BY PAUL CREYTON.
CHAPTER I. The Worldly Heart.
One cold, dreary, windy day in the month
of November, 1843, a tall, dark individual
might have been observed passing to and fro,
in a mysterious manner, in one of the most
retired streets of the city of Boston. His
finely-made form and handsome features were
disguised by the folds of a spacious cloak and
scarf, which he had assumed for the double
purpose of concealment and defence against
the cold.
Several times had this strange individual
walked up and down the street, like one abstracted.
But although he seemed to have
no object in view, a keen observer would have
remarked at once that he was deeply interested
in some object he saw, or wished to see, in
a cottage over the way; for his dark, piercing
eye was turned in that direction continually.
At last, as the stranger was approaching
the house in one of his rounds, a lad of about
twelve summers, pale, and poorly clad, came
out of the door and ran lightly down the steps
into the street. The stranger paused, but as
the boy ran on before him, he followed, quickening
his pace, and was soon led by the unconscious
youth into a more busy quarter of
the town.
The two kept on at a rapid pace, the
stranger gradually nearing the boy, until the
latter suddenly turned into a large, crowded
building, composed of offices devoted to
the use of lawyers, brokers, and other business
men. The lad mounted a broad flight of
stairs, and entered a side door, which he had
scarcely closed when the stranger followed
him in.
There was but one man in the office, and
he sat at the desk with a newspaper in his
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hand. He looked up as the two entered, and
after glancing at the stranger, who coolly took
a seat near the stove, motioned the boy to
approach him.
The lad was embarrassed and seemed afraid
to speak. With his cold, numb fingers, he
played with the buttons of his coat, while his
eye turned- alternately from the stranger to
the man at the desk. The latter was a middle-aged
man, with a cold, hard, calculating
look, such as chills the heart unused to the
selfishness of the world.
`Well, William,' said he, turning to the
boy with the mockery of a smile—it was so
cold and heartless—`well, William, has your
father sent me the money for the rent, as he
promised my clerk, when he called on him
the other day? Speak out, William.'
`He sent me,' said the boy, after some hesitation,
`to tell you that he couldn't possibly
raise the money for you to-day; but that he
hopes to be able to get it for you before next
Saturday.'
The man at the desk scowled darkly.
`Tell your father,' said he, in tones of
harshness, `that I can put up with this treatment
no longer. I have been put off now
day after day with promises and protestations,
until I am tired of the same eternal lingo.
However, I will let things remain until Saturday,
when, if the rent is not paid, I shall be
under the necessity of adopting measures that
would be unpleasant both for him and me.'
`But father is very sick,' began the lad, his
eyes glistening with tears.
He would have said more, but sobs choked
his utterance, and he hurried from the office
into the street.
I said the man at the desk scowled darkly;
but when the boy was gone, and his eye fell
upon the stranger seated at the fire, at the sight
of the dignified bearing of the latter, and his
rich but simple dress, his worldly heart was
pleased, and his brow brightened with a smile.
`Excuse me,' said the stranger, approaching
the door; `I perceive I have entered the
wrong place. But will you tell me whether
or no that lad is the son of Mr. Jonathan
Harding?'
`Ay, that's he father's name,' replied the
other, politely.
`What a reverse of fortune that man must
have met with!' the other with a
sigh. `If I remember right, he was once one
of the richest and most influential
in Boston.'
`True,' replied the man at the
he has lost all his property by
ment. I knew him well five years
he was in the height of his . He
failure was quite unexpected, and very unfortunate,
for by strange
on his part, his everything, and
left him poor. Of he has been , and
he has even been brought as to be unable
to pay the of of my
houses.'
`Low, sighed the stranger, `but
his family?'
`That is small. He has but
two children, a girl of twenty and
the boy you here. The girl, I am ,
supports the family by the has
.'
`And no ?'
`No accepted ones. Many of the first
class, however—young men of fortune and
family—have offered themselves, but it seems
she prefers a life of and poverty to a
good match.'
`Indeed!'
`Strange, you think; but there is a reason—
though a one—for her foolish .
You she is young and romantic, like other
silly girls at her age, and herself on
wealth. The truth ,
for a young man who, if he is like other young
men, thinks no more about her now than as if
he had never seen her.'
`Who is he?'
`I will tell you. Many years ago, Mr.
Harding, who is a kind- man enough,
picked up a little orphan boy in the streets,
and took him and warmed, and , and
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clothed him, as if he had been his own son.
And so the boy grew up like one of the family
until he was eighteen. At that time—this
was five or six years ago—Harding's daughter,
Julia, was about fifteen, and a very pretty
girl, I assure you.
`Well, things turned out as might have
been expected. The youth was warm-hearted
and full of spirit, and the girl was a delicious,
bewitching creature, and altogether too rich
for him to withstand. In short, the poor orphan
and the rich heiress loved each other,
and became engaged before the old man knew
anything of the matter. He found it out,
however, and of course he took measures to
break off the unequal connection, by putting
the boy in the way of making his fortune
abroad, that the two might forget each other.
The thing must have had the desired effect on
one side, for the boy has never been heard
from since; but on the other hand, Julia
seems to cherish the hope that he will return
some day, rich, and as loving as ever. She's
foolish there, for the boy has seen something
of the world by this time, and lost some of the
romance by which youths now-a-days are infected.
If he should come back, it isn't probable
he would think of marrying the daughter
of a poor, broken-down merchant.'
Thus did the worldly man run on, talking
from the coldness of a heart that was a stranger
to all the kinder feelings of man's nature,
and flattering himself that he was speaking
the sentiments of a philosopher and a man.
The stranger heard him out; then making
inquiries concerning the amount of rent due
from Mr. Harding, abruptly took the sum
from his purse, laid it upon the desk, and requested,
or rather ordered, the other to make
out a receipt which he could forward to the
merchant.
The worldly man looked at the stranger in
surprise, but seeing how stern and forbidding
he appeared, simply asked his name, made
out the required paper, and passed it to the
stranger. The latter placed it in his pocket-book,
turned his back haughtily upon the astonished
landlord, and hurried from the office.
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CHAPTER II. Mysterious Providence.
[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]
When the boy, whom the worldly man dismissed
so harshly from his presence, had
reached the street, he brushed away the tears
that gushed from the fullness of his bursting
heart, and hastened back to carry the cruel
message to his father. Having reached home,
he hesitated before he entered, fearing, in the
goodness of his young and untried heart, the
effect his errand might have upon his invalid
parent; but at length, summoning his resolution,
he passed quickly in, and stood, pale and
shivering, in the presence of his family.
He was in a small, but neat and comfortable
apartment, scantily furnished, yet not
without some manifestations of taste. Near
the fire sat an elderly man in an arm-chair,
his eyes closed as if in sleep. He was paler
even than the boy himself, and his emaciated
limbs and sunken cheeks showed the unmistakable
traces of disease and care.
This was the father of the boy. His mother
sat near—a patient, care-worn woman, in
humble but neat attire, who occasionally rais
ed her eyes from her work to her husband's
face, as if her joy and sorrow were centered
in him. At Mrs. Harding's side sat her
daughter, Julia, of whom the reader already
knows something, through the conversation of
the worldly man with the stranger in his
office. Although the landlord's account had
been colored by his own views of the world,
it had been in the main correct. Possessed of
rare intelligence, a fair form, and such a countenance
as rivets our gaze as if by some magic
influence, she was in every respect a lovely
and lovable woman.
I said the old man's eyes were closed as if
in sleep; but the moment the boy's light footstep
was heard upon the threshold, he turned
his head quickly, and cast a hurried, inquiring
glance at his son.
`William!'
The boy stepped forward and stood before
his father.
`What did Mr. Maxwell say?'
In a few words the boy delivered his
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message, softening as well as he might the harshness
of its import. His parents and sister listened
eagerly, their countenances changing as if
in disappointment and despair.
`Saturday,' said the old man, musingly,
when the boy had ended. `Saturday—and
to-day is Tuesday.'
`Thursday, father,' said Julia.
`Thursday! Is it possible? How time
rolls by, unconsciously to the invalid! Thursday!
Heaven help us! We cannot raise the
money this week.'
`But will Mr. Maxwell carry his threat into
execution?' asked Julia.
`He is a hard man!' murmured Mr. Harding.
`But Henry, his son—' began the boy's
mother.
`Do not mention his name!' exclaimed the
old man, somewhat impatiently. `His son!
What can we expect from him? True, he
professed, and still professes, to have an attachment
for Julia; but when he offered her
his hand, she refused him.'
`Do not speak so bitterly, father,' interrupted
Julia. `You know I could never love
Henry Maxwell, and that I would scorn to
marry him for his riches.'
`You are right,' murmured the old man,
more kindly, `quite right. I would not have
you wed him against your will to save us
from the lowest stage of poverty. No—no!
Let fate do its worst!'
The old man paused, for there was a ringing
at the outer door, and William hastened
to admit the visiter. Henry Maxwell entered,
a young man possessed of all the selfishness
of his father, but less of his calculating coldness.
When Mr. Harding saw him approach,
feeble as he was, he stretched forth his emaciated
hand, and with a flashing eye told him
of the message sent by his relentless father.
The young man made no attempt to excuse
his parent, but protested he had known nothing
of the affair of the rent until half an hour
before, when he happened into his father's
office directly after William had left it.
`And he had hastened,' he said, with much
apparent feeling, `to put the old man's mind
at rest; assuring him that no demands should
be made on him for rent due heretofore.'
`This is generous!' exclaimed the old man,
grasping his hand feebly. `You are not like
your father, and I am glad of it. You have,
then, paid the rent yourself—trusting to my
ability to repay you at some future time?'
Mr. Harding said more, but Henry seemed
not to hear him, for without making any reply,
he turned to speak with Julia. Half an
hour after the young man left, having made a
more favorable impression on the minds of
the family than he had ever done before.
About the same time the postman rang and
dropped a letter, addressed to Julia, who hastened
to her room and read it eagerly. Twice
she glanced her eye over its contents, which
produced a confusion in her brain I will not
attempt to describe; then she wept; then she
laughed; then she wept and laughed together,
as if the epistle had been a strange mixture of
good and evil intelligence, that inspired her
with alternate joy and sorrow.
Poor Julia was very nervous during the
succeeding half hour, and could neither work,
nor talk, nor think. Her mind was on the
contents of the mysterious letter, which she
re-read half a dozen times before the half hour
expired. Then hastily but stealthily she attired
herself to encounter the roughness of
the weather, and with a beating heart stole
from her father's house.
We will not follow her, but simply state,
that on her return she appeared more gay
than she had been before for months. Her
parents saw the change, and questioned her,
but she answered them evasively. What
could have happened to produce the alteration,
that she should hesitate to unfold at
once to them?
Days passed, and the Harding family were
provided for unexpectedly and strangely. Julia
would go out and make purchases of such
articles as most her father needed, and have
them sent to the door, that she might enjoy
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her parents' and little William's surprise.—
The hearts of these three were filled with
gratitude to Julia, and their love for her increased,
if that were possible, when they saw
how she denied herself to comfort them.
But by what means was Julia enabled to
make the purchases she did? How got she
so much money? When asked these questions
by her friends, she would reply that she
was paid more for the lessons she gave on the
piano than she was before; that her French
pupils were increasing; and that the funds
she procured in various other ways, when
put together, amounted to no despicable sum.
But still there was a mystery, which, if she
understood it herself, she did not choose to
clear up to their satisfaction.
One day, after Henry Maxwell had been
at the house, where he exerted himself not a
little to please Julia and her parents, Mr.
Harding, who was slowly recovering from his
sickness, asked his daughter why she was so
prejudiced against the young man, and inquired
if there was any other she preferred.
`You forget,' said Julia, timidly, `that
Theodore Alliston pleased me more than any
other.'
The old man sighed.
`Theodore Alliston!' he murmured—`the
lad I brought up—after snatching him from a
pit of degradation into which he had been
thrust—for he was too young to choose or
struggle against fortune—the boy who grew
up under my roof, and repaid me for my cares
and kindness by aspiring to win your affections
and your hand—'
`But he was worthy,' interrupted Julia.
`Well, there was nothing bad about him, I
confess. Perhaps I treated him too harshly
in banishing him from my house; but in
doing so, I gave him an excellent opportunity
of making his fortune abroad, which I hope he
has profited by—for I really had a preference
for the boy. But what I was going to say—'
`Well?'
`You loved him, and I doubt not that he
loved you. Yet it is foolish in you to cherish
his image as you do, as if he remembered you
the same. It is not at all probable that he
has any affection left for his old companion,
nor do I believe he would think of renewing
his engagement with you, should he ever see
you again. You must reflect that we are
poor now!'
`And would that make any difference with
him?' asked Julia, fixing her large dark eyes
with an expression of mournful reproach upon
her father's face.
The old man sighed again, but answered
not. Throwing his head back upon a pillow
Julia arranged for his comfort, he closed his
outward eyes, looking with those within—the
spiritual sight—back upon the past, all shadowed
as it was by sorrows and vain regrets, and
forward to the future, which appeared more
dark to him than either the past or present.
More than a week had passed, dating from
the opening of our story, and still Julia continued
to supply her family with comforts,
which seemed procured through the influence
of a mysterious providence, for none could
divine how the girl became possessed of the
means to make the purchases she did.
`I am convinced,' said the old man to her
then, `that you procure money from some
source which you keep concealed from us.
Answer me now plainly: Do you get all
your money by teaching?'
`No,' replied Julia, blushing and smiling
as she blushed. `I do not.'
`How then is it obtained? Speak, for I
can endure this mystery no longer.'
`But I am not at liberty to tell you now,
father. Wait patiently, and I assure you
that all shall be explained to your satisfaction,
I hope, by four o'clock to-morrow. Wait till
then.'
The old man regarded her with an expression
of perplexity and wonder, but did not
urge her more.
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CHAPTER III. Finale.
[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]
At the hour appointed on the following day,
the little family of Mr. Harding were gathered
together at their humble abode. Julia was
there, ready to explain the mystery, and her
parents and little William were anxiously
waiting for the moment to arrive when their
curiosity was to be gratified.
`You are expecting some one, Julia?' said
the old man.
`Yes, sir.'
`Who?'
`You will soon learn. I can only tell you
that it is one to whom we all owe much—'
`He who has helped to provide us with the
comforts we have enjoyed of late?'
`The same.'
At that moment the door-bell rang, and
Julia, very much agitated, hastened to admit
the visiter. But little William was at the
door before her, and to the surprise of her
parents, he returned almost immediately, accompanied
by Henry Maxwell!
Feeble as Mr. Harding was, he sprang to
his feet, and grasped Henry's hand warmly.
`It is you then!' he cried with emotion
`it is you that have been a friend to us in our
misfortunes! As soon as you knew of our
extremity, you nobly came to our assistance—
paid our rent—'
`Do not mention it,' interrupted Henry
with an air of modesty.
`You do not deny it,' pursued Mr. Harding
ding. `No, you admit it. And you have
since done more for us than I could have ex-lb
pected even of a son!'
Henry Maxwell was bowing and stammering,
scarcely audacious enough to admit
the old man said, and unwilling to undeceive
him, when he was startled by a soft voice
beside him.
`Father!'
They all looked up—Mr. Harding, his wife,
little William, and the rejected suitor, Henry
Maxwell.
Julia stood before them; her features surpassingly
lovely, covered as they were with
blushes, smiles and tears; and in her trembling
hand she held the hand of a tall, dark,
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manly stranger, who cast a serene yet anxious
look about him as he entered.
Has not the reader recognized the young
man introduced at the opening of our story?
It was the same!
`Father,' repeated Julia, `this is the man
to whose generosity you are indebted! This
is he who first paid your rent, unbeknown
even to me, and afterwards, having sought an
interview with me, provided me with the
means to supply us with the necessaries and
comforts of life. Do you not know him,
father? It is Theodore Alliston!'
The old man sank upon a chair, and Julia,
sobbing at the excess of her emotion, threw
herself at his feet, burying her face in his out-stretched
hands. Theodore knelt beside her,
and drew her hand in his.
The old man looked at them for a moment,
while the tears ran down his cheeks, but uttered
not a word, until Theodore and Julia,
raising, as if with one consent, their eyes to
his, asked his benediction.
`Theodore!—Julia!—My children!' he
sobbed, and drew them together to his bosom.
When the excess of emotion had subsided,
and the young and happy pair arose to receive
the mother's blessing, Henry Maxwell,
beginning to feel exceedingly uneasy, slunk
from the house, never to enter the presence of
Julia or her family again.
Then was there a scene of a nature it seldom
falls to the lot of man to witness; such
as can never fail to improve the heart by the
holy influence it sheds around; such as brings
a tear of sympathetic joy into the eyes of
angels!
Every heart was overflowing with happiness—
every face was suffused with joy. Strange
contrast! There was a smile on every lip
and a tear in every eye.
For Theodore, the noble, the spirited, the
generous and true—Theodore had returned!
Not with all the riches of the Indies in his
possession, but with a competency procured as
much through industry and probity as the
favors of fortune, and with the same true
heart and noble soul which long before had
won the love of Julia.
When we hear of two such hearts as Theodore's
and Julia's—hearts that have stood the
test of absence; that have been tried by the
world and changed not; that have loved each
other notwithstanding the opposition of friends
and the allurements of newer objects; and
that have at length, after years of separation,
returned to each other with all the purity and
freshness of earlier age; when we hear of two
such hearts, I say, we need not be told that
there is truth, and depth, and endurance to
their affection, never to be destroyed.
And Julia became the bride of her own
Theodore, who took her, with her prrents, to a
home he had provided for them, and devoted
himself henceforth to prove his gratitude to
Mr. Harding for what he had done for him in
his boyhood, when he was a friendless orphan,
and to promote the happiness of his young
and lovely wife.
THE END.
Trowbridge, J. T. (John Townsend), 1827-1916 [1849], Albert Simmons, or, The midshipman's revenge, ed. M. M. Ballou; The adopted son, or, The reward of charity (F. Gleason, Boston) [word count] [eaf400].
