[figure description] Page 143.[end figure description]

As Monsieur Mallet sat in his room, arranging
some music, the day after the interview between
Mr. Edward Dangleton and his exemplary
parent, a startling knock at his door caused him
to lift his eyes and call out “Entrez!”

The individual who entered, in reply to this
laconic exclamation, was a young and handsome
man, fashionably dressed, who approached with
an air and attitude of profound respect, and said
in French, “Have I the honour of addressing
the celebrated artist, Monsieur Mallet?”

“I am Monsieur Mallet,” answered the poor
musician, in his native tongue, somewhat taken
by surprise at the complimentary epithet which
had been prefixed to his humble name.

“Then pardon my presumption in calling to
pay my homage without the ceremony of an
introduction,” said the stranger, presenting his
card.

Monsieur Mallet, without glancing at the
name, replied, with formal courtesy, “I am always
happy to make the acquaintance of persons
who appreciate the beautiful art to which
my whole life has been devoted.”

“Ah, sir, you may well call it a beautiful art,
and worthy the devotion of a life, were the
period of life fifty times as protracted as it is.”

[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

The Frenchman's eyes sparkled with animation
as he replied, “You are an artist yourself—
a vocalist, perhaps; or can it be that you are
the great master—the wonderful performer
on the piano-forte—Thalberg himself? I have
heard that he is about your age; and there
has been a report in the newspapers that he
intended visiting the United States.”

“Alas! I am not Thalberg, as you can see
by a glance at my card.”

“Excuse my forgetfulness,” said Monsieur
Mallet, as, arranging his spectacles, he read the
name “Edward Dangleton.”

“I heard one of your oratorios,” continued
the young man, “performed last winter at
Prague, where I had the pleasure of becoming
acquainted with your friend and admirer, the
Herr Von Steinbach.”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed the unsuspecting
Frenchman, starting from his seat. “You know
Von Steinbach! You have seen him! you have
talked with him of me—of my oratorios—of—
Oh! my dear friend, permit me to embrace
you!”

Drawing forth a white cambric pocket-handkerchief,
and shaking from it an odour of eau de
Cologne, Mr. Dangleton, in a very tragic manner,
covered his eyes, and so received the embrace
of the enthusiastic Frenchman.

“Excuse this emotion,” whimpered Ned;
“but—but—I cannot help it.”

“My dear friend!” exclaimed the poor musician,
whose eyes were suffused with tears.

“Von Steinbach prepared me for this,” said

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

the young man, at length, in broken accents.
“He told me that you would be rejoiced to
see any one whom he had taken by the hand,
and called his friend.”

“Ah! he was not mistaken! It is a very
great pleasure to see you. But why,” said
Monsieur Mallet, as if an idea had suddenly
struck him, “why did you not bring letters
from Von Steinbach?”

“There you remind me of my great misfortune,”
said Dangleton, with a melancholy shake
of the head. “I was a passenger in that unlucky
ship, the Ville de Bordeaux, which was obliged
to put into Bermuda to recruit her stores.
In undertaking to remove my trunk to the shore,
the boat in which it was carried was swamped,
and two of the oarsmen lost their lives!”

“Ah! the poor oarsmen!” sighed Monsieur
Mallet.

“In that trunk, sir, now tossed like a thing of
no value on the sands at the bottom of the great
Atlantic—in that trunk were my letters from
Von Steinbach to yourself; a roll of music, and
some copies of the Allegmeine Zeitung, which
he had commissioned me to—”

“It affects you too much, my dear young
friend,” said the sympathizing Frenchman. “Do
not let me open your wounds afresh by asking
you to relate more concerning your loss. But
tell me, did you leave Von Steinbach well? I have
not heard from him for more than two years.”

“He had a return of his gout just before I
quitted Prague; otherwise he was in good
health.”

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

“Poor fellow! In his last letter he wrote
me that he was going to try the celebrated water-cure
administered by Priesnitz of Græfenberg.
It will gratify you, perhaps, to read what
he says. I will get the letter,” continued the
Frenchman, going towards an old, unlocked
portfolio.

“Not now—not now,” exclaimed Dangleton,
with some trepidation in his manner, and glancing
nervously at the portfolio. “The water
did him some good, but did not afford complete
relief. Let me tell you about the oratorio.”

“Ah, yes, the oratorio. It was the `Birth of
Chaos,' I suppose?”

“The same; and Von Steinbach declared
that it had never been so well performed in
Prague since you superintended the production
of it in 1825.”

“I thought it would never be played there
again,” said Monsieur Mallet; “for it required
all the violins in the city to do it justice. Nobody
would come to hear it after the second
night. Indeed, an objection which I had not
contemplated was soon made evident. The
musicians took up so much room in the great
hall, that there were no seats for the public.”

“But to the artists and amateurs who could
join in the execution, what a delightful treat it
was! Ah! Monsieur Mallet, I can say with
Von Steinbach, that Beethoven himself never
composed such a work!”

To this somewhat equivocal compliment, the
“Mounseer” replied by silently pressing his new
friend's hand.

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

“Tell me, sir,” said Dangleton, after a few
more assurances of his admiration, “is it your
habit, at any time, to give instruction in music?”

“I have had some pupils, but, because I could
not always be punctual in attending them, they
have left me. Very well! I have the more
time to devote to my grand compositions,” said
Monsieur Mallet, shrugging his shoulders.[1]

“But have you no pupils whatever at present?”

“None at all!”

“Indeed?”

“Stay! I have forgotten. Yes, I have one
little pupil—one sweet little pupil.”

“What is her name?”

“Ruth Loveday.”

“And does it not take up much of your time,
going to give her lessons?”

“Oh, no! She comes to me. It is very
convenient. She lives in this house. Ah! very
charming is Ruth! and she learns so fast, that
it is a pleasure, and not a task, to instruct her.”

“I am glad to hear that you do not object to
giving lessons. My sister, Mrs. Blazonby, a
widow lady who resides in Broome-street, having
heard me speak of you, is extremely desirous
of engaging you as her musical instructer.
I am sure you will be charmed with her, my
dear Monsieur Mallet. She will not tie you
down to particular hours. You can come when
you please, and go when you please, and charge

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

what you please; for Mrs. Blazonby has a proper
idea of the remuneration that should be
awarded to excellence in art.”

“I shall be proud to have madame, your sister,
for my pupil,” replied Monsieur Mallet,
well pleased at the prospect of finding such a
patroness.

“And now,” continued Mr. Dangleton, with
that suavity of manner which he could so
gracefully employ, “will it be asking too great
a favour if I propose that you should permit
me to hear the little pupil, of whom you speak,
play a few tunes? I would like to be able to
give Mrs. Blazonby some idea as to your style.”

“Certainly you shall hear my little pupil—
that is, if she is in the house. I will call her
in one moment.”

“Stay!” said Dangleton. “Lest she should
be shy of me as a stranger, it will be well for
you to introduce me as your particular friend.”

“Von Steinbach's particular friend is also
mine. Your caution is unnecessary,” replied
the Frenchman.

“A thousand thanks for your kindness!”

“I shall be back in two minutes. I have only
to go up stairs.”

As soon as Monsieur Mallet had quitted the
room, Mr. Edward Dangleton hastily drew from
his pocket a bundle of old letters, and thrust
them into the portfolio, to which I have already
directed the reader's attention. As he did so,
he muttered to himself, “That was a lucky
idea of Bangs's, getting hold of these letters!
Twenty dollars was good pay, however, for the

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

job. Thanks to the Herr Von Steinbach, and
to my own serene assurance, I am now fully established
in the old fiddler's good graces. Thus
far we run before the wind. Hush! He is
coming down stairs with his `petite ecolière.'
Now, Ned, summon all your impudence—all
your power of fascination. The critical moment
is at hand.”

The music-master entered the room, leading
Ruth, who had cheerfully quitted her task for
his gratification.

“This gentleman, Ruth,” said he, addressing
her in French, as his constant habit now was,
“is Mr. Edward Dangleton. You will be pleased
to play before him, will you not, when I tell
you he is a particular friend of mine?”

Ruth courtesied modestly, and looking up,
said she should always be glad to oblige Monsieur
Mallet and all his friends.

“She neither seems to recognise me, nor to
heed my name!” thought Ned. “A confounded
bad sign!”

Then taking her hand, he led her to the piano,
and said, “I perceive you do not recognise me,
Miss Ruth; and yet we have met and spoken
before to-day.”

“Oh, yes; coming from Hoboken the other
afternoon in the boat: I remember you now,”
replied Ruth.

“Hang me if she hasn't all the nonchalance of
a belle of five years' standing!” said Dangleton
to himself.

“What will you be pleased to have me play,
Monsieur Mallet?” asked Ruth, running her

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

fingers over the keys of the piano, without the
apparent consciousness of any one's presence
but her instructer's.

“Let me hear you try some of the airs from
Zampa which you have been studying.”

Placing the notes before her, she obeyed;
and executed some of the choicest portions of
Herold's beautiful opera with an ease and elegance
of touch, and a degree of precision, at
which the music-master himself was surprised.

“Excellent! Admirable!” exclaimed Dangleton;
and a torrent of praise flowed from his
lips, all of which seemed to be received by Ruth
as a matter of course, and to affect her neither
one way nor the other.

“Confound her!” muttered the young man.
“This will never do. I shall never make any
progress at this rate.”

“What think you of my little pupil, ha?” exclaimed
Monsieur Mallet, rubbing his hands.
“It is hardly six months since she took her
first lesson in music.”

“She plays, indeed, with exceeding grace and
spirit,” replied Dangleton. “Mrs. Blazonby
would, I am sure, be charmed with her performance.”

Alas! young man, what hideous thought is
casting its dark shadow before in your busy
brain?

Ruth rose to quit the room, but she was intercepted
near the door by Dangleton, who said,
“You will certainly permit me to make you
some return for the pleasure you have afforded
me. As a slight token of my admiration of

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

your proficiency, may I not present you with a
volume of new music?”

“I thank you, but must decline it. If you
have presents to make, it will gratify me, far
more than receiving them myself, to have you
give them to my good instructer here. He has
more music now in his portfolios than I could
learn in a lifetime.”

“A book, then, or some little trinket—this
ring, for instance,” continued the young man,
producing a beautiful diamond; “you will not
refuse this ring? It will just fit your middle
finger.”

As he spoke thus, he attempted to take her
hand. Ruth drew it back, and said, “Indeed I
cannot see how I have any claim upon your
generosity. But let me look at the ring.”

He eagerly placed it in her hand. She examined
it a moment, while a mischievous smile
played about her lips; and then putting it on
the old Frenchman's little finger, she remarked,
“If you seriously think you are under any obligation
of gratitude for the entertainment you
have had, it is due to Monsieur Mallet, and not
to me. The ring fits him, you see, exactly.”

“For your sake, then,” cried Dangleton, biting
his lips, “it shall be his.”

“I will admit no such condition. It would
detract from the grace of the gift,” replied
Ruth.

The crimson sprang to the young man's
cheeks. He had address enough, however, to
force a smile, and to say, “As you will. Nay,
keep it, Monsieur Mallet; if not for the sake

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

of Miss Ruth, for the sake of our dear mutual
friend, Von Steinbach.”

“Thank you, thank you, my dear Mr. Edward
Dangleton,” replied the Frenchman, moving the
diamond so that it glistened vividly in the light.

“Good-morning!” said Ruth; and she glided
gracefully out of the room.

“Still foiled and foiled, and by a mere girl!”
muttered Dangleton.

“Did you speak?” asked Monsieur Mallet.

“I was wondering at her proficiency under
your instruction, my dear sir,” replied Dangleton,
shaking the cloud from his brow, and taking
the old man's hand with great cordiality
of manner. “I will bring word to you some
day this week, Monsieur Mallet, as to my sister's
wishes. Of course you will consider yourself
engaged as her instructer, and, by way of
a retaining fee, please credit her for these ten
dollars.”

It was long since the poor Frenchman had
been in possession of so much money at a time,
and, as he received it, he expressed his acknowledgments
with grateful and sincere emotion.

“I think you said that your little pupil, Ruth,
lived here in the same house with you,” observed
Dangleton, carelessly, putting on his gloves,
and moving towards the door.

“Yes; she occupies the rooms in the attic.”

“Well, good-by, Monsieur Mallet. Au revoir!
We shall meet again.”

Dangleton quitted the apartment, thrusting
back the old Frenchman, who would have accompanied
him with ten thousand bows to the
street.

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

“No, Monsieur Mallet—no farther, I must insist—
the air is a little chilly—you will take
cold;” and the young man finally succeeded in
shutting the door upon him.

At the head of the stairs, Dangleton leaned
upon the banister, and summoned his thoughts
to what he would have called a “council of war.”
He remained nearly five minutes without stirring,
and then began slowly to descend. Suddenly
checking his steps, however, and with
compressed lips, shaking his head up and down,
as if a felicitous idea had entered it all at once,
he said to himself, “I have it! Why the deuse
did I not think of that before? It is a sure card,
and shall be played at once.”

He remounted the stairs, with a firm step ascended
the flight which led to the apartments
of the young Lovedays, and knocked at the
nearest door. It was opened by Ruth, who did
not disguise an expression of astonishment at
seeing him.

“I have an important communication to make
to you, Ruth,” said he, entering the room.

May was seated near the window, on her little
bench, busy with a slate and pencil. Ruth
placed a chair for her visiter, and stood with
folded hands, waiting for him to speak.

“And this is sister May, is it not?” asked
Dangleton, stooping, and parting the wavy curls
from the child's forehead, and imprinting upon
it a kiss.

May looked up with a confiding smile, and
Ruth somewhat coldly replied, “Yes, sir; that
is the little girl's name.”

[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]

Dangleton approached the elder sister, and,
respectfully lowering his eyes to the hat which
he held in his hand, said, “You have wondered,
Ruth, and are wondering still, unless your
wonder is already changed to distrust, why I,
a young man of fashionable family, rich and
gay, should seem interested in one like you.
You instinctively suspect my motives, and I cannot
complain at your doing so; but when I tell
you the cause of my interest, I am sure your
feelings will be changed, and that you will regard
me with eyes of confidence, if not of affection.”

“Go on, sir,” said Ruth, looking him steadily
in the eye.

“Know, then, Ruth Loveday, that it is on
your mother's account, with whose family I am
nearly connected, that—”

Ruth drew a long breath, and, while the tears
leaped to her eyes, she placed both her hands
in his, and cried, “Enough! enough, sir! Forgive
my coldness! Had you told me this before,
you should have had a far different greeting.
But tell me, when and where did you
know my mother, and how did you discover
my relationship to her?”

“I cannot say that I have a distinct recollection
of her myself, though, when quite a boy,
I must have been in her society. Often, however,
have I heard my father speak of beautiful
May Gordon, and her runaway match with
young Loveday.”

“Gordon! May Gordon! Was that her
name?” inquired Ruth, earnestly.

[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]

“How? Is it possible? Can it be, then,
that you did not know—”

Dangleton checked himself suddenly. He
saw that he had made a great mistake, and
rapidly revolved a variety of plans for retrieving
it.

“So!” thought he, “she has remained in ignorance
of the name of her mother's family!
This accounts for the fact that the claims of
these orphans to the estate have remained dormant.
How unfortunate that it should have
slipped from my tongue!”

“For good reasons,” said Ruth, “my grandfather's
name was never a familiar one among
us. It is a satisfaction, however, to know what
it was.”

“I was in error!” cried Dangleton, in reply.
“Gordon was the name of a different person
altogether. The name of your maternal grandfather
was Harrowby—Richard Harrowby, of
Charleston, South Carolina.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Ruth, with a scrutinizing
glance at her informer.

Dangleton did not blench, and suspicion was
not aroused.

“But do you judge from my name alone that
I am the daughter of her of whom you speak?”
inquired Ruth.

“Partly from that, but chiefly and incontestably
from your resemblance to a portrait of
your mother, taken in her girlhood.”

“A portrait of my mother! Oh! where is
it? Who has it? Can you show it me? May
I not see it? If you knew how I have loved

[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]

her—how I love her still, you would not wonder
at my strong desire to see—to possess her
likeness.”

“The portrait is in my possession, and it
will give me sincere gratification to place it in
yours.”

“Will you—will you give it to me? Oh!
that will be a gift indeed! Thank you, sir!
thank you! I cannot express my thanks.”

“Your mother, Ruth, must have been exceedingly
beautiful!”

“I well remember her features. I can tell
at once if the likeness be true.”

“It is remarkable for its fidelity: so says my
father, who knew the original well.”

“Did he know her, indeed? How I would
love to talk with him about her!”

“You shall do so, Ruth. I have spoken with
him concerning you, and he urgently desires to
meet and embrace the children of his old and
dear friend.”

“When will you let me have the portrait?”

“To-morrow. I will bring it to you myself.”

After this prosperous commencement, Dangleton
adroitly led on the conversation to such
topics as were the most suitable to Ruth's tastes
and feelings. He was well aware that the best
way to make a person pleased with you is to
make him pleased with himself in your society;
and he avoided the mistake which the uninitiated
often fall into, who, to produce a favourable
impression, keep their own faculties upon the
stretch, in the effort to shine, instead of imperceptibly
drawing out and exercising the talents

[figure description] Page 157.[end figure description]

of those with whom they may wish to succeed.
He had at length touched the right chord in
Ruth's bosom, and it gave forth “most eloquent
music.” She unreservedly told him of
her past struggles and her present prospects—
showed him her engravings, with which he appeared
to be extremely pleased—and, in the
conviction that she was speaking to her “mother's
friend,” withheld no information that he
seemed desirous to elicit.

An hour flew by. Frank and Arthur came in
from their day's tasks, and, while Ruth arranged
the tea-table, Dangleton devoted himself,
not unsuccessfully, to conciliating their goodwill.
Frank's heart he soon succeeded in winning,
by a description of his new pony, “Tittlebat
Titmouse,” accompanied with an explicit
promise that Frank should ride him the first
leisure afternoon. As for Arthur, the dazzling
prospect of being presented with copies of
“Virgil” and “Lempriere's Classical Dictionary”
had a charm for him which was irresistible.
He could not help setting down Mr. Dangleton
as one of the “cleverest fellows” he had
ever met with.

Mr. Bibb came in, according to his confirmed
custom, about tea-time, and Ruth introduced
her visiter to him as one who had known her
mother, and whose claims, therefore, to her
friendship, admitted of no question. Notwithstanding
this recommendation, the good grocer
appeared to regard his presence with very little
satisfaction; and it was remarked by the
children that Mr. Bibb was unusually silent and

[figure description] Page 158.[end figure description]

grave. At length Dangleton became so very
agreeable, and told so many pleasant little stories,
and sang so winningly and so well, that
even the “fat man's” distrust was dissipated
for the time, and he laughed and talked with
the rest, as if nothing had happened to make
him serious.

It was eight o'clock before Dangleton rose
to take his leave. Shaking hands all round,
and assuring Ruth that she should have the
promised portrait the next day, he gayly bade
the party “good-night,” and withdrew.

“A fine fellow, that! I like him!” exclaimed
Frank, as the door was closed. “He is going
to let me ride his pony, Tittlebat Titmouse.”

“He is a good Latin scholar, too,” said Arthur.
“He has promised to lend me a Virgil
and a Lempriere.”

“Were you not delighted with his songs?”
asked Ruth. “He has an excellent voice!”

“He has promised me a little work-box, all
covered with pictures!” lisped May.

“Really, the young man seems to have taken
a great fancy to you, all at once, children,”
quoth Mr. Bibb, with a puzzled look, slowly
putting on his hat and stroking his chin. “I
do not well know what to make of it. Young
men do not act so without an object: however,
let us hope that his is an honest one. So good-night,
darlings!”

“Good-night, Mr. Bibb! Good-night, grandpapa!”

eaf333.n1

[1] It will be remembered that the whole of this conversation
was in French, which I have translated for the benefit of such of
my readers as do not understand the language.

p333-168

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