'
`You could not say more if he was your rival, as he is mine! This is
the ground of my hostility to him! Besides, I hate him that he, an upstart
from beggary, should ever dare to aspire to the hand of Miss Weldon! I
hate him, too, because he has subjected me to a gross insult from her in the
public street, of which I told you, Clow. But we are having our revenges!
Jack also is not idle! So between us, if one fails, the other is sure to succeed!
'
`I rejoice to hear it,' answered the mulatto, in a tone of deep satisfaction.
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`I rejoice to know it is so! I have done my part, also! see this note that I
have written to him!'
`Why what a lady's hand you write!' exclaimed Ellery, as he opened
the letter which Clow handed to him. `One would swear it was written by
a female! Yes, this will bring him into our power! That is all I wish!
This will do the work, be assured! The other parts of our plan will work
out of themselves to-morrow, as you know.'
`Yes. I should like to be a witness!'
`As I shall be! But I will report to you all. Give me the letter, and I
will see that he gets it to-morrow in time! Now about this charming opera-girl—
this adorable Jewess! Have you been able to learn who she is, or
any thing about her since I saw you? No one knows! She comes and goes
from the theatre no one knows how or where; and it is my belief that she
lives in Jerusalem, for I can't find any body that knows where she lives
here, unless it is you, Philip, who know every thing!'
`I do know,' answered the mulatto, in a quiet way.
`You know! Then I must know. How did you ascertain? The sum I
offered you — one hundred dollars — when I was here night before last, to
ascertain where she was, and get me an introduction to her, shall be yours!
How did you find out?'
`I do not deem it necessary to let all the machinery of my results be
known. It is sufficient that I know where she lodges, and that I can get
you an introduction!'
`Then you are my best friend! I am irrevocably in love with her! I
am captivated! Who is she? The whole town is taken by surprise!
Who is she? every body asks, but nobody answers.'
`The name by which she made her debut, and is known to the public, I
learn is not her true name! She is the daughter of a Portuguese nobleman,
and a Jewess, his wife. The nobleman is a widower, and is poor, and
necessity has led him to place his accomplished daughter in the position she
has now taken before the world. My knowledge of the Portuguese, and
my character as one in the society of the hotels and in the street, gave me
facilities, you perceive, in making my inquiries, and, as a Portuguese, of obtaining
their confidence. His daughter is not nineteen yet, has been brought
up in the most perfect seclusion, and is as beautiful in the drawing-room as
upon the stage!'
`Then you have seen and spoken with her?'
`Yes, and supped with them. I have the free entree to their house,
and perhaps I could have the privilege of introducing you.'
`It would be a privilege to be prized,' exclaimed the handsome roué.
`But I caution you, Mr. Ellery! The maiden is of noble blood! Her
father is her protector! She may become your wife, possibly, but never let
it enter your thoughts for an instant that she can be to you any thing less!'
`An opera-girl!' repeated the haughty young aristocrat, with a derisive
movement of his fine lip.
`Two weeks ago she was not an opera-singer!' answered the mulatto,
impressively. `She was then thy equal! Why is she less so now?'
`Well, let it pass, Philip! She can be nothing to thee! Get me the introduction,
and I will let my good fortune shape out the rest!'
`You were to give me one hundred dollars, observed the mulatto, whose
characteristic avarice was always forward in its own manifestation.
`I did, and you shall have it when you have fulfilled the conditions.'
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`To-night I will see them again. To-morrow night, of course, you will be
here!'
`Yes.'
`Then I will let you know my success, and when you can pay, with me, a
visit to her.'
`You are a prince for aiding a friend, Philip,' said Ellery, grasping his
hand and warmly shaking it. `Take no denial from your friend, the Don,
her old father! I must see her!'
`And you may depend upon it, your wish shall be gratified,' answered the
mulatto, with very positive significance. `But why do you hasten?'
`Why? It is the opera-divinity's night! I must be there! for I would
not lose a note for a pearl each! What! a lady's glove, Philip!' exclaimed
the young man, stooping and lifting from the floor beside the table a white
glove, made for a very small hand. `You have visiters of the other sex,
too, my lonely anchorite! I have had my suspicions; I had heard the retireing
rustling of silks before I was admitted!'
`It was a glove I found in the street, and brought home.'
`That is not so, Philip; for see you, this has the very shape of the fullness
of the fingers, and looks as if just drawn off. I would swear it was
warm when I came in!'
`Mr. Ellery will oblige me by keeping his gay conclusions to himself. I
will take the glove.'
`I see how it is! But I will not pry into your affairs, Philip. It is a
charming hand wore that! Wilt tell me how you came by it, Philip?'
`I will in a few days — not now! By-and-bye you shall know,' answered
the mulatto, with a look of singular meaning, which Ellery did not notice.
In a moment after he took his leave, and Clow sought the apartment of
his sister.
He found her muffled in a hood and shawls. Throwing on a furred cloak,
and taking a bat with a broad brim, he took her arm and led her along a
gallery, ascended a flight of stairs, descended another, entered a room elegantly
furnished, crossed it, and descended a flight of hall stairs, opened a
door and emerged upon a street some distance from that in the front of his
own habitation. Here a carriage was in waiting, into which he assisted his
sister, and then followed her, merely saying to the driver, `It is late — drive
fast!'
CHAPTER XVI. THE COUNTING-HOUSE.
We will now take the reader to the counting-house of Mr. Weldon, on the
morning following the events related in the last Chapter. It is a counting-room,
on the second floor, consisting of two apartments, an outer room for
the transaction of the general business of the house, and an inner room for the
more private intercourse of the merchant with his commercial friends and
customers. Along the centre of the outer room, which had two windows
looking out upon the wharf and shipping, was a tall, oblong writing-desk,
with a mahogany frame-work in the middle, to hold ledgers, account-books,
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bills, &c., &c. The desk slanted two ways, and four clerks were seated, upon
high stools, facing one another, engaged very busily with their pens; one
of them, however, who seemed the principal book-keeper, was not so fully
occupied as not to be able, now and then, to exchange a word with Carlton
Ellery, who was seated near him, in waiting for some bills of lading the lad
next to the book-keeper was making out. At intervals Ellery would look
listlessly round upon the maps, and paintings of favorite packet-ships, and
files of newspapers, that adorned the walls of the counting-room.
`What are you doing with shipping these boxes to the Havana, Carlton?'
asked the book-keeper.
`They are a private venture of my own.'
`You talk of a private venture!' said the book-keeper, laughing. `You,
with the prospect of at least a hundred and fifty and three eyphers when
your uncle goes; and that will not be a great ways ahead, if he has many
more of those attacks of the gout? How is it you manage to tie yourself
down to Dorrey's counting-room?'
`I do n't do much, I assure you, Finney. I get down about ten in the
morning, I leave at two, and do n't trouble them till next day at ten.'
`That is delightful. Here I have to be at eight,' said Finney, glancing at
the inner room, and lowering his voice, though the conversation had been
carried on in a low tone; `I have to stay till two; here again at three and
a half, and dark half the time finds me at this desk. But you are indulged
because you are an heir!'
`Yes; I suppose that is something of the secret,' answered Ellery, in a
careless tone; `but the truth is, I only stay there to throw dust into my
uncle's eyes. If I did nothing, he would call me an idle rascal, and so
leave me nothing. By keeping up the semblance of doing something, I shall,
by-and-bye, get something tangible.'
`That is very true. You are far-sighted, I see. But I can't complain; I
have my salary. Now, there is Daily, he is the first man — I may say head
man, as he has all the business of the house at his finger's ends, and often Mr.
Weldon, good merchant as he is, has to go to him to know about his own
matters, he has such confidence in him. Daily, now, is here always first in
the morning; I always leave him last at night! He sets us all an example.'
`I hear there is some talk of his being taken into the firm,' remarked
Ellery, in a tone of assumed indifference, and dropping his voice; for there
was between the outer counting-room and inner a glass division, along which
a green silk curtain was drawn, to render the privacy more secure. This
glass partition was now let down at the top, and although not so low as to
enable Finney, who was seated upon a tall, three-legged stool, to look over
it into the private room of the merchant, it afforded passage for the voices,
from one room to the other, when the door was closed; though no words
were ever distinguishable, spoken in an ordinary tone. If Mr. Weldon
wished to be particularly private, he used to raise the longitudinal sash, thus
rendering his room both impervious to the ears and eyes of his clerks.
Finney knew that both Mr. Weldon and Daily were in there writing; and
he had communicated this information to Ellery, when he asked, in an under
voice, for the latter, as he came in to get his bills of lading filled out and
signed.
`Do you wish to see him?' added the book-keeper, in continuation of his
information,
`Oh, no! I merely inquired.'
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`They are very busy; as we always are the day we are getting off a ship.'
`I merely want my bills made out. Here are the marks of each box. I
will wait here, and look over the papers.'
Such was the beginning of the interview between Mr. Finney and Carlton
Ellery. It was very evident, however, from his manner, as well as from
the object for which he professed to come there, that he had other purposes
than the ostensible one.
`Yes, he will soon be taken into partnership,' answered Finney, to Carlton's
some time before remark. `I will tell you in confidence, that I think
it will be not long before the thing will be done.'
`Daily has no property?'
`No. Only his experience and business talents. That is capital, you
know, among merchants.'
`Mr. Weldon must have the fullest confidence in him,' said Ellery, in a
suppressed tone; for the half window was down, and he might be overheard
in the inner room; for he had once over-heard Mr. Weldon's tones,
as he spoke to Daily.
`The fullest,' answered Finney, emphatically.
`Well, I dare say, he may deserve it. But I don't think every body is
to be trusted. Daily, you know, is a low fellow originally. But, I dare say,
he has kept it from you.'
`Oh, no! He told me all about how he used to sell penny papers when
a boy, and lived in Theatre alley. It is not ten days since I was walking
through there with him, when he showed me the house he lived in, and
stopped and pointed out to me some brigs and schooners, and his own initials,
he had cut there himself.'
`Oh, ah! I thought he had too much pride to acknowledge this,' said
Ellery, with a vexed look. `But, I suppose, he is foremost lest others
should throw it in his face. It is good policy in him.'
`There would be a good many dirty faces in Boston, Ellery, if such things
were always thrown into men's faces. I consider it no disgrace in Daily, but
rather to his credit, that, under such disadvantageous circumstances, he should
have been able to raise himself to become equal partner in one of the first
commercial houses in Boston.'
`Humph! He is not partner yet! There is many a slip between the
spoon and the mouth! I would n't trust him. Between you and I, I believe
he is a Mawworm — a finished and artful hypocrite!'
`You surprise me! Have you quarrelled with him?'
`I have never been intimate enough with him to quarrel with him,' answered
Ellery, contemptuously. `We have only a touch-hat acquaintance.'
`True, I know you are not intimate. But still I am not a little surprised
at your prejudice; but —'
Here the glass division was drawn up, by a pulley on the inside, and Mr.
Finney, instead of going on with his sentence, said, with an imposing air,
`Private business, you see. I should n't wonder if they were talking
about the firm!'
`There are the bills of lading, sir,' said the youth who had been filling
them out, laying them before Mr. Finney.
`Oh, ah! I will sign them. They will be a dollar each — three dollars
for three, Mr. Ellery.'
Ellery paid the amount, and said,
`Let them lay there till I go. I want to see your Mr. Daily, when he is
disengaged.'
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`See Daily! Why, you have had no difficulty with him?'
`Oh, no, no! I have only some little business with him. A letter for
him. I will wait till he comes out.'
`Are you expecting any one in? Your eye has been continually on the
outer door ever since you came up here.'
`No — oh, no! I expect no one. Was I looking that way particularly?'
he asked, a little confused.
`Yes; and I have been expecting somebody or another in every moment,
that you wanted to see.'
At this instant a gentleman appeared ascending the stairs. As soon as
Ellery caught sight of him through the panes of the glass-door, his eyes
lighted up with an expression of vindictive pleasure.
`There comes Mr. Morley, cashier of the — Bank,' said Finney. `He
'll have to wait till they are through inside there, before he can see Mr.
Weldon, hurried as he seems to be.'
`Is Mr. Weldon in?' asked this gentleman, as he came in, speaking in an
excited tone, and evidently very much disturbed.
`Yes, sir; but he is at this moment engaged in his private room,' answered
Finney, politely, and getting down from his stool. `Will you have
the goodness to be seated.'
`I must see him without delay; if you will be so kind as to speak to him.'
Ellery, from the moment Mr. Morley had made his appearance, had
taken up his bills of lading, and seemed to be closely engaged in looking
them over and comparing the duplicates, and paying no regard to his
entrance. Yet there was a flush upon the brow of this young man, and an
expression of the lip and eye, that betrayed the closest attention and deepest
interest in Mr. Morley's brief communication with the clerk.
`I will speak to him, sir,' answered Finney, approaching the door of the
inner room, and giving it a light rap with the handle of his steel pen. Mr.
Morley approached the door with an eager air, as if to enforce, by his own
appeal, his entrance, should Mr. Weldon reply that he was engaged. Ellery
glanced over the top of his bills of lading with a watchful observation, that
seemed to anticipate some interesting crisis.
We will precede the cashier into the private room of the merchant.
When Ellery came into the outer counting-room, James was writing at the
table of the inner, and the door between being open, he saw him, and overheard
him ask, in rather an elevated tone, for three bills of lading. At the
same moment Mr. Weldon, who had been glancing over the morning news,
rose and closed the door, and proceeded to examine some invoices. After
looking them over, he laid them by, and for a few moments sat with a
thoughtful air, resting his eyes upon James, who, busily writing, did not
notice that he was the object of his benefactor's regards. The expression
upon Mr. Weldon's face was one of the kindest interest in the person whom
he was looking upon; an expression such as an indulgent father might
bestow upon a son whom he loved and honored. At length James raised his
eyes, under the impulse of that singular instinct which warns us that we
have eyes closely regarding our faces, and meeting the full, friendly gaze of
Mr. Weldon, he slightly smiled, and resumed his writing.
`James,' said Mr. Weldon, in a grave, but kind way.
`Sir,' answered the young man, laying down his pen, and looking him ingenuously
in the face.
`I have at length concluded that it is best you should be taken into copartnership
with me. Have you any objections?'
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`Sir, you are too good,' answered James, coloring deeply with grateful
emotion.
`Not at all — not at all. You have merited this.'
`What merit I have, sir, I owe to your benevolence and friendship. But
for you and your family, sir,' — here he dropped his eyes, with a slight degree
of embarrassment — `I should have been cast upon the world unfriended.
If I possess any qualifications that fit me for this position you are pleased to
proffer me, you, sir, are their source.'
`No, no; I know where true merit has its source — in integrity of character
and uprightness of heart. These qualities you have ever possessed,'
said Mr. Weldon, rising from his chair, and raising the glass division between
the counting-rooms. `It is now seven years, the first day of next month,
since you came into my counting-room, James. From that hour to this, you
have served me faithfully; you have devoted yourself to my interests; you
have been mainly instrumental in my increasing prosperity; your judgment
has strengthened my own, and from your experience I have often reaped the
fruits. You have so long sown for me, it is now time you should reap! If
you consent, I will take you in as an equal partner from the first day of
next month, now ten days off. In the meanwhile, I will have the necessary
papers drawn up, and the advertisements announcing it sent to the several
city papers. The style of the firm shall be Weldon and Daily.'
`Sir, I know not how to thank you,' said James, his voice trembling with
grateful emotion. `If I can serve you better as one of the firm, I am at
your disposal!'
`Then it is settled,' said the merchant, taking his hand and shaking it, his
face radiant with smiles. `In securing you as a partner, I shall have the
envy of every merchant on the wharf. I am the one obliged, and not you;
so do n't look so very grateful! There is another who will be happier than
either of us, if I have any skill at “guessing,”' he said, with a peculiar
smile, which James could not fail to understand, and to interpret most
favorably for the success of a still more interesting negotiation of partnership—
a partnership wherein one name does not become two, but two names
one!'
At this crisis, and before James could make any reply, or recover from
his happy confusion, Finney's tap was heard at the door.
`I am particularly engaged just now,' answered Mr. Weldon.
`It is Mr. Morley, the cashier, sir; and he wishes to see you on very
urgent business.'
`Then admit him. We will talk further of our new firm by-and-bye,
James.'
CHAPTER XVII. THE CASHIER.
Mr. Morley, the cashier, entered the inner room, and Finney, who had
opened it to admit him, closed the door.
`Mr. Weldon I have a few words to say to you in private,' said Mr.
Morley, looking fully at James, whose face still glowed with the pleasurable
confusion Mr. Weldon's words and produced.
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`If it is only on business, Mr. Morley,' said the merchant, who looked
surprise at the cashier's excited manner, `Mr. Daily need not retire. It is
my intention to take him into the firm in a few days?'
`Take him into the firm! Take Mr. Daily into the firm!' repeated the
cashier, as if appalled. And then laying his hand impressively upon the
merchant's arm, he said, in a low, energetic tone,
`It is of the utmost importance that you give me a strictly private interview?
'
Mr. Weldon looked surprised, and James was startled at the strange astonishment
Mr. Morley evinced on learning he was about to be taken into
the firm. He knew the cashier well, and from him, first of all, expected the
warmest congratulations on his advancement. This very opposite conduct
confounded him.
`You may retire, James,' said Mr. Weldon, mildly.
James rose and left the counting-room. As he closed the door Mr. Morley
remarked,
`There is no danger of his escaping, for I brought an officer with me! He
is below at the foot of the stairs!'
`An officer below! Escaping! Are you speaking of custom-house officers
or police officers, Mr. Morley?'
`Of police, to be sure! Who would have suspected such a thing? And
you about to take him into the firm, and, if report says true, marry your
daughter to him!'
`Mr. Morley, your words and strange conduct require explanation. What
has occurred?'
`I will tell you, sir. But is it possible you have no suspicion of the
truth?'
`Of what truth?'
`He has been artful indeed! And so perfectly in your confidence!'
`Who has been artful? To whom do you allude, Mr. Morley?'
`The gentleman who just left us,' answered the cashier, significantly.
`But he is the last person I should have suspected. I always looked upon
him as one of the most promising young men in the city! But you are impatient!
Pardon me! The discovery I have just made has surprised and
confused me!'
`It would appear that something has confused you, sir,' said Mr. Weldon,
almost angrily. `Are these hints and allusions made in reference to my
head clerk, Mr. Daily?'
`Yes sir! He has, without question, been carrying on a deep game!
How long it is since he —'
`Sir, you are mistaken in ascribing to James Daily any thing unworthy
the purest character of man! What have you heard? Be assured that
if any thing has occurred implicating him by suspicion, that he is innocent!'
`I trust it will prove so, my dear Mr. Weldon; but the evidences are so
strong and conclusive!'
`Let me hear what you have to bring forward,' said Mr. Weldon, calmly;
but his cheek paled with sympathy for his young friend, that even the shadow
of an evil act should for an instant pass across the bright mirror of his good
name. `Let me hear what has brought you to see me, and disturbed you so
singularly. I am ready to listen!'
`If I had only my word to sustain my charge, I should hesitate to bring
it forward in the face of your confidence in him, and of his established
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reputation for uprightness; but I have papers that will be to your mind, as well
as to mine, conclusive evidence of his guilt!'
Mr. Weldon sighed, and his heart sunk within him as he saw Mr. Morley
take from his pocket two or three papers, and prepare to open them.
`What is he supposed to be guilty of?'
`Forgery!' answered the cashier, with grave severity.
`Forgery!' exclaimed the merchant.
`I am not surprised at your emotion and astonishment, Mr. Weldon. If
you will give me your attention I will prove this to you.'
`Well, sir,' answered Mr. Weldon, scarcely able to speak in an audible
manner.
`You have been in the habit of depositing large amounts in our bank.'
`Yes.'
`Three weeks since, as our books show, you had deposited seventeen
thousand dollars.'
`Well, sir!'
`The next day you drew out twelve thousand!'
`I believe I did; Mr. Daily will satisfy you.'
`I fear not! You had then five thousand remaining. Four days after,
on the 18th, you drew for eight thousand.'
`No, sir. I have made but one other large draft on your bank, and that
was for the five thousand the day before yesterday; though I have deposited
sums and drawn checks on you for lesser amounts.'
`True. But on the sixteenth you drew for eight thousand. At least a
check was presented for that sum. You had on deposit but five thousand.
But I paid the check, at the same time notifying you that you had no funds.'
`To whom did you pay it?'
`To a lad who presented it — one of your clerks, I believe. At least he
said he was. But the check was regularly numbered, and the signature
genuine, as it seemed, and I should have paid it to a perfect stranger.'
`And you did pay it?'
`I did, sir!'
`And notified me. By whom?'
`The young man.'
`I have heard nothing of it. But go on.'
`The next day you deposited four thousand dollars. Two days after, on
the nineteenth, you deposited one thousand,' continued the cashier, reading
from a slip of paper on which he had made some minutes, `and on the
twenty-first you drew three thousand, leaving to your credit two thousand
dollars. The very next hour came your check for five thousand dollars
more! This surprised me. But I paid it, notifying you that you had overdrawn
three thousand.'
`Who presented the first check for two thousand?'
`Mr. Daily.'
`That is correct. I recollect it. Did he present the second one the hour
after?' asked Mr. Weldon, very earnestly.
`No. The same lad who had offered the one for eight thousand. After
the money had been paid I reflected that it was singular you should twice
in one week overdraw, knowing your correct mode of transacting business,
and it occurred to me that I would drop you a line, or call and see you, to
ascertain if it was all right. I felt, too, a responsibility in paying so much
over, if you were getting so loose in your banking business operations; and
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I had taken my hat to come and see you, when the lad returned, saying that
you were not aware that you had overdrawn, and deposited the three thousand
again in the bank. Of course, I thought no more of it.'
`This is a most extraordinary relation! These transactions of this lad's are
new to me! Look through this glass door into the outer room. All of my
clerks are visible, each at his post. Which of them was it?' And he drew
aside the curtain.
`Neither of those, though one who greatly resembles the lad with the
light hair!' answered the cashier, after taking a survey of the group.
`Was it he?'
`No. Yet that is the boy I took it to be. Yet it is not the same, for the
lad who presented the draft had a hair lip.'
`Of this you are sure?'
`Yes.'
`Then it was not Charles, thank God! That lad is my son! And you
have relieved my mind of a fearful suspicion!'
`He was the size, and had much the air and appearance, sufficiently so to
deceive me, who had not particularly noticed your son.
`It was none of the others, you are sure?'
`No.'
`Then it was none of my clerks. You have been deceived by some bold
act.'
`Of that there is no question. After the boy had paid back the overdrawn
sum I thought no more of the matter until yesterday.'
`And what yesterday?'
`You drew yesterday, did you not, for twenty-two hundred dollars?'
`Yes.'
`Mr. Daily presented the draft?'
`Yes.'
`Did you draw a second time?'
`No, sir!'
`Yet a second draft was presented for precisely the balance remaining to
your credit — eleven hundred dollars!'
`By whom?' asked Mr. Weldon, as calmly as he could put the inquiry.
`The same lad!'
`And you paid it!'
`Without question!'
`What more?'
`Four hours after, the boy returned and deposited one thousand dollars to
your credit!'
`To my credit?'
`Yes, precisely.'
`This is becoming more and more intricate!'
`I will soon furnish you the key — at least with some light. This morning,
soon after the bank opened, Mr. Finney, your book-keeper, deposited
eight hundred dollars.'
`That was correct. I sent him to the bank with it. It was left in the
counting-room by Captain Evans, who wished it to be sent there at once. I
gave him a receipt for it, and had it placed to my credit, by his wish.'
`So Mr. Finney said at the time. You had now in the bank just eighteen
hundred dollars, including the eight hundred deposited by Mr. Finney. One
thousand of it was your own, paid in again by the lad who had drawn out
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the eleven hundred. An hour ago came a check for twenty-five hundred
dollars!'
`I wrote no such check. An hour ago I sent Mr. Daily to the bank to
draw out one thousand of the eleven hundred I supposed I had there, for
the purpose of paying a balance on some shipments. The first check by the
lad, I know nothing about. The check which I drew Mr. Daily took to the
bank.'
`It was for how much?'
`One thousand dollars.'
`This Mr. Daily presented, and I paid.'
`What then is to come of it? This was as it should be.'
`Yes, sir, but not twenty minutes after, the same lad comes in with a note
from you, penned and signed by Mr. Daily, enclosing a check for twenty-five
hundred dollars, with the request I would pay it!'
`Is this credible?'
`Here is both the note and the check. I did not pay it, resolved first to
come and see you as soon as I could leave the bank, for I began to suspect,
I knew not what! I feared for your credit; its tone was so begging! It
was, too, so unlike you, or any man of business! Here is the note brought
by the lad, in which the check was enclosed!'
As the cashier spoke, he handed to Mr. Weldon a note to the following
purport:—
`No. — Central Wharf, 11 A. M.
`Dear Sir, — As you have been so obliging as to pay once or twice my
checks for large over-drafts at your counter, you will oblige me by paying
this at sight, though I am aware I have but a trifle set to my credit on the
bank books. To-morrow I will deposite the full amount. I should not presume
upon this liberty but for my knowledge of your former indulgence,
when I have carelessly overdrawn. Trusting the same confidence in me will
now prevent this from being returned “without funds,” I enclose it by my
usual bank clerk. An unexpected negotiation I have entered into since
drawing out the one thousand dollars, compels me to anticipate in this manner
the morrow's deposits.
Yours, very respectfully,
Warren Weldon,
By James Daily.'
`To Ed. Morley, Esq., — Bank.'
When Mr. Weldon had ended the perusal of this extraordinary note, he
raised his eyes and looked the cashier in the face with an expression difficult
to analyze. Surprise, anger, grief, amazement, were all blended in his
countenance.
`The check now!' he repeated hoarsely. `Let me see that.' His cheek
was ghastly, and his voice shook as he asked for it.
`There it is, sir,' said the cashier, in a low tone of sympathy.
Mr. Weldon fixed his eyes upon it steadily for at least a full minute. He
then caught by the edge of the table, and sunk into a chair. He covered
his face a moment or two, and groaned heavily.
`It is Mr. Daily's writing; is it not?' asked Mr. Morley.
`It is!' he scarcely articulated.
`The check is a forgery, is it not, sir?'
`Yes! There is no doubt — no doubt — of guilt — some — somewhere.
But James! Oh, no! I can never believe James guilty!' he gasped forth.
`Oh, God! this is — this is heavier than I can bear!'
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CHAPTER XVIII. THE DEVELOPMENT.
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Mr. Morley stood silently by, waiting until the merchant should recover
from the shock this painful development produced upon his feelings. He
knew that Mr. Weldon was deeply attached to his head clerk, and that he
placed the most unbounded confidence in his honor and integrity; and that
the blow he received, on making this discovery of his probable guilt, must be
in proportion to his interest in him.
It would be impossible to describe Mr. Weldon's emotions. The intricated
narrative of deposits and cheeks, dollars and drafts, had prepared him
for a development of criminality in some one; but not until the very last,
nothing had been revealed to implicate James. Mr. Weldon had listened
closely to his account, and in all James had been as yet clear. Some other
agent was the mover in this system of checks, of which the lad was the
offerer. James, so far as he saw, had nothing to do with it; and he was
about to ask Mr. Morley why he had at the outset connected James's name
with forgery, when, by his own confession, James had only offered the regular
checks of the house. But when the note was produced, which at once
linked James with all the foregoing mysterious checking and depositing, and
made him a party with the lad, the whole force of his probable guilt rushed
upon him. The hand-writing of the note was James's — the check which
the note held was a forged one! The note was even sealed with the counting-room
stamp!
This was evidence enough for a father to suspect his only son — the son
in whose honor he placed the most perfect confidence! It had its irresistible
effect upon Mr. Weldon's mind, reluctant as his heart was to suspect
him. But with the note in one hand, and the forged check held in the other,
it was impossible to close his eyes to the conviction, that his favorite was a
hypocrite of the most artful description. Grief, rather than anger, filled his
soul at this reflection. Yet his faith in him was too strong to be wholly
overthrown even by this evidence.
`This has a dark appearance, Mr. Morley,' he said, in a hollow voice; `it
looks very, very bad for poor James! But I must have stronger proof.
What know you more? You were about to speak. You must know something
further to charge him with forgery, as you did when you came in!
What led you to suspect him? You had this note, it is true; but what
proof had you that it was not written by my order? You have this check,
it is true. What proof had you that I did not draw it, and send it to the
bank?'
`I have proof, sir, which I will proceed to show you. After I had read
the note, and was wondering at its character, coming from you, for I did not
doubt but that the clerk was your own, and that the check was all right;
while I was revolving in my mind what to do, whether to cash it or not —
for to cash from courtesy, voluntarily, when a depositor overdraws, and to
cash, as a favor, by request, are two very different matters, as you can
easily perceive — while I was deliberating, the lad quietly disappeared; for
I suppose he discovered, by the hesitation in my looks, that it would not be
paid, at least without scrutiny. Having decided not to pay it till I saw you,
-- 078 --
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and get some sort of security — for, I must confess, your late mode of doing
your banking-business had awakened my watchfulness — I turned to tell the
lad I would call and see you, when I found he was gone. He had stolen
from the saloon, and taken himself off. This looked suspicious; and I then
began to scrutinize the note more closely, and then the check. The latter,
on comparison with others which I knew to be genuine, appeared good; and
the number was correct; the one Mr. Daily offered in person, a little while
before, being 414, and this, as you see, is 415.'
`But how, then, came you to suspect it to be a forgery?' asked Mr. Weldon,
with impatience.
`While I was wondering at the departure of the boy, and had made up
my mind to communicate with you, a ragged negro man came in, and inquired
for me. I approached the desk, and spoke to him. He handed me
a note, and left. Here is the note, which will explain itself, Mr. Weldon,'
added the cashier, handing to him the letter. The merchant read as follows:
`To Mr. Morley,
`Sir, — I feel it my duty to caution you against paying any checks offered
you, professing to be drawn by W. Weldon, merchant, on Central Wharf,
as in all likelihood such checks will prove to be forgeries, if offered to you
by Mr. Weldon's head clerk, or by a lad with light hair and blue eyes, whom
he has selected to present them, as resembling Mr. Weldon's son. My
motive in warning you proceeds from the dictates of a troubled conscience,
for I have been a guilty participator in the crime of deceiving you, with Mr.
Daily, the clerk alluded to; but I can no longer be so, and be happy. James
Daily began his operations by employing the lad you have so often seen, and
who will present you a forged check, this morning, for twenty-five hundred
dollars, which I hope you will not have paid ere this caution reaches you.
He began, I say, about three weeks ago, by engaging a shrewd youth to act
for him, and present the checks. The reason why, after overdrawing, he
paid back again the overplus, was to deceive the bank into security, and
blind you! This was done twice. In both cases it was the part of a subtle
plot, deeply laid by Daily, for reaping, by-and-bye, a rich harvest. Of the
last draft, for eleven hundred, which this upright clerk forged, and the lad
presented, only one thousand were re-deposited, as you will recollect, one
hundred being kept back by him. This was only the first picking of Daily's
harvest, which he promised to himself. He had now got you familiar with
his clerk's face, (the blue-eyed lad,) and had lulled your fears, by promptly
depositing when over-checking. It now remained for him to pursue the play
in his own way. All he would have to do, when he wanted funds for his
private purposes, to pay gambling debts, &c., was to draw a check on your
bank, send it by the youth, receive the money, and then so manage that Mr.
Weldon would be kept in ignorance of the diminution of his funds. This
was, and is his plan. And, as the first fruits of it, he has this morning
showed me a draft (forged) for twenty-five hundred dollars, every dollar of
which he intends to defraud the bank of; and as I know his next checks
will be much larger, and as I tremble for the consequences to myself and
brother, (for the lad he has beguiled is my brother,) I have thought it best
to inform the bank in season, hoping, that should any steps be taken against
James Daily, and he should implicate my brother, that he, as well as I, may
be passed over, by reason of his youth, and my present voluntary information
given to the bank.
`Eveline Dernel.'
-- 079 --
[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]
`Now, sir, you have in your hand the proofs on which I so boldly charged
James Daily with forgery,' said Mr. Morley, fixing his eyes upon the
merchant.
Mr. Weldon made no answer. He stood still looking upon the last sentence
of the letter, with a face pale but thoughtful. All along in reading, he seemed
to be passing judgment, as he progressed, upon the statement. At length he
lifted his eyes to those of the cashier, and said calmly,
`This letter proves too much. It is impossible for me to believe all that
is here charged against Mr. Daily; therefore I can believe nothing.'
`Do not believe it, sir! Is it possible that your predilections for this
young man can lead you to throw aside such testimony of his guilt?'
`It is incredible, sir. It would render him the most finished villain in
the land!'
`And so I fear he is, sir.'
`I cannot, cannot believe that this is true,' said the merchant, with strong
emotion visible in his countenance. `The letter is written by some enemy.'
`If he has a woman who is his enemy, this fact is enough to show he
has not kept the pure society he should have done. Besides, Mr. Weldon,
who should know all these occurrences which took place, unless it was one
intimately associated with him? How should she know he was about to
offer me a check for twenty-five hundred dollars?'
`It is true. This is a most unaccountable affair!'
`The letter bears the impress of truth in every line. You see she hopes
that I shall get her note in time to prevent paying the money for the check.
This is honest, if anything is a proof of honesty; for if the check had been
paid, doubtless she would have been the sharer of the spoils, as she hints;
for, in all probability, she is or has been his mistress!'
`Impossible. Such finished depravity I cannot comprehend!'
`You see how natural her solicitude for her brother! This is natural.
She informs the bank, that she may save him from the ignominy and ruin
which she foresaw would sooner or later overtake Daily and those associated
with him! You see the female hand — the feminine tone! If it is
written by an enemy, having such a female an enemy shows what his private
habits have been.'
`I will say no more. Let him answer for himself. Shall I call him in?
Or shall I at once call the officer, and surrender him to the laws?'
Mr. Weldon spoke in a voice sorrowful and stern. The lines of his face
were rigid. The expression of his eye severe, yet full of pity.
`I knew your regard for this unhappy young man. I was aware of his
intimacy in your domestic circle, Mr. Weldon. I therefore resolved to keep
the matter in my own breast until I should see you upon the subject.'
`Sir, you were infinitely kind to think of my feelings.'
`I therefore took the check, note, and letter, put them in my pocket,
called on Clapp, the police captain, got him to follow me, and describing
Daily's appearance, bade him stop him if he should see him pass out; for I
did not know but that, on seeing me here, he would suspect my business,
and try to effect his escape.'
`But he did not?'
`No. He sat very coolly, as if trying to face it out; though I observed
he colored deeply as I came in.'
`That was owing to a remark of my own, which I made to him just as you
happened to come in: for I saw the blush overspread his face.'
-- 080 --
[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]
`You are still disposed to hope he is innocent.'
`I do hope he is innocent, sir. But let him speak for himself.'
`As I was about to say, Mr. Weldon, I have kept the matter secret so
far; and if you desire it, so long as the bank has lost nothing — at least but
one hundred dollars — I am willing that he should be examined privately.'
`You are very thoughtful and very kind, sir. I should prefer this course
for many reasons. He may prove innocent.'
The cashier drew the corners of his eye-brows down, and then arched
them, slightly twisted his mouth awry, and smiled incredulously.
`I have not such faith. Adam was a better man than James Daily, and
yet he fell! None of us are infallible till we are nailed fairly up in our
coffins.
Mr. Weldon could not do otherwise than smile at these queer allusions;
but it was but a transient emotion. His features instantly resumed a sterner
gravity.
`If you please, Mr. Morley, I will examine James alone, at my house. I
do not feel able to do it now. `There, sir,' he added, taking a one hundred
dollar note from his pocket-book, and laying it before the banker, `there is
the amount unreplaced which was checked for. As the forged name was
my own, and the bank is, happily, no loser, if you will allow the affair to be
in my hands, you will do me a favor, sir.'
`Certainly, most certainly, sir,' answered Mr. Morley, delicately folding
up the bank-note.
`Be assured I shall investigate the painful business as closely as you could
wish. If the accused is guilty, I shall not fail to surrender him to the law;
for if he is as guilty as these papers would make him, he deserves hanging!
I will retain the two written notes, and the check, if you please.'
`They are yours, Mr. Weldon.'
`You will oblige me by keeping this unhappy affair secret for the present.'
`I have no wish to speak of it. You are aware I should not be sustained
in my full payments of over-drawn checks by the directors, if the affair
should come out. I would rather it should be kept as quiet as possible.
Besides, even if he is guilty, he is a young man, and may yet be saved.'
`If he is guilty,' answered Mr. Weldon, with severe emphasis, `it would
be an imposition upon society to let him loose upon it; if he is guilty, I
shall prosecute him for forgery, sir, were he my own son!'
Mr. Morley looked in the firm countenance of the merchant with a stare
of surprise at the impressive decision in his tones, and then bade him `good
morning,' took up his hat, and bowed himself out.
James, on seeing the cashier pass out, and go down stairs, rose from a
desk where he had seated himself in the outer counting-room, to complete the
writing he was engaged upon, and returned to the inner room. He had not
seen Carlton Ellery, who had departed, forgetting his bills of lading, as soon
as he saw that the cashier was admitted into Mr. Weldon's private room.
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CHAPTER XIX. THE TRIAL AND THE JUDGMENT.
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James saw as soon as he entered that the countenance of Mr. Weldon was
changed, and wore a look he had never seen upon it. He feared at once
that some heavy loss had befallen him, the intelligence of which Mr. Morley
had just conveyed to him; and he wished to ask; but there was a sternness
in his benefactor's manner that restrained the impulse. Grieved that any
thing should have happened to produce such an air of unhappiness in him,
James resumed his seat at the table, expecting each moment when Mr. Weldon
would make known to him what it was that had disturbed him.
The merchant continued walking up and down the little room, his hands
crossed behind him, his brow depressed and stern, and his whole manner indicative
of painful thought. He had not raised his eyes to look at James,
but, as if unconscious that he had entered, he continued for at least three
minutes pacing the apartment by the side of the table. In one of his hands
he held firmly grasped the papers which the cashier had left with him.
He had seen James enter, and had observed his looks of sympathy and
surprise. But he knew not yet how to speak. The proofs of his guilt
seemed conclusive; yet to credit such depravity of one he had so long
known; one so dear to him; one he had placed such confidence in as to
trust for three years past all his financial concerns in his hands; one whom
he was ready to take as a partner into his house; nay, whom he was willing
should, by-and-bye, become the husband of his beloved daughter.
He thought over all the past, and each incident that memory brought up
only served to confirm him in his integrity and honor. He cast his eyes
upon him now as he sat by the table, and asked himself if that calm, serene
countenance was the mask to a depraved heart.
`No, it is impossible!' he exclaimed, almost audibly; `it is impossible, if
he were guilty, and knowing Mr. Morley has been so long closeted with me,
that he could wear so calm an aspect; the only emotion I can discover in
his face seems to be surprise and pain, as if in sympathy with me in some
grief, the source of which he is ignorant of. Yet these papers! This
forged cheek! The whole history of the drafts and deposits! This lad!
This female! If he be guilty, he has the most innocent look that even Satan
wears when he assumes the shape of an angel of light.
`James,' he said, seating himself by the table, and looking him firmly in
the face.
`Sir!' answered James, raising his head from his writing, and fixing upon
him his clear open eyes with attention.
This look almost convinced Mr. Weldon of his innocence. It seemed as
frank and unsuspecting as a child's. But the evidences in his hand forced
their strong proofs upon him, and he continued in the same grave tone:
`Have you any enemies?'
`None in particular that I am aware of, sir?' he answered, with a
tone of surprise; but his thoughts in running over those whom he had ever
known, rested for an instant on Carleton Ellery, and then on Jack Brigs, as
the only enemies he had. `There is the burglar, sir, whom I tried to arrest,
three weeks ago, under the Franklin arch. Jack Brigs! He has always
been an enemy to me.'
-- 082 --
[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]
`And no other besides do you think of!'
He hesitated about naming Ellery, for he knew that his hositility to him
proceeded from a spirit of rivalry; for James was by no means ignorant
that this young gentleman had addressed Grace, and he well knew that the
haughty frowns he received from him whenever they met in the street, had
their origin in the mortification of a defeat.
`You hesitate,' said Mr. Weldon, serenely, and with a look of suspicion.
`I hesitated from hardly knowing how to reply. Mr. Carlton Ellery, I
have reason to believe, is far from friendly to me.'
`Yes, yes, I can understand. I see that it is likely. But it cannot be
he,' he said to himself. `Have you no enemy of the other sex?'
`Not that I am aware of, sir,' answered James, with very manifest surprise.
Mr. Weldon remained silent. James's answers seemed to be so rational—
so unstudied; and his manner evinced nothing like fear or guilt, but rather
surprise and curiosity to know to what this questioning tended.
`You were at the bank this morning?' said the merchant, fixing his eyes
steadily upon his face.
`Yes, sir.'
`You drew from the bank one thousand dollars?'
`Yes, sir.'
`Yes, for you placed it in my hands when you returned, and I went out
and paid it away. Did you check for any more?'
`For any more?'
`Yes, have you checked for any more?'
`No, sir! I received only that check from you. I was not aware you
wished to draw for more. You did not give another check, sir.'
`No, I did not. But I will give it to you now.'
And Mr. Weldon placed the forged check for twenty-five hundred dollars
that had been sent in the note to the cashier.
`Do you wish me to go to the bank with this, sir?' asked James, looking
it over and preparing to rise from his chair. `But you are aware, sir, that
we have but one hundred dollars on deposit of our own.'
Mr. Weldon fixed his gaze upon the young man long and searchingly.
James answered his penetrating glance by such a look of through surprise
and inquiry, that Mr. Weldon became almost convinced of his entire innocence,
strong as the evidences were against him. `But then,' thought he,
`if he has succeeded so thoroughly in dissembling and deceiving me, he
may do it now. If he has hid all his depravity under an exterior of integrity,
why may he not clothe his features in the apparel of innocence,
when he finds he is suspected? I will restrain my impulse to recognize
him as innocent until I examine him further.
`I know we have no deposits to meet this check,' he answered, quietly, but
severely; his eyes resting upon the young man's countenance so searchingly
that James dropped his own, changed color, and seemed embarrassed as
well as surprised. `But you know that that makes no very material difference.
Mr. Morley is very indulgent, you are aware, and will cash it without
question. He has done so before, you know.'
`I was not aware you had over-checked at the bank,' answered James,
looking at his benefactor with astonishment, and as if revolving in his
thoughts the conjecture whether he was wholly in his right mind.
`Three thousand at one time and a large sum checked for at another,'
-- 083 --
[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]
pursued Mr. Weldon, with precisely the manner of one who believed him
guilty; and he could hardly divest himself of this impression at moments.
`Mr. Morley is very indulgent. Nice business operations, this over-checking
and re-depositing! Very!
`Sir!' ejaculated the poor young man, utterly confounded.
`Do you approve of a merchant's sending to the bank for twenty-five
hundred dollars when his bank book should tell him he has but one hundred
placed to his credit?'
`No, sir!'
`Yet it may be done.'
`Yes, sir, on an emergency. A cashier who knows the checker to be
safe would not hesitate to cash for the amount drawn, if it was not large,
though he would not fail to notify.'
`But twenty-four hundred dollars is a large sum to over-check for.'
`It is, sir. Yet I will take this check to the bank and present it if you
desire it.'
`Am I in the habit of doing business in this way?'
`No, sir. Hence my surprise.'
`Would you think me sane to do business so loosely?'
James hesitated how to reply. Mr. Weldon's air, looks, tones, and words
had been so unusual, so searching, so mysterious, so significant of some
hidden motive, that he questioned if he had really a sane mind then. There
was, too, an appearance of suspicion in his manner that he keenly felt. Seeing
his response was expected, he answered,
`I should think it a very extraordinary departure, sir, from your ordinary
way of doing business.'
`Do you think Mr. Morley would cash that check?'
`It is doubtful, sir.'
`Suppose you address him a note in my name, making it a particular request
that he should do so,' said the merchant, concentrating his eyes upon
his face.
`Would it not be better, sir, if you desire this amount, to draw a note and
have it discounted. Perhaps, however, you have arranged with the cashier,
who has just been with you, for cashing the check.'
`Oh, no. You had already anticipated me.'
`I, sir.'
`Yes.'
`In what way? Indeed, Mr. Weldon, there is something in this conversation,
and in your manner that gives me exceeding pain and uneasiness,'
he said, earnestly, and with strong emotion, as if he could no longer restrain
his feelings. `Will you explain to me what is upon your thoughts
concerning me or others.'
`Suppose you write a note to Mr. Morley,' answered the merchant, shuting
up his heart and giving himself to the stern duty to which he had nerved
his mind; for he resolved there should not be left one doubt in his own
mind whether of his guilt or of his innocence. He determined that the one
or the other should declare itself.
`If you request it, sir.'
`Look at the check. Do you see any thing peculiar or familiar about it.'
`I discover nothing, sir.'
`No—it is very perfect—very well executed,' answered the merchant,
sternly; for the accuracy with which the signature was executed, the
-- 084 --
[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]
correctness of the filling up, the little clip, scarcely visible, which was taken
out of the edge—a private mark adopted by Mr. Weldon; and even its
number, so correctly succeeding the true check for one thousand dollars paid
only a quarter of an hour before, all these circumstances forced themselves
npon his mind as James was examining it, and strengthened suspicion almost
to confirmation that James and no other one was the guilty person.
`But this note already written to Mr. Morley will do. You need not
trouble yourself to write another.'
`Mr. Weldon,' said James, rising, `it is really necessary that I should be
informed what it is that has produced this extraordinary change in your
manner towards me. I seem to be subjected to a sort of inquisitorial judgment
without being informed of my offence; for that you are displeased with
me—for that you have a suspicion of me—I cannot fail to perceive, as I
do with regret and anguish. I do not understand you. I am at a loss to
comprehend how I have merited your displeasure, or forfeited your free confidence.
If you have any thing against me, charge me with it. If I have
in my bank operations for you, committed an error, I am ready to repair it,
if you will point it out to me. Something has estranged your heart from
me, and laid me under suspicion. Will you, sir, throw aside this mystery
that envelopes whatever is touching me and I shall be most grateful to you.'
Mr. Weldon listened with emotion. His eyes filled with tears, and he
compressed his mouth and turned away to conceal his feelings. He was
thoroughly impressed with his innocence. But he restrained the impulse
to open to him frankly the whole matter and assure him of his entire belief
in his innocence.
`James, I am pained and deeply grieved at the duty I have taken upon
myself. You are charged with a crime.'
`A crime! I charged with a crime? What? Who?'
`Nay, I do begin to think you must be innocent. But the evidences are
strong against you. Read that letter to Mr. Morley. Is it not your hand-writing?
' he added, placing his finger upon the address.
`It is very much like mine, sir,' answered James, taking the letter in his
trembling fingers; for the sudden charge of guilt had nearly overpowered
him. `Yet, sir, it is not mine. I never wrote to Mr. Morley.'
`Open it and read it!'
Mr. Weldon watched his face closely for some evidence of guilt. The
expression of James's face was that of surprise, horror, indignation. He
ended it—glanced again at the date, then at the signature and the seal—
and looking up met Mr. Weldon's eyes full upon his own.
`The letter enclosed that cheek upon the table for twenty-five hundred
dollars. The check, I need not say, is forged.'
James took it up and looked bewildered from one to the other. At length
with a face as colorless as marble, he said, in a tone singularly calm, his eye
fearlessly yet tearfully encountering the searching gaze of his benefactor,
`Some enemy hath done this.'
`James—James—I believe it—I know it. I am convinced of your innocence.
I have judged you, and you stand acquitted before me. You are
the victim of a conspiracy.'
As he spoke he rushed forward and throwing himself upon James's
shoulder he wept like a child.
-- 085 --
CHAPTER XX. THE SUSPICION.
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`Now my dear James,' said Mr. Weldon, after he had in some degree
recovered his composure; `Now let us investigate this extraordinary affair
together. Pardon me, that I have suspected you! but my heart told me
you could not be guilty. But —'
`Sir, do not take the trouble to explain your motives in proceeding with
me as you have done. It was the only way to satisfy your own mind, and
to give me an opportunity of manifesting my innocence or my guilt. This
note is to me a most extraordinary thing. If Mr. Morley placed it in your
hands with this forged check, you had every reason to suspect me, sir! I
am grateful that, without denial on my part, you have voluntarily acknowledged
yourself convinced that I did not utter this check, strong as the circumstances
seem! I have indeed an enemy, sir! a cruel and evil enemy,
who seeks my downfall!'
`There is no question of it. Now let us together examine thoroughly into
this matter. But first, here is another letter, which I have not shown
you. It was written to Mr. Morley. Do you recognize the address?'
`No, sir. It is a female's writing.'
`Read it. I would not show it to you, for I know its contents will grieve
and confound you, but it may lead to the detection of the writer. Read it
with calmness, now, my dear friend, for know that I am with you, and that
we will yet defeat your enemies!'
It would be difficult to describe James's astonishment as he went on reading
the letter signed `Eveline Dernel.' His cheek flushed and his eyes
kindled with honest indignation. It was several moments before he could
articulate brokenly,
`With this also in your hands, sir, I am surprised at your forbearance
with me! Your friendship and confidence, sir, have been severely tried. I
can never be too grateful to you for examining me in private first! If I
had been delivered to the police, as it was natural I should have been, I feel
I could never have proved my innocence; for I cannot prove who is the
guilty person. I have no clew! Did Mr. Morley receive this letter this
morning?'
`Yes, James; not long after the lad had left the bank; for the boy, finding
he hesitated about paying the draft, secretly departed; and in a few
minutes a black man came in and handed to Mr. Morley that letter.'
`It is very extraordinary! What must Mr. Morley think?'
`Mr. Morley will keep the matter locked in his own bosom until I see
him, and report to him the result of my interview with you. Have you no
suspicion who the boy is?'
`None in the least, sir! The whole matter is a mystery to me!'
`And you know no such person as she who signs herself Eveline Dernel?'
`No, sir. I am lost in amazement. It seems to me that I dream! I
imagine I must wake up each instant and realize that it is all a dreadful
dream!'
`I pity you, and sincerely sympathize with you, James. I will take up
this affair for you as if I were the victim myself; for you are, without
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question, the victim of some foul conspiracy against your name and character. I
will now tell you all I know touching the operations in the bank, and concerning
the lad who was the agent of these frauds.'
Mr. Weldon then went fully into a detail of all the facts that had been
stated to him by Mr. Morley, up to the time he received the note signed
`Dernel.' When he had ended his narrative James sat silently revolving in
his mind all persons of his knowledge who would be likely to seek his ruin.
He tried to imagine who the female was, but was wholly at fault. He then
tried to fasten upon the lad, in his mind, but with no better success. The
negro, who was a participator, he could not identify, for he knew none of
the race in the city.
`Can you fasten upon any body?'
`No sir. The woman, the lad, the negro, are characters I am wholly at
a loss about. There is only one man who would do me an injury, and that
is Jack Brigs.'
`The burglar?'
`Yes, sir; but he is an uneducated person, and it is impossible he should
have forged this check, or so successfully have imitated my hand-writing!'
`It is not an ignorant man, like this fellow, you have for an enemy here,
James. Your foe is an educated and accomplished person, or he could not
have written either the note or draft, as you observe; but more than this,
he is a man of business; he is acquainted with banking affairs; he knows
my own banking concerns, and is familiar, wonderfully so, with all our banking
operations. It is evident that the principal is neither the negro, the lad,
nor the female. They are, as she confesses, but tools. The true man remains
behind the curtain, and puts them forward. You, she said, was this
person; but I am satisfied it is another, and she who wrote this false letter
is as bad as he!'
`This letter I am satisfied, sir,' said James, after having for a few moments
been carefully reading it over; `this letter, I am more and more convinced,
was not written by a female!'
`That idea never struck me. What leads you to suspect this? It seems
to me quite likely that it may be as you say!'
`The business terms she uses, no female would employ. The letter could
have been written only by a person acquainted with business, far beyond
what a woman would be supposed to know. Her language about “checking,”
“over-checking,” “depositing,” and the general mercantile air of the
whole, leads me to suspect that the person who forged the check and also
my handwriting, forged this female signature!'
Mr. Weldon took the letter and carefully perused it. When he had ended
it, he said, with emphasis,
`You are right, you must be right in your conjectures, James. This note
was written by a man, and one familiar with the mode of doing business
among merchants. In a word, I think it was written by a merchant!'
`By a merchant?' repeated James, with surprise.
`Yes. There are merchants who are destitute of principle as well as
other men. Who have you offended?'
`No one, sir.'
`Nor merchant's clerk?'
`No — nay — I had forgotten — but it is impossible to think of him!'
`We have got to think of somebody, and when we discover the somebody,
we shall no doubt be both confounded. We must, therefore, not think it an
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impossible thing to think of any person on whom our thoughts happen to
light. Who is on your mind, James? It is necessary we should probe this
matter to the quick. Nothing must be kept behind; for the least thing may
serve to throw light upon the path.'
`I was thinking of Carlton Ellery, sir; but I hesitated to speak out my
thoughts, lest, for one reason, it might seem to appear that I suspected him
because I had been his rival.'
`Have you reason to think young Ellery is your enemy?'
`His looks are not very friendly when we meet and pass in the street;
but he has never spoken to me in any hostile manner.'
`Yet you believe him your enemy?'
`To tell you the truth, sir, I have had an instinctive suspicion that he
would do me an evil turn if it was in his power. This has been my feeling.
It is only a feeling; for as I have said, we have never quarrelled.'
Mr. Weldon remained a few moments in an attitude of profound thought.
James sat with his eyes fixed upon the face of his benefactor with solicitous
anticipation of the result of his reflections. His face was calm, but pale;
his manner dignified, yet depressed. He felt severely, as became a sensitive
and honorable mind, the painful position in which he had been so suddenly
and mysteriously placed; and although he was convinced, that in the
mind of Mr. Weldon there remained not the least suspicion against himself,
yet he desired most earnestly to be able to convince him, by proof, of his
innocence. He could not rest satisfied with the generous acquittal of his
benefactor's heart and head, but he wished to prove clearly to him that he
had not acquitted without grounds. The fear lest his enemies should keep
themselves so concealed that he should be unable to afford this proof, caused
him the deepest anguish of spirit. But trusting in his innocence, and the
overruling justice of Providence, he tried to hope against despair.
`What do you know, James, of Ellery's character? Has he not the reputation
of being wild?'
`As all will depend on an open scrutiny of the characters that are suggested
to us, I will not hesitate to say freely what I know of him. He has
the reputation of being dissipated. He attends the theatres frequently. He
gives suppers, and plays heavily, I am told. But this I have only heard of
him recently. He is a young man whose morals are not the most pure!'
`That is my vague suspicion of the young man. Do you know any thing
against his principles? Have you ever heard any act spoken of, of his, unworthy
a gentleman?'
`No, sir; I have only heard his general habits commented upon in the
counting-room; by Mr. Finney as freely as any one; and he knows him, I
believe, somewhat intimately.'
Mr. Weldon rose from his chair, placed his hands crossed behind him, and
with his head dropped upon his breast, slowly walked the room. James saw
that he was deeply revolving the perplexing matter in his mind. He also
gave up his thoughts to the train of ideas which Ellery's name had suggested,
and suspicions of him forced themselves slowly but most impressively
upon him. Suddenly Mr. Weldon stood still before him.
`James,' he said, in a low but firm tone, `I suspect this young man! You
have no other enemies capable by education and circumstances of perpetrating
this enormous and singularly skilful fraud but him. He is in a mercantile
house, too, and hence the knowledge of mercantile affairs manifested in
the note as well as in the transactions throughout. He is often in the habit
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of coming here! He has, therefore, opportunities of getting specimens of
your writing, and of getting a knowledge of our banking affairs. You say that
Mr. Finney is intimate with him. Through Mr. Finney, by subtle questioning,
he may have learned much, for I do not suspect Mr. Finney at all!'
`Nor do I, sir,' answered James, warmly. `But every word you say
strengthens my belief that the enemy who seeks my ruin is Mr. Ellery!'
`There is no question of it. It is some one who has had access to our
blank check file, and has examined the checks I have drawn, perhaps purloined
the blanks here, and taken away one of the paid checks from the
bank; for I have seen him once or twice in the Director's room with his
uncle, Colonel Duane, who is a Director, and whose fortune he will inherit,
that is, if he be innocent here! He may have obtained one of my dead
checks within the bank, to serve him as a copy. If it be Ellery, he has
been placed under favorable circumstances for accomplishing his nefarious
ends; and has shown no little industry, skill, and perseverance.'
`We had one hundred blank checks placed on the wire for use; there are
five missing from the file over the number that has been filled out! These
my enemy, whoever he be, has probably taken away!'
`Mr. Finney!' called the merchant, in an elevated tone.
`Sir,' answered the book-keeper, opening the door, and partly thrusting in
his head, ornamented with a pen stuck over the right ear.
`Come in and shut the door, if you please.'
Mr. Finney did as he was directed to do, and stared at the grave faces of
the two gentlemen.
`Mr. Finney, do persons who visit the counting-room in my absence or
that of Mr. Daily, ever enter here?'
`Oh, no, sir! No one ever comes here unless you are in! I tell every
body that it is your sanctum, and no one goes in without very special business!
Oh, no, sir!'
`None of your friends?'
`Not one, sir.'
`I did n't know but that perhaps, Mr. Ellery or —'
`Never, sir! Ellery is the last man I would let in here, he is so prying
and curious!'
`He is?'
`Yes, sir. He puts twenty questions in five minutes, and seems half the
time to have nothing to do but to talk chit-chat in counting-rooms! But
that's owin' to his bein' an heir, and it makes him quite indifferent about
business!'
`Then he has not been in here?'
`Of that I am most positive, sir! for I remember two or three weeks ago
he was in, and was passing through into the sanctum in a lounging way, but
I shut the door, and he turned away.'
`Did he make any remark?'
`He laughed, sir, and said he wasn't going to steal your bank-book, sir.
An odd idea, very!' solemnly observed the methodical and starched Finney.
`He laughed and said then he would peep in, and so, as the cross sash was
down, he leaned over and looked in here, admiring the neat appearance of
every thing, for he said it was the handsomest private counting-room in the
city!'
`In that way he could have reached in and abstracted the blank checks
from the file,' said James, in an under tone.
`Yes. I am satisfied I now know the man! Mr. Finney you may retire.'
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CHAPTER XXI. THE RUSE.
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That Carlton Ellery was the secret enemy who had devised and executed
the scheme to ruin James, which had so nearly proved successful, neither
Mr. Weldon nor himself had now any doubt. They, therefore, resolved to
take such steps as should fasten upon him the guilt.
`It is necessary to proceed with the greatest caution,' said Mr. Weldon,
after Finney had closed the door between the two counting-rooms. `From
the skill with which this wicked affair has been managed by Ellery, it will
prove a difficult task to bring home the crime upon him. To succeed, we
must be as skilful, cautious, and secret as he has been.'
`I see the difficulties in the way, as we have no positive evidence,' answered
James. `I am at a loss how to proceed, unless I wait upon him, and
openly charge him with the crime.'
`This would bring only denial, and perhaps make it impossible for you to
convict him afterwards. We must act with subtlety. Perhaps,' continued
Mr. Weldon, looking fixedly at James, and speaking with slight hesitation,
`perhaps it would be policy for me to act as if I believed you to be guilty!
Nay, do not start so, with surprise and doubt on your countenance. My proposition
is, that you, for a day or two, remain away from the counting-room,
as if I had discharged you. This will draw Ellery's notice, for he will be
now on the watch for the fruits of my knowledge of the forgeries. It is not
improbable that he may place himself in the way, as we go to dinner, to
watch our faces, to see if he can judge of what has passed by them. If we
should be seen walking together, and conversing as heretofore, he would at
once see that you had succeeded in clearing yourself; and this would either
lead him to try some other means to ruin you, or else, fearing suspicion
might fall upon the true man, remove himself beyond the reach of the punishment
due to his crimes. You see I speak very positively as to his guilt,
of which, the more I reflect upon his character and conduct, I have not the
least doubt. What think you, James, of bearing the imputation of my displeasure
for a few days, until something can be discovered?'
`I approve of your suggestion, sir. It will no doubt lead Ellery, or whoever
be my enemy, to believe that I have been privately dismissed by you,
you declining to prosecute.'
`This is what I wish him to believe.'
`But, sir, may he not bruit abroad the fact, and may it not be generally
believed, that I have forged, and have been degraded by you?'
`No, he will not dare speak of it, for he will only betray thereby a knowledge
of the facts, which would at once condemn him as guilty. If I should
hear that Ellery had told any one that you had been dismissed from my employ
because you had forged drafts on the bank, I would not hesitate to have
him arrested on the instant, as the very forger himself! The facts, you
know, James, are only known to ourselves, to Mr. Morley, the cashier, and
to the real culprit. Now, if it is rumored by any one that you have forged,
it must be by this unknown fourth party, who, without question, is Ellery.'
`I see, sir. But Mr. Morley — may he not —'
`Mr. Morley will, for his own credit's sake, keep silent. In paying drafts
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so largely overdrawn, he has done what the board would not justify; and, if
known, would subject him to censure, if not to dismissal.'
`I am ready to acquiesce in your suggestion, sir,' answered James, after a
moment's grave reflection. `It seems a judicious, and perhaps the only
course. But if Ellery intends to accomplish my ruin, he will not keep silent
when he finds I have left you. He will, by some means, give publicity to
my apparent guilt, and then, in the estimation of the world, I am really
guilty! My reputation will then be indeed gone!'
`I repeat, James, that he will not dare speak of it! I do not think he
cares to destroy you, only so far as you may be prevented from being longer
his rival in Grace's affections. I speak plainly, you see. His object is to
ruin you in my estimation alone. He only wishes to defeat your object in
the attainment of the hand of my daughter. Beyond this, I do not think he
has aimed. This accomplished, his purposes will be satisfied. Therefore,
when he sees that you have left me, and that all intercourse has ceased between
us, he will feel that his aim is achieved; that he need fear you no
longer as a rival!'
`That is my opinion, sir,' answered James; `but I felt a delicacy in speaking
my mind so plainly as you have done. At all events, sir, if I am calumniated,
you, at least, will believe me innocent,' he said, with emotion.
`Yes; and the world shall too! If a breath is blown abroad against you,
I will have Ellery arrested; for on his conviction will then hang your innocence!
I have business now in State street, and will leave you. You can
depart soon after. If you learn anything, call and let me know at my house,
after sunset, so that you may enter unobserved; or else write me a note. If
I hear anything, I will let you know. Now, good morning, my friend, and
bear up manfully; for the assurance that the person in whose eyes you were
to be ruined believes you innocent, should, with the consciousness of innocence,
render you cheerful, and give you that energy and hope which will be
necessary.
Thus speaking, Mr. Weldon shook him warmly by the hand, and quitted
the counting-room.
`Excellent man! How has his noble confidence in my integrity sustained
me!' said James, with impulsive gratitude. `Had he not shown such benevolence
and wisdom, I should have been lost forever. The evidence against
me was sufficient to destroy any man! Yet he believes me innocent. Without
being able to prove another guilty, he acquits me, who am unable to
prove my own innocence! God be thanked for His goodness, in turning his
heart so kindly towards me. Almost any other man than Mr. Weldon would
have had me arrested, and I should now have been in prison, and my name
on every lip, instead of being at liberty, and with my fair fame yet unsullied.
I will now return home, and, in the solitude of my own chamber, give
my thoughts to the best course to pursue to clear myself and convict the
guilty. Ah! here is this note that was handed to me as I came in,' he said,
as he rose up to put on his surtout, from the pocket of which, as he took it
down from the nail, a note fell to the floor. He then opened, and read
with surprise, the note which Isabel, the quadroon, under the dictation of
her brother, had addressed to him.
`What can this mean?' he said, perplexed. `It may have some bearing
upon this conspiracy against me. It seems to be written by a friend, and I
will comply with the request contained in it. I will be there. Who can it
be that writes? It must be the female, Eveline Dernel, who wrote the
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letter to Mr. Morley. But Mr. Weldon and I have already given Ellery
credit for penning that letter, and therefore there can be no female of that
name. I can at least go and see if there is such a house and number, and if
I think, by entering, I can get at a clue to this conspiracy against me, I will
go in and see this person, who seems to be my friend. It may have no bearing
whatever upon the great subject on my mind, but, in my present state,
the slightest and every thing seems to bear upon it. I will go to-night, at
the hour appointed, and see what this person wants of me.'
Thus resolving, he thrust the letter into his pocket, and left the counting-room.
As he passed out, Finney stopped him:
`So, Mr. Daily, you are to be away from us a few days, Mr. Weldon said,
as he passed out. Private correspondence to be done in your own private
room. Well, there is some things can be done better when one is alone, than
when one is interrupted. Now, of all things, I should like to keep my books
in my boarding-house, where no one would speak to me! Sometimes here, I
get took up into my head at least thirty figures in a column, and have only
four or five more to add to 'em, when somebody interrupts me with a question,
and then they all vanish from my brain like a string of beads made of
soap bubbles, and I have to begin and take 'em all up again! I suppose
you have a good deal of writing to do about the new partnership, and I do n't
blame you for keeping at home, where you can do it without being disturbed.'
Daily made no remark, and passed out, feeling deeply the delicacy of Mr.
Weldon in thus paving the way to the clerks for his absence. Mr. Weldon
had been gone about ten minutes when James left the counting-room. The
former gentleman, as he entered State street, and passed up to 'Change
Walk, met Carlton Ellery, who, looking him full and inquiringly in the face,
bowed, and passed on.
`That look establishes that man's guilt,' said Mr. Weldon to himself. `It
was just such an inquisitive, anxious, investigating survey of my countenance
as the real criminal would fix upon me to read the result of his conspiracy.
If I had a doubt before of James's entire innocence, it has now vanished.'
In a few minutes afterwards, James entered State street, on his way to call
on Mr. Morley, that he might learn from him particularly all the facts connected
with the presentation and payment of the drafts, and get a minute
description of the lad and of the negro who had visited the bank. He
wished, also, to assure Mr. Morley of his innocence, and urge upon him
silence till he should be able to convict the guilty one.
As he passed up State street, he saw Carlton Ellery standing upon the
steps of the bank, carelessly tapping his boot with a rattan, but his eyes
fixed keenly upon Mr. Weldon, who was in conversation with two other gentlemen.
James came near before Ellery saw him. Mr. Weldon, at the
same moment, caught James's eye, while the eye of Ellery was upon both.
Mr. Weldon looked coldly and sternly upon Daily, while the latter passed
on, without bowing, and did not enter the bank, lest Ellery should suspect
his object. The eyes of the two young men did not meet, Ellery's being too
busy with watching the meeting between the merchant and his head-clerk,
and James's purposely avoiding any glance that might betray his suspicions
of him before the time; for the only way he knew to convict him would be
not to seem to suspect him. When James had passed on, Ellery hurried to
Mr. Weldon's counting-room. After staying five minutes there, he left, and
hastened towards the mulatto's abode.
On reaching State street, he crossed it rapidly, and passed into Flag
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alley-Midway he met Clow, who was, as usual, elegantly attired as a foreigner,
with false mustache and imperial.
`The thing is half done, Clow,' he said with animation.
`Half is not the whole. What has been done?'
`Daily is dimissed, but not arrested, by Mr. Weldon. I saw them meet
on 'Change half an hour ago, and Weldon looked at Daily as if he would
annihilate him; while Daily looked away and colored, and hung his head.'
`Did they not bow — nor speak?'
`No; they met like enemies. But I have more proof. I hastened down
to their counting-room, while they were out, and saw Finney, who told me,
in his garrulous way, that Daily was going to be absent for a few days —
writing to do, requiring secrecy and privacy!'
`Well, what does this do for us?' asked the mulatto, gloomily.
`It does this much. It proves that Mr. Weldon has dismissed Daily, under
the plea that he has secret work for him to do. This will blind such
fools as Finney, but not you and I, Clow! The truth is, Mr. Weldon is
convinced (as he must be, from the evidence he has) of Daily's guilt, and he
has privately dismissed him, not wishing publicly to prosecute a man who
was addressing his daughter. This is the fact, you may be assured. Daily
is as dead as a herring, and my coast is clear!'
`Your coast!'
`Yes. My only object was to put him out of the way, so that I might
have a clear field for winning the lovely Grace Weldon!
`And you are content with this?'
`Yes. Poor devil! let him go now; he can no longer cross my path. I
suppose he will leave Boston, and try his fortune in Texas, for he will never
remain here, be assured.'
`I shall not let him go though, Mr. Ellery,' answered Clow, fiercely.
`You have used him for your purposes, and you say they are accomplished.
I have my own still to carry out.'
`What are they?'
`Come and see me at half past six o'clock, and I will let you know,' answered
the mulatto; and the two conspirators separated.
CHAPTER XXII. THE VISIT.
At half past six o'clock, Ellery was at Clow's door and admitted to his
chambers.
`I am here now to call with you on the beautiful Jewess singer,' said he,
as Clow closed the door of his private room after he entered. `You set this
hour in the note you wrote to me instead of any other time. Is it to tea?'
`No. You can see her at this hour before she goes to the opera, and
in full dress. She will not have to go until half past eight o'clock, as there
is a ballet to come first.'
`Do not delay a moment. Every instant is precious with such a fair entertainer
awaiting my presence. Does she know that I am to be presented
to her, and who I am?'
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`I told her you were a young man of fortune and birth who had been enamored
with her beauty and voice, and desired to pay your respects to her
in person.' The irony with which this was said did not attract Ellery's
attention.
`That was very well. Are you ready?'
`Not yet. I have a word to say to you about my own affairs. This was
what I wished particularly to speak with you upon. You say you are satisfied
now that Mr. Daily is ruined with Mr. Weldon.'
`Yes,' answered Ellery, with impatience.
`But I am not. His ruin must be complete to satisfy me. You remember
the note I wrote him. I think it may bring him, and then I shall take
my revenge.'
`You must hate him more heartily than I do, Clow,' answered Carlton,
regarding him with surprise. `You have not yet told me why you hate
him at all. Let me know. You have entered into my scheme knowing
my motives for destroying him, but I am ignorant of yours.'
`Daily is my rival.'
`Your rival?'
`Yes. I have discovered that he is the young man whom I saw kiss,
as I told you, the beautiful Frederica, when I looked through the window
that night.'
`You mystify me! Kiss Frederica! Who, pray, is she? And whose
windows have you been peeping into?'
Here Clow briefly revealed his passion for the bonnet-girl, and told how
he had seen a young man, whom he did not know, folding her to his heart
and wiping from her eyes the bright tears.
`I did not know at the time that it was Daily. But a few days after I
passed him talking with another person and recognized him. They separated
and I went up to the person who left him and asked him if that gentleman
was not Mr. Wilson.'
`Mr. Wilson?'
`Yes; it was the first name I chanced to think upon; for my question was
only a bait to get his name. `No, sir,' he said, `it is Mr. Daily.'
`Mr. James Daily?' I asked.
`Yes, sir,' he answered, leaving me, and hurrying on his way. `I then
knew my man.'
`And was this before I got you to aid me in destroying him?'
`No; afterwards.'
`Then what led you to coöperate with me?'
`The money you offered me was one motive, and the love of doing an
injury to a man who had too fair a character to please me, was another,'
answered the mulatto. `But after I discovered that my rival and yours
were — '
`Don't unite me with yourself in that free and easy style again, Clow,'
said Ellery, haughtily.
`After discovering that we had both the same ground of hatred against
the man,' continued Clow, smiling scornfully, `I entered heart and hand
with you into the forgeries for his ruin. You say you have succeeded so far
as you wish. I have not.'
`You called this young girl's name Frederica.'
`I think I know now who it is, and you have no cause for rivalry. If it
is the person I suspect, it is Daily's half sister. I have heard lately that he
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had a confoundedly handsome half-sister who was a milliner. And, but for
other matters on hand I should have tried to make her acquaintance, for
love of the brother.'
`Dare to think or speak of her lightly, Mr. Ellery, and I — '
`Tut, tut, man. You are too fiery and quick to take offence altogether.
The young woman is Daily's sister.'
`No; she is no relation to him. She is only adopted by the mother. I
am sure of this, for I inquired of Mrs. Daily herself while purchasing a
handkerchief at her counter. I had heard she was a sister, as you have
believed she was, and this led me to make certain of it. She is no relation.'
`He probably regards her as a sister. I don't believe he loves her. He
had no other person in his heart than Grace.'
`I am satisfied he likes this person better than I care he should. Besides,
I have seen his accursed lip press her check, and this I can never forgive.
The man shall no more stand in my way than in yours.'
Ellery laughed lightly at Clow's determined manner, and said,
`What will you do? You would not kill him?'
`No. I would only destroy him so far that life shall be his hell. I
would not kill a man, I would be avenged upon. Oh, no! This would be
folly as great as hanging. When my enemy is dead, how can he suffer?
how can I injure, torture, glut my vengeance? I might as well forgive him
as kill him; for dead, I should cease to hate, and he to feel. No, no; he
shall live — but degraded!'
`What a devil in hatred you are, Clow.'
`Hate and revenge are not monopolies for the white race,' answered Clow,
derisively. `James Daily having suffered enough to sate yours, must now
suffer to glut mine. It is not enough for me that he has been degraded in
the estimation of one man; the man Philip Clow hated must be degraded
and infamous to the world, blackened with every crime which an honest man
would abhor. I love the young girl I saw him fold to his heart; I love her
with madness. No power on earth shall prevent me from making her my
bride; and woe be to the man who stands in my path. Daily, I can never
forgive for what I have seen. Rejected by Grace Weldon he will give his
heart, if he has not done so yet, to this lovely girl beneath his own mother's
roof.'
`Do not fear; Daily will be sure to quit Boston at once. He has too
much pride to remain where he would be likely to meet every day with Mr.
Weldon or Grace. But have your own way, Philip. I shall be the last
man to plead in behalf of Daily.'
`You are not yet sure that he has been degraded by Mr. Weldon.'
`I have ascertained it since I saw you to-day, and in this artful way.
Our firm had occasion to purchase some sugars, and knowing Weldon had
just received a cargo, I went to his counting-room to see on what terms he
would sell. I entered boldly, and with a business air. It was just before
sunset, and full five hours since Daily left, during which time he had not
been in, as I learned from one of the younger clerks I met at the head of
the wharf.'
`We have the sugars and will let you have them for so and so,' answered
Mr. Weldon.
`Did he look as if he suspected?'
`Not at all. There is no fear of that. He believes Daily as guilty as we
could desire to have him; be assured of that, my good Phillip. I bargained
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for the sugars, and in course of conversation, I said, by way of feeling his
pulse, `If you should not be in when we send for the sugars, will you leave
orders with Mr. Daily to deliver them.'
`Mr. Daily is no longer with me,' he answered, with embarrassment, looking
pale and red in the same moment.
I betrayed my surprise, but he said nothing more, and as I knew very
well why he was no longer with him, I did not betray myself by any useless
inquiries. So I merely answered that I was very sorry, that Mr. Daily
was an excellent young man and a promising merchant, and hoped he would
do well;' adding, `whoever has him with them will have an invaluable
head clerk.'
`What did Mr. Weldon say to this?'
`He slightly shook his head, made no reply for a moment or two, and then
said,
`It is probable Mr. Daily will not go into business again in this city as a
clerk with any one.'
`Did he say this?'
`The very words, and in a manner that satisfied me he had privately discharged
him and bade him leave the city for fear of consequences.'
`Then there is no doubt that so far you have been successful. You must
now leave him to me. Before three days his disgrace shall be known publicly.
It is necessary it should be known, or suspicion by-and-by may fasten
upon us. We must bruit it abroad, till Mr. Weldon will be compelled to
arrest him to satisfy the public clamor. In his conviction rests only our
security.'
`That is true. But you must be very guarded that the rumor is not
traced to you. Daily himself knows he is innocent. He will therefore be
on the watch for a clue to the real actors. If he can trace a rumor up to
you or me, he will promptly fasten upon us the crime, for he knows that no
one could circulate a story that he did what he never did, but those who
themselves did what is charged upon him. You understand me?'
`Yes. And I see I must use caution.'
`We have every thing to fear now from Daily. He will not rest, be assured,
till he finds out who are his enemies. I did intend to entrap him in a
gambling room and then send Weldon there. But let him pass. We can't
be too wary. As to you fearing a rival in him, I doubt it.'
`That is my affair, not yours.'
`Take care of it then, and keep it your affair. I would like much to see
the fair maid who has captivated your heart, Philip. Nay, don't look daggers—
I mean no harm. I have as much as I can do to win Grace Weldon's
good will. So don't fear me. Come. Let us not dally here, I
must see the beautiful Jewess.'
`Grace Weldon is to be won. Why do you dally here?' asked Clow,
sarcastically.
`Grace and the Jewess. To this I give my heart; to the other, by-and-by,
my hand. Allons.'
They sprung into a cab in waiting; Philip drew the curtains too, closely,
and after a drive of many turns and windings they alighted before a door
of a handsome brick house in one of the numerous `Courts' or `Places'
characteristic of Boston. The steps were marble, and two white columns
supported a neat architrave above them. Philip rung at the door, which
was opened by a young white girl with an exceedingly fair skin and blue
eyes.
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`Is Mademoiselle in?' asked Clow.
`Yes, sir,' answered the girl, with great deference, and opened wide the
door for them to enter. A lighted hall richly carpeted and hung with pictures
received them.
`We will leave our cloaks here. The lady is in the drawing-room above
stairs,' said Clow.
Ellery gazed round in silent surprise upon the elegance of every thing
which met his eyes, and followed Clow up the softly carpeted stair-case to a
semi-circular hall lighted by a beautiful chandelier.
`This is a luxurious abode for a Jewish cantatrice,' said Ellery, with surprise,
mixed with pleasure and anticipation.
The mulatto made no answer, but throwing open a dark, polished mahogany
door, which was ajar, he ushered him into an apartment richly and tastefully
furnished and filled with a soft dreamy light like that produced by
moon-beams intercepted by gauze curtains. To Ellery's vision, coming in
from the bright hall, the room appeared obscure at first, but by degrees he
became accustomed to the mellow radiance that pervaded the place, and was
enabled to discern objects distinctly, yet with wavy outlines. There was no
person in the room that he could see. He had hardly entered when the
door closed behind him, shutting out the glare from the chandelier in the
hall. He looked around. The mulatto had disappeared. He had hardly
time to feel surprise when his ears were arrested by low, soft notes of
music, that came he knew not whence. They sounded afar, very far off,
and to his imagination appeared to come from the most distant skies.
Louder, sweeter, still it came, making his blood thrill and his heart to cease
its beating. He stood transfixed, like one entranced. Whether the music
were vocal or instrumental he could not tell; whether in the room or in
heaven. He was bewildered, and for a moment questioned his own waking
identity. Nearer and clearer, yet still soft and melodious, like the tones of a
harp and a human voice flowing together, as meeting rivulets mingle their
waters, it swelled around him, till his senses were overpowered, when suddenly
it ceased.
`This is wonderful. It must be human, for I am not superstitious enough
to believe in the supernatural,' he said, waiting to hear it again. `It must
be the fair Jewess, who has prepared for me this surprise. What a voluptuous
light pervades this apartment! its source as invisible as that of the melody
that I have just heard! I will fain seek the fair performer.'
He moved softly over the gorgeous Bigelow carpet, and approached a door
ajar. It opened into a small boudoir, where, seated at a glittering harp, he
discovered, by the soft light of the place, the beautiful quadroon, Isabel. She
was in an attitude at once captivating and commanding. Her graceful fingers
rested upon the chords and her superb figure, slightly bent forward,
displayed her noble shape to the highest advantage. Her black, lustrous
eyes were raised an instant to those of the intruder, and then dropped
modestly to the floor, while she started with confusion, and half rose, as if
surprised.
`Pardon me,' said Ellery, embarrassed by her presence and matchless
beauty, and feeling the awkwardness of his situation; `but — '
`No apology is necessary, sir,' she said, in tones and with a smile of
thrilling power. If you are the guest whom Signor de — was to introduce,
you are welcome.'
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CHAPTER XXIII. THE QUADROON.
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The plot laid for the rich young man was as successful, so far as it progressed,
as Philip Clow's ambitious views could desire. Ellery was completely
fascinated by the beauty and wit, and seeming partiality for himself,
of the handsome opera-singer. He surrendered his senses to the bewildering
charm of her presence, and when the mulatto, who, invisibly, had overlooked
the whole interview, came into the boudoir, after the lapse of half an
hour, Carlton turned to him, and said, warmly,
`Signor, in making me acquainted with this charming person, you have
conferred on me a favor I can never return. Must I leave you now, fair
Signora?'
`Signora will soon have to go to the Opera-house, and we had best withdraw,
Mr. Ellery,' said Clow.
`Adieu, then, charming Signora,' said Carlton, kissing his hand. `Adieu
till I see you at the opera, there again to listen to that sweet voice which has
entranced my senses.'
With this gallant speech Ellery took his leave, and with the mulatto descended
the hall stairs. When they had reentered the cab, Clow said,
quietly,
`Mr. Ellery, how were you pleased?'
`Pleased!' he repeated, with animation. `I was enchanted — fascinated!
I never beheld so lovely a person. And such eyes. They are magnificent!
Such teeth. They are pearls — rich clusters of pearls! Such a voice. It
is music in every accent! And her figure. How superb! She is certainly
the most beautiful person I ever beheld!'
`I knew you would be as pleased with her at home as you were on the
stage,' said the mulatto, concealing his deep feeling of gratification under a
tone of quiet.
`How kind you were to leave me to have the interview with her alone.
No introduction either; and yet she received me with such kindness and
grace!'
`She was prepared for your visit.'
`So she said. What a luxurious abode she has. She has exquisite taste,
and has every thing very elegant and recherche!'
`Then you are pleased with her?'
`Infatuated! Where was her father?'
`Her father?'
`Yes; the old Signor.'
`Oh, ah! I was down stairs talking with him about the opera.'
`He knew I was with his charming daughter?'
`Yes.'
`Then he is not jealous of her?'
`Signor de — knows that he can have confidence in whoever I introduce.
'
`I envy your position with him. I should like to know him.'
`He does not speak English, and therefore seldom sees any one.'
`And I do not speak Portuguese; so I must talk with his daughter,'
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`You do not expect to see her again?'
`Do not?'
`Yes.'
`Certainly I do. Do you suppose, after I have had an introduction to so
fair a creature, I can go away and forget it. No, no, Philip. The lovely
Signora and I must be friends!'
`I promised only to introduce you to her. I have performed my promise.
You cannot see her again.'
`Cannot?' demanded Ellery, with angry surprise.
`No, Mr. Ellery. Your notice of her would mar her fair fame. Her
reputation is all she possesses.'
`An opera-girl's reputation!' repeated the young man, with a sneer.
`I have told you she is noble and virtuous. She was not always an opera-girl.
You know her history. Her blood is as noble as your own. Your
acquaintance would dishonor her!'
`This is plain speaking, Clow.'
`You know it, as well as I, that it would. Did you see anything in her
that was unbecoming a modest maiden?'
`No. She seemed as pure as she was beautiful!'
`She seemed what she is. You have seen her, and now forget her.'
`Never!'
`What motive have you in seeking her further acquaintance?' asked Clow,
bluntly.
`Well, that would be difficult to tell. She is very lovely, and loveliness
is captivating! She is witty, and wit charms! She has a delightful voice,
and this is pleasing to the ear! In a word, it is very agreeable to know
such a person.'
`But her fair name must not be sacrificed for your pleasure! You had
best see her no more.'
`I must see her again! This acquaintance shall not terminate so.'
`I am in some sort responsible, Mr. Ellery, having introduced you. I
know your character for levity with the sex, and I should condemn myself
for permitting your further visits. I can prevent them. A word from me,
and you would never behold her again!'
`Clow, do you love the Signora yourself?'
`No. I love but one, whose name you know. I do not fear in you a
rival. I have, moreover, the utmost confidence in her purity of character
and principles. I have fulfilled my promise to you, in introducing you. I
shall perform my duty to her, by refusing permission for you to see her
again.'
`You seem to hold great power over her,' said the young man, with
surprise.
`Only that of a friend. I am responsible for your honorable conduct in
reference to her.'
Both were silent for a few moments, when Ellery said,
`Clow, I am infatuated with this lovely girl. I am in love with her. My
senses are intoxicated with her glorious beauty. It is impossible for me to
consent never to see her again in her home! Will gold be an inducement?'
`No, Mr. Ellery,' answered the mulatto, firmly. `There is but one condition
only on which you will be permitted to see her.'
`Name it, and if it is half my uncle's wealth, you shall have it signed over to you!'
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`It is not a condition of money. It is, that you confess to me that your
intentions are honorable.'
`Honorable?'
`You understand me.'
`Do you seriously mean to ask if I am willing to address her?'
`Yes.'
`A Jewess?'
`Yes.'
`An opera-singer?'
`Yes.'
`You jest, Philip!'
`More than one English nobleman has been married to opera-singers and
actresses.'
`That is true — that is very true,' responded Ellery, musingly. `But that
is a different thing.'
`You have rank and wealth. Why should you not follow their example?'
said the insinuating and subtle mulatto.
`But what would the world say?'
`They would envy you the possession of such a treasure. Besides, you
pride yourself on your independence. You have no one to consult but your
own wishes and humors. You are sure of your uncle's fortune. You will
be observed and imitated, and take a certain lead in fashion. Your wife's
talents, wit, and beauty, will place her and yourself both in an enviable position
in society. If you are not received here as you desire, there is London
and Paris. There you will be distinguished. Carlton Ellery, Esq., and his
beautiful Jewess bride will be on every lip. You say you are in love! You say
you are infatuated! If this is true, it will require no sacrifice on your part
to take the honorable step I point out, and which is the only condition on
which you can again see her. I leave the subject to your consideration.
Whenever you say you are willing to marry her, if she will accept you, I
promise you to favor your suit so far as I have any influence with her
father. On no other condition will you be able to see her again.'
`But she may decline a proposal of marriage.'
`You have only to see her, and propose it to her.'
`Well, the conditions are not hard, Philip,' answered Ellery, laughing.
`I should be the gainer. If I thought she would marry me, I would not
hesitate, I verily believe. I will tell you what I will do, Philip. Go with
me once more there, as you say no one can be admitted unless you accompany
them — go with me again to-morrow evening, and let me have one
more interview with her. If I decide then not to propose to her, I will
never ask to see her again. Give me one more interview before I decide.'
`I consent to it. To-morrow evening, at the same hour, call on me, and
I will accompany you.'
`Thanks, good Philip, thanks! We are now at your door. I will take
the cab to the opera, where I hope once more to see my fascinatress. I fear
she has me in a net, and that I shall have to surrender myself her willing
prisoner! But one more interview, and the charm will be either broken, or
riveted for life.'
The mulatto now alighted at his own door, and the cab drove away with
the young man. Clow entered the side door of his dingy-looking inn, and
ascending the stairs, passed into his private room by means of a catch-key.
He closed and fastened the door behind him, went through the opposite one
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into his sister's boudoir, and then opening a door on the opposite side, he
passed out into the very hall, with the lighted chandelier, and gorgeous pictures,
and showy furniture, which had attracted the eyes of Carlton Ellery.
The fact was, Clow's dwelling had two fronts, one of them being upon a
street several feet lower than the other front, which was upon a handsome
court. A person acquainted with the passages could enter at the door on
the court, and passing first up and then down flights of stairs, and then
through passages, could descend and pass out on the lower street by the inn
door. The `Court' or `Place' door could be reached only by driving or
walking round the square, which was some distance, and so down the court
to the house. In the evening, as it was when Carlton rode from his door
with him to call on the opera-singer, the distance seemed great, and Carlton
believed, when he landed at her door, that he was in quite a different part
of the city from Clow's inn, when, in fact, he was not twenty rods, in a direct
line through the house, from the place where he got into the cab. The
secret of the connection between the two houses was only known to Clow,
his sister, and the young fair-haired servant-girl, who was Isabel's attendant.
This child was an orphan, whom Clow had got bound to him, because she
was so very fair, and therefore represented the distinctive hue of the race
which he hated with a passion that was a part of his nature. This child he
treated as a slave; and if he had had it in his power, and she could have
borne it, he would have heaped upon her head the weight of the ignominy,
suffering, and infamy which the race from which he sprung endured in bondage
from her own. This child was truly his slave. She feared his slightest
look, and trembled whenever he spoke to her. With her the secret was
safe; for her pale lips would never have dared reveal what she had witnessed
within the walls of her master.
The mulatto entered the luxurious drawing-room, where he found Isabel
alone.
`Well, Isabel,' he said gaily, as he approached her, `you have acted your
part to please me! What think you of my young heir? this prince of the
white blood?'
`I despise him,' she answered, with a look of contempt. `He is the worshipper
of himself, and utterly destitute of principle!'
`You have done well to conceal your sentiments to him! He is deeply
enamoured. You have captivated his imagination so perfectly, that all I
have to do is to suggest, for him to acquiesce! In a word, he is infatuated,
and will never rest till you consent to wed him!'
`Then he will long remain at unrest! I would rather give my hand to
the basest slave of our accursed race, than to such an one as he!'
`Do not anger me.'
`I must speak as I feel. Carlton Ellery shall never have this hand in
wedlock, though he sue for it on his knees!'
`But you forget — it is revenge we both seek! Vengeance upon the haughty
race that despises us! I do not expect you to love him! I expect you
to wed him to be avenged on him for his scorn of our race, and to triumph
when he shall find he has wedded the daughter of a generation of Ethiopian
slaves! This is the great end you should keep in view. For this you
should be willing to sacrifice yourself! Let no meaner considerations cross
your path to vengeance. Will it not be worth a life's sacrifice to raise yourself
to a level with him and his race; to hold the place in his heart and
home the fair white daughters of this proud city would covet to take? Is it
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not enough reward to elevate, in your person, our degraded blood to a level
with that of those who hold themselves our masters?'
`If I could love this man!' she said, hesitatingly.
`Hate him! I do not wish you to love him! Marry him for hatred, not
for love! Show him after, that it was for hatred and not for love that you
did wed him! The more bitterly you hate him, the more reason have you
to wed him!'
The young girl reflected a few moments.
`On one condition I will wed him for the hatred I bear him and his
race.'
`Name it.'
`That you will suffer me, unrestrained, to carry out my own plans with
reference to the young man I so madly love, and whom I expect here at
eight o'clock.'
`So that it does not interfere with Ellery, I consent.'
`I promise you it shall not.'
CHAPTER XXIV. THE RETROSPECTION.
We will now go back and make a brief recapitulation of the events narrated
in the foregoing chapters, and refresh the reader's memory, as well as
prepare his attention for the conclusion of this story, which will be extended
but to one chapter further. It will have been observed, that our hero, James
Daily, was selected as the victim of a conspiracy, of which Carlton Ellery
was the prime mover; aided by the mulatto, Philip Clow, and others. The
motives which led Ellery to attempt the ruin of James Daily, have been
shown to have had their origin in rivalry, united with that instinctive dislike
a man of evil character entertains towards another of pure morals and unblemished
name. This two-fold motive sharpened his invention, and
enabled him to take measures so deeply laid, that the destruction of the object
at which they were aimed, seemed sure. The instruments he employed
to aid him in his conspiracy, were Jack Brigs, and a shrewd, depraved lad,
who was the illegitimate child of the burglar, who had been recently discharged
from the House of Correction, and whom Brigs had undertaken to
train in his own career of wickedness. The boy was of fair complexion,
with blue eyes, and of rather a genteel person, and quick and intelligent.
The comprehensive mind of Ellery at once discovered his usefulness to him,
and when he had decided on forging the drafts and checks which were to
criminate Daily, he secured this lad's services, dressing him precisely like
Mr. Weldon's son, to whom, he noticed, he had a general air of resemblance.
It was this lad, who went by the soubriquet of `Little Jack,' who offered
the drafts to Mr. Morley. The negro was the burglar himself, disguised by
lamp-black and oil so completely, that, with his naturally blunt features, he
could not have been detected. This Ethiopian masquerading, be it said
here, had of late become Jack's favorite mode of appearing abroad; his
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notoriety in his own character rendering his appearance by day-light far too
perilous for his personal liberty. The note signed `Eveline Dernel,' was, as
the reader will have guessed, the skilful handicraft of Carlton Ellery; he
having no other confidants in his scheme than those already named in the
story.
The result of this diabolical conspiracy the reader has already witnessed.
He has seen it, skillfully, artfully, deeply, secretly, planned as it was by
malice, hatred, envy, and jealousy — he has seen it defeated by the simple
resistance of the spotless integrity of its destined victim! This shows the
value of character. It proves the incalculable advantages of a good name!
It shows the potency of a pure life! Had James Daily been the least irregular
in his habits; had it been known to Mr. Weldon that he had ever
departed in the slightest instance from the straight-forward path of integrity
and uprightness; had his mind been able to recall from the past the least
delinquency of conduct or of character; had a shadow, however faint, passed
across the bright vista of his life, as he mentally looked back upon it
when he was arraigned, as we have seen him arraigned, in judgment before
him, then our young man had fallen! then the hero of our story would have
been without a shield to turn aside the suspicions that might be turned upon
him! If Mr. Weldon had lighted upon one dishonorable act of his life, recalled
one dishonorable principle, even, James Daily would not have stood
the ordeal! He would now have suspected his integrity, and given him into
the hands of the law; for the evidence against him was sufficient to authorize
this step, without giving him the opportunity of speaking in his defence.
The guilt of his clerk and contemplated partner seemed conclusive! It was,
as it were, irresistible. All that stood between the young man and the fate
of the criminal, was the bright shield of his own spotless character. Mr.
Weldon cast his eyes upon this! Adamant, as it was, to turn aside the arrows
of calumny, it was transparent as glass, to show him his heart through
it. He saw written upon it the innocence and purity of his life! It was
easier for him to refuse credence to the accusation against such a man, than
to believe!
He did refuse to admit the evidence, convincing, powerful as it was. He
treated him as if innocent; gave him the privilege of asserting his innocence,
and cast to the winds the charges that were intended to crush him!
Such is the divine potency of character. It turns aside the shafts of suspicion,
and its possessor is clad in mail of proof.
Neither Mr. Weldon nor James had yet, however, discovered the guilty
party. Their suspicions were, it has been seen, fastened upon the right one.
But, so strong was Mr. Weldon's conviction of James's innocence, that, should
he never be able to fasten the forgery upon another, he would never have
suspected James. Innocency of life is a corner-stone. The character built
upon it, neither storms nor floods can overthrow.
The chief motive which led Carlton Ellery to seek the destruction of our
hero being rivalry, sufficient was achieved for his purposes when an irrevocable
breach should have been made between him and the father of Grace
Weldon. This now seemed to him to have been accomplished; and he did
not care to trouble himself or involve himself any further in prosecuting his
further ruin, which he supposed would follow rapidly enough. Other parts
and features of his plan were, therefore, abandoned. These were to serve
as corps de reserve in case he should acquit himself of the forgeries; but
these latter having (as he supposed) been effectual, as far as was
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necessary in destroying him as a rival, the other parts of the conspiracy were
abandoned by him, as he has already been heard to signify to Philip Clow.
These parts of the plan we will here mention; they were, that if the forgery
and check scheme failed by Daily's being able to advance his personal
character, (for Carlton placed great weight upon this species of defence,)
against the evidence, they were to beguile him by forged letters, appealing
to his benevolence, to visit by night a noted house of ill-repute; and while
therein draw Mr. Weldon to the place by a previous private letter, notifying
where he could establish at once, by personal observation, `the profligacy
of Daily's habits.' It was enough for their object, if Mr. Weldon could
only see Daily, on discovering the character of the place, coming out of the
door. Should this fail, they resolved to beguile him, by some artful devices,
to go into a celebrated gaming-hall, its character being, of course, unknown
to him. The note written by Isabel, at Clow's dictation, and which he
had shown to Ellery, as if penned by himself, was sent to Daily to bring
him to see his sister, as the opera-singer; and when he should be there it was
the mulatto's intention to secure him in the house by locking him in, hasten
to the police, complain of missing a diamond, and accusing him of having
taken it, have him arrested and taken to prison. Clow well knew he could
not prove such a theft upon him, but the disgrace Daily would receive from
having been arrested, and while in company with a popular opera-singer, he
knew would effect all the purposes he could desire towards ruining him.
Ellery, when shown the note Isabel had penned, did not know precisely the
mulatto's motives or intentions; he only knew that Clow had the design
equally with himself, of bringing his victim into infamy. How it should be
done, after Daily should arrive at the place designated in the note, was, in
his own mind, to depend upon circumstances that might suggest themselves.
That there was a real female in the case — that the note had really been
penned by a woman, he never suspected. He did not expect Daily to meet
other persons than Clow, Briggs, and himself. All this time, Ellery, be it
noted, had no suspicion that the mulatto had a sister! He could not, therefore,
be aware of the secret object she had in view in seeing Daily, or of
Clow's combined motives in having the note sent to him. Isabel was acting
for herself! Philip Clow was acting for himself! Ellery equally independent
of both; yet all three acting towards the same end, and each deceiving
the other!
The reader, we trust, will now understand that Carlton Ellery, when he
took leave of the fair opera-singer, had no suspicion whatever that the note
Philip had shown him, addressed to Daily, inviting him to a certain house
to see a lady, was really written by her, or that Daily was to see her in
compliance with it, not many minutes after he took his leave. That Daily
or she knew of one another's existence, he had not the most distant suspicion!
That they were about to meet, and through the agency of a note he
had himself read and consented should go to Daily, he as little dreamed of!
The note he had believed penned by Philip, assuming, for the purpose, a
delicate womanly style of penmanship, on which, it will be remembered, he
complimented him. But that the note was to accomplish more than to bring
Daily into a trap in which Mr. Weldon might discover him, had no place in
his conceptions. He knew the note invited Daily to call at eight o'clock at
No. — Dormer Place; but he supposed this, as Clow told him it was, a
house in which to be seen would compromit his character with Mr. Weldon.
That his `beautiful Jewess' dwelt in this same house, and that it was only
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another part of Clow's habitation, he had no idea; and the mulatto, by the
secrecy with which he took him there, took precaution that he should
have no suspicion of their identity. When, therefore, Ellery took leave of
Clow, after they had ridden home from their visit, at the window of the cab,
he declined to have any thing further to do with Daily's downfall, feeling he
could now no farther interfere with his own personal views; and, although
aware that the hour was approaching when he might be expected to reply in
person to the note sent him, and thrust himself in their power, he chose to
proceed to the opera, as we have seen, rather than wait to see him; for the
guilty man was, in truth, afraid to meet his victim! If he had suspected
that No. — Dormer Place was the house he had just left, and that the
`feigned' female was the fascinating woman he had just left, he would not
so calmly and indifferently have left Philip, the mulatto, to take upon himself
any further revenges towards the victim of their joint hatred.
`If you go to this house in Dormer Place, you spoke of, Philip,' he said
carelessly, as the cab drove off, `and Daily makes his appearance, you had
best let him pass, and do nothing. The more quiet we are now the better!'
Philip Clow made no reply which he could hear, but as he entered his
house to visit Isabel, (whither we have already followed him,) he smiled derisively,
and muttered,
`Yes, yes! It is easy for this gay blood, now he has succeeded in
his object, to recommend quiet! He fears we may goad the young man to
turn upon his foes! He trembles for the consequences of his forgeries! He
not I, had the penning of those dangerous papers! I don't fear on that
score! He will have to bear the consequences if it is ever discovered!
James Daily is now my victim! I have not done with him! Nor would he
be done with him if he suspected who had penned the note which has been sent
to him. Thanks, Carlton, to thy ignorance! I shall now have the victim
all in my own hands! He knows not all the deep motives of revenge I hold
against him! I told him of my love for Frederica the bonnet-girl, and that
I was actuated by rivalry; but I did not tell him I hated him for coming
between me and my ambitious purposes with regard to himself! I could
not tell him that, without revealing to him that the beautiful opera-singer
who has fascinated him, and Philip Clow, the mulatto, are brother and sister!
It is not time to make that revelation yet! Wait awhile, till the knowledge
of it will make him foam at the mouth with madness! Then will I have my
revenge on him! for this man I hate next to Daily! I shall never forget
nor forgive the degrading epithets applied to me, for my color and blood,
when I have in his need refused to lend him money without suitable security!
His pride shall be lowered, high as it carries itself!'
It was in this mood he sought his sister, the interview between which personages
has already been given in the preceding chapter.
We shall now proceed to see how James Daily escapes out of the net that
has been laid for him by love and revenge combined, and eventually establishes
his own innocence by the overthrow of the guilty. But we defer this
denouement of our subject to the next chapter, with which our story will be
brought to its termination.
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CHAPTER XXV. CONCLUSION.
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With this chapter closes the story with which we have so long been
trespassing upon our kind reader's patience. We hav emuch to do in a
little space to take care of all our characters, but we trust they will all
have due justice done them.
We have said that our hero resolved to accept the invitation contained
in the anonymous note which he had received, believing it might come
from the female who had addressed the bank in reference to the drafts;
which female had, as we know, a fictitious existence. James had suspected
indeed that the note to the bank might have been penned by Carlton, but
when he received this he believed that then it might really have been written
by a woman. Hoping to obtain some clue to the abettors of the plo;
against him he determined to go to No. —, Dormer Place. A few minutes
before eight he rang the bell and was admitted by the young fair-haired
slave of the mulatto. From the appearance of luxury in the hall he believed
it was the abode of a respectable private family. Giving his name, the
young girl, at once, as if previously instructed, led him to the upper drawing-room
and left him to enter. At first he saw no one, for the apartment was
obscure and objects indistinct. He crossed, as Ellery had done, to the door
whence the light issued, and was met by Isabel with an enchanting smile
upon her features, and eyes brilliant with passionate love.
`I feared you would not come,' she said, with tones that thrilled his bosom,
while he gazed upon her with bewildered surprise; for he recognized the darkeyed
sewing-girl in all the voluptuous elegance of her present costume.
As she spoke she took his hand and led him as if she would seat him by her
upon the ottoman from which she had risen to meet him.
`It was by you then the note came,' he said gravely, and shrinking back;
for he felt an instinctive alarm at the position in which he found himself.
`Are you not the same person who —'
`Yes, the sewing-girl whose scarf you returned to her. The sewing-girl
who gave you in return her heart. I have sent for you to declare my passion
and to assure you that if you will return it I will lay my life at your feet.
Without you I can never exist. With you I seek no happiness beyond this life.'
`You know not what you say,' he said, with astonishment and pain.
`To you I can be nothing. Why did you write to me? How can I serve
you, or what interest have you in my honor? Why do I find you here surrounded
by luxury.'
`This is my home. I was at the mantua-maker's but a few days, to please
one who has control over me.'
`Who are you?'
`La Isla, the opera-singer.'
`The Jewess?'
`Yes.'
`Why have you sent for me? What do I do! lingering to gaze on your
beauty! I must this instant leave you! If you have unhappily conceived
a passion for me, forget me! Good night.'
`Stay—Oh cruel! Leave me not thus!'
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`Ah, I have you at last, my Joseph Surface!' cried Philip, advancing
and confronting him. `You do n't know me, but I know you! You would
seek the ruin of this lady under my protection. I shall detain you; for I
have missed a diamond since you came in and I suspect you have it. I
have already sent off to the police for an officer.'
James stood appalled. He saw at once the whole extent of his danger.
He felt as if his ruin was sealed. Innocent, he was bold. He believed
that this too was part of the conspiracy of the forgeries. The immense
peril his name and character were now in, inspired him with decision. With
a well-directed blow he struck the mulatto down, and springing over his body
he escaped from the room and from the house.
The next day he informed Mr. Weldon of the circumstances. The
Chief of the Police was presently sent for and the suspicions of Mr. Weldon
and James were made known to him. In a word, they unfolded to him
the whole affair of the drafts, and named Ellery as the person on whom
their suspicions rested.
`Still,' said Mr. Weldon, `there is every probability that the persons in
this house are parties; for that two separate conspiracies for ruining James
should be going on at the same time, by persons wholly unconnected with each
other, is improbable.'
The head of the police was an experienced man, and a person of discriminating
judgment. He argued with them; and after some discussion
of the best mode of proceeding, it was decided that the house, No. —, Dormer
Place, should be visited that night with a suitable force, and any suspicious
persons there arrested.
`As to the young girl's being the celebrated opera singer, “La Isla,” is,
I think, improbable,' he said; `this person, La Isla, is more respectable than
the woman who laid the trap for Mr. Daily. Her character I suspect he
can guess at if he tries. As she was once a sewing-girl she is probably
now a kept-mistress of the man who would have arrested Mr. Daily.'
This was also the opinion of Mr. Weldon and James.
The next evening at seven o'clock Carlton Ellery made his appearance
at Clow's according to the previous appointment. He found the mulatto in
his room, with his eye bandaged, and in a sullen mood.
`What has happened, Philip?'
`Nothing.'
`You are savage.'
`Don't make comments on my temper. You have come to see La Isla?'
`Yes.'
`You can't see her,' he answered very positively.
`Why?'
`She says if you will make her your wife on this very visit, you shall see
her, and no other conditions.'
`I will do it. I have made up my mind. I have thought it over. She
has infatuated me. I will marry her; but on a condition.'
`Name it.'
`That it is kept secret till my uncle's death. He has to-day had another
of those paralytic attacks, and wont last long. I should not be surprised if
he gave us the slip before another week.'
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Half an hour after this conversation Isabel Clow was in her drawing-room
dressed for the bridal. Her face was pale, but firm. She was about to
wed for revenge, to humble the pride of one of a race which she knew would
crush her into the dust did they know her Ethiopian origin. She had not
given up James Daily. Love for him was too deeply seated in her heart to
be out-rooted by one rebuff. She gave the present to hatred and looked to
the future, to time and circumstances, to throw around him to whom she had
given her heart, the meshes of her beauty's power.
Carlton Ellery appeared attended by Philip, a Romish priest, and a Portuguese
about fifty years of age. They were married; she by the name of
Isabel, which Philip explained by saying that this was the first part of her
name, though seldom used by her, she being only known to the public as
`La Isla.'
Scarcely had the marriage ceremony passed than Philip Clow turned towards
the bridegroom and with a smile of significant and most malignant
triumph, said,
`Well, sir, now who do you think you have taken to wife?'
`Why, the daughter of this Signor,' he answered, glancing at the Portuguese.
`That Portuguese has no daughter. He is a miserable refugee whom I
have chanced to meet here in the city, and whom I have hired to personate
the character of your bride's father. He speaks not three words of English,
and knows not who the bride is he has given away.'
`Is this true! Who is she, then? Have you deceived me? Is she a
Jewess? You told me afterwards that she was not, but of pure Portuguese
blood. Who is she? What means that hellish smile?'
`Ask her. She knows best.'
`Signora!' he cried, turning towards her with a look of mingled dread
and inquiry; `speak! what is this he says? Are you not the daughter of
this Portuguese? Have you deceived me too! Am I the victim of a conspiracy,
Clow?'
`Ask your wife who she is?'
`Who, then, are you?' he demanded, almost beside himself.
`I am the sister of Philip Clow; not a Jewess, but a mulatress!'
This was uttered with a proud, flashing eye, and in a tone full of flendish
triumph and vindictive hatred. The victim turned to Clow.
`Is this so?' he faintly demanded.
`Yes. Thy young wife is of African blood. She is my own sister. I
have drawn you into this marriage to revenge myself upon you for your repeated
insults to me upon my race; and also to elevate my sister to your
own. She married you not because she loved you, but because she hated
you and would degrade you. We hate all who despise us for our blood.
We are at feud with the white race who hold in bondage the children of
our fathers. Thy wife is my sister. Thou art my brother-in-law. Am I
not ennobled by the alliance, or is it thou who art debased?'
Carlton Ellery stood like one in a dreadful waking dream. He looked
from one to the other with a wild glare. The resemblance between the two
forcibly struck him and he wondered he had not before discovered it. Dark
passions were gathering in his breast, and he would have avenged himself
on the spot upon the mulatto, when the heads of Jack Brigs, and his boy
`Little Jack,' were thrust in at the door. Jack had called to see Philip on the
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tavern front of his house, to exchange some stolen plate for coin, when, not
finding him in his room, and seeing the door beyond open, he had passed
through in search of him. Clow had neglected, in his anxious solicitude to
bring the marriage to a crisis, to close the communication between the
houses, as he conducted Carlton to the bridal parlor, and Jack, following the
passages, had thus broken in unexpectedly upon the scene. At the same instant
the street door was opened by a master-key, and the Chief of the Police,
attended by Mr. Weldon, our hero, James Daily, and followed by three
police-men, ascended the stairs.
The result of this timely visit, and the accidental discovery of all the guilty
parties together, may easily be conceived. The Police Chief had been examining
the premises during the day and obtaining such intelligence as to
induce him to believe that he would be justifiable in arresting any one he
might find in the house in the evening. He had set his spies, and Clow and
Ellery had been seen to alight from a cab and enter together; for the mulatto
had taken his intended brother-in-law there the second time by the
same round-about way he had at first done. The fact that Ellery was in
the same house where James had been decoyed, was at once communicated
to our hero and Mr. Weldon, and in a short time all the parties we have
named approached the house; for the fact of Ellery's presence there was
clear proof that he was leagued with the female and the man whom James
had knocked down; all three of whom were believed to be the parties who
had committed the forgeries. Hence the boldness with which the Chief of
the Police entered; and the force with which he was seconded. The sight
of Jack Brigs (who was well known to him) showed him that he was likely
to have more game than he had calculated upon. The arrests were not effected
without a struggle. Jack and his boy fought hard, but were overpowered
and ironed. Clow made an effort to escape by the window, but
was arrested by James Daily and firmly held till he could be secured.
Carlton Ellery struck to the right and left, knocked down one of the officers,
and succeeded in reaching the passage communicating with the Inn. He
was followed by the Chief of the Police, but being familiar with the place
he succeeded in getting away; only, however, to be arrested the next day.
Isabel disappeared in the very outset of the contest and was not discovered.
The confessions of Brigs and the boy criminated Ellery in the forgeries,
and clearly established the innocence of our hero. Ellery, rather than come
to a trial, strangled himself in his cell. Clow was convicted of divers offences
and sentenced to imprisonment for life; but attempting to escape on his
way to prison he was shot through the head. Brigs and his boy, in consideration
of becoming evidence for the State, received for their misdemeanors
only seven years for the father, and two years for the son. Of Isabel Clow
nothing more is known with certainty; though it is believed she was the
same individual who a short time since made such a sensation in Paris as an
opera singer under the soubriquet of `La Belle Quadroon.'
Having thus disposed of the less worthy characters of our story, we now
devote a closing sentence to those in whose fate we are more nobly interested.
James's innocence being thus clearly established he became junior partner
with Mr. Weldon, and a few weeks afterwards was married to Grace.
Frederica gently declined the invitation to act as her bridesmaid, and ere
the honeymoon of the happy pair was past, the winding-sheet of the dead
was folded over the broken heart of the lovely bonnet-girl.
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