"And you, then, are the mother of the beautiful child, I wish to adopt?" asked Madame Vincent, gazing admiringly at Rose.
Our heroine's long lashes drooped upon a cheek that crimsoned like the heart of a June rose, as she timidly answered:
"Yes, madame."
"You are extremely pretty, child, and very young to be a mother. Have you any other children?"
"None," replied Rose, "but Charley."
"And you would not give him up to me?" asked madame, coaxingly. "Do you think his father would object?"
"His father is dead, madame," said Rose, in a low voice.
"Pardon me, child, I did not know that you were a widow.Iam a widow. It is very dull, being a widow; don't you think so, dear? Did your husband leave you property?"
"No," replied Rose, answering the inexcusable question, for she could not bear to seem disrespectful to Vincent's mother.
"That is a pity, dear; my husband left me plenty. I shall will it all to Charley, if you will only give him up to me. What was your husband's name, dear."
"Vincent L'Estrange Vincent;" answered Rose, startled at the strange sound of her own voice.
"Singular! Same name as my son's," said madame, "Very singular."
"Hewasyour son;" said Rose, in the same strange, cold tone.
"My son never was married;" replied madame.
"God knows he told me we were so, and I believed him," answered Rose.
"He made believe marry you, then, did he?" asked the childish old lady. "He did that to a great many women, I believe. Gentlemen often do such things, so they tell me. Your child is of course illegitimate then."
Rose's lips moved, but no answer came.
"And what do you intend to do with him, child?"
"Bring him up to despise the sin of which his father was guilty," replied Rose, boldly.
"Oh yes, that's all very proper; but if you give him to me, there will be no occasion ever to mention it at all, oryou either, child."
"Madame," said Rose, with a proud dignity. "Is it a mother who speaks to a mother such words as these? You loveyourson none the less that he mademyname a reproach and a by-word, crimsonedmy innocent cheek with shame, dimmed my eyes with unavailing tears. Shall I, think you, lovemyson the less thatyour sondeserted him? Shall I love my son the less that through days and nights of tearful anguish his smile, his love, was all of heaven I ever dared to look for?"
"Oh, certainly not—oh, of course not," replied the old lady, nervously; "but you know he may notalwayslove you as well as he does now, when he knows—"
"In God I put my trust;" said Rose, as tears streamed from her eyes.
"Well, don't cry, child—don't cry. I hate to see people cry. All I wanted to say was, that you would always be a drag on him, if he tried to rise in the world; but don't cry. It is right for you to trust in God, every body ought to be pious, it is so respectable. I have been confirmed myself; but don't cry, it will spoil your handsome eyes. You are young yet, perhaps somebody may marry you, if you keep quiet about this."
"I would never so deceive any man," answered Rose, with dignity.
"Deceive!oh, no, child, that would beverywrong. I only meant that you should say nothing about it; that is a different thing, you see. Now I loved a Mr. Perry much better than I did my husband, but it would have been quite foolish had I allowed it to be known,you know, because Vincent was very rich, and it was necessary I should have a handsome establishment. Oh, no! of course I do not approve of deception, that is very wrong, but therearecases where it is best for a woman to keep quiet. Well, how about Charley? have you quite decided not to part with him?"
"Quite," said Rose, "Charley must remain with me;" and, with a dignified air, she bowed madame to her carriage.
"A regular little romance, I declare," said madame, laying off her black bonnet, and fanning herself languidly, "quite a little romance.
"Vincent'sboy! no wonder he is so handsome; no wonder I was so attracted toward him. Vincent was a little wild, but very likely that young thing didherpart of the courting. She is very handsome, and, with a little instruction under other circumstances—with a little instruction from me, I say, she would be quite presentable in society.
"It is very odd she would not give up Charley. I thought that style of people were always glad to get rid of their children; in fact, I think it herdutynot to stand in the child's light. She is a Puritanical little puss, and quite queenly, too, for a Magdalen. I was quite dashed, as one may say, once or twice, by her manner, although I pride myself on my self-possession. She is really quite superior to her station; but Vincent, dear boy, always had indisputable taste; there never was a taint of grossness about him.
"He was very fastidious. I remember I put off hisfather's funeral one whole day, in order that the tailor might alter the coat-collar of his new mourning-suit. Yes, and he was so sensitive, too, poor dear! he felt his father's death so much that he was obliged to go directly from the grave to the club-house, to dissipate his mournful thoughts.
"Ah! Anne, is that you? sit down; I have just returned. Do you know, the mother of that baby refused to give him up. She says it is one of our Vincent's children. She is a very pretty young woman, Anne—not a high-bred beauty, of course; that you never see, except in aristocratic circles, still, she is quite pretty."
"Very," replied Anne, quite nonchalantly.
"Ha! you have seen her, then?" asked madame, with some surprise.
"My dear madame, I really would prefer saying nothing upon the subject. I answered your first question frankly, because I make it a point never to deceive you; but I really wish you would not question me, I dislike so much to speak ill of any one."
"But I insist upon knowing, Anne; in fact, I think it is quite unkind of you to have any secrets from me, so long as you have been in my confidence, too."
"Ah, well, dear madame, if you insist, I suppose I must yield, for I can refuse you nothing. The person you have been to see this morning is an arrant impostor. She is playing a deep game with you; her refusal is not sincere; she expects you will return and persistin asking for Charley, and intends then to make money out of the operation."
"Well, she is very much mistaken, then," said the old lady, indignant, as easily duped people are, who always fancy themselves a match for any double and twisted diplomatist, "very much mistaken, for I shall never go near her again. Then that story was all trumped up she told me about the baby being our Vincent's."
"Certainly," said Anne; "I tell you, my dear madame, she has played that game on several people beside you."
"Possible?" said the old lady, fanning herself violently; "the impudent little baggage! But how did you find it all out, Annie?"
"Ah! there, you must really excuse me, my dear madame. My informant is so afraid of being involved, that I was sworn to the strictest secrecy on that point, but, I assure you, my authority is reliable."
"I have no doubt of it, my dear Anne, ifyousay so. But why did you not speak of it before?"
"Well, that was my first impulse, of course; but you see how it was. I was placed in very delicate circumstances, dear madame. Here I am a dependent on your bounty; you have been always like a kind mother to me; your heart was set on adopting this child; had I opposed it, you might have suspected my motives; that thought was too painful for me; and so, up to thistime, when you extorted it from me, I have been vacillating," and Anne looked lachrymose.
"You dear, good creature," exclaimed madame, "you always had the best heart in the world. You should not have tortured yourself so unnecessarily, Anne. You know I never would imagine you guilty of such mean motives. You may have my brown silk dress, Anne, and the dark blue brocade. I had never worn either when I was called into mourning. I declare, Anne, you have the best heart in the world. You need not blush about it, child," said madame, as Anne covered her face with her handkerchief to conceal a laugh. "You are too modest by half, Anne; but it is always so with real merit."
"What an invaluable creature that Anne is," exclaimed madame, as she went out of the door in pursuit of the brown silk. "To think of the brazen-facedness of that young woman! I declare I could not have believed any body could tell a lie with such an innocent face. It is really almost past belief; what an invaluable creature Anne is. I never should be able to get along without her. I must go to Mme. Descomb's and select her a new dress hat. Just to think now of the impudence of that Rose.
"I must furnish Anne with means to go on some little excursion. I think I will buy her that pretty music-box I saw yesterday.
"How wide awake Anne is to my interests! Had it not been for her I might have been taken in by that scheming young woman. I hope nobody saw me go to her house; I must warn Chloe against her, it will not do for her to go there again."
Rose was sitting in her little parlor giving Charley his morning bath; the water was dripping from his polished limbs, and he was laughing and splashing about with the nude grace of a young sea-god; now catching his breath, as his head was immersed under water; now shaking back his dripping curls, and flashing upon you his dark bright eyes, as if life were all sunshine, and his infant sky were cloudless.
"I sall inform you zat you can leave my maison—my house—dis morning," said Rose's French landlady, entering the room without a preliminary rap. "You understand, mademoiselle—dis morning, I say—you are von bad woman, mademoiselle."
Twice Rose opened her lips to speak, but the color receded from her lips and cheeks, and she stood terror-struck and speechless.
"Zat is all ver' well," said madame, quite accustomed to see her country-women strike an attitude. "Zat is all ver' well; you did not expect I sall know any ting about it, but one personne tell me zat I know; you can go, for you are von bad woman."
"What is all this?" exclaimed Gertrude, opening the door and seeing Rose's pallid face and madame's angry gesticulations.
"Ah, ha! she has impose on you too!" exclaimed Madame Macqué. "She von ver' sly woman—ver' bad; she no' stay in my house long time."
"Woman!" said Gertrude, throwing her arm around Rose, "this is my sister; every word you speak against her you speak against me. She is as pure as that sweet child. If she leaves your house, I leave it."
"Ver' well—trés bien," said madame, shaking her overloaded French head-dress; "you can go, den—von day you see I tell you de truf when I say she von—"
"Don't repeat that again, in my hearing," said Gertrude, standing before her with sparkling eyes.
"Speak, Rose—dear Rose!" said Gertrude, kissing her cold face, as madame left the room. "Speak, Rose; do not let that miserable bundle of French trumpery crush so pure and noble a heart as yours. We will go away, Rose—you, and I, and dear little Charley. And, oh, Rose! when could I have a better time to plead for my brother's happiness, for yours, for my own? Put it beyond the power of any one to poison your peace, Rose; beindeedmy sister."
Rose's only reply was a low shuddering sob, as she drew closer to Gertrude.
"Just as good as new," said Miss Anne, lookingcomplacently at herself in the brown silk. "Anne, you should be prime minister; you have a talent for diplomacy; femininity is too circumscribed a sphere for the exercise of your talents. You did that well, Anne—Madame Vincent thrown completely off the track, Rose crushed and out of your way forever; the baby ditto. Madame Macque is very careful of her reputation inthiscountry, because she never had any in France. Ha—ha, Anne, you are a genius—and this brown silk is a proof of it. Now, look out for presents about this time, for your star is at its culminating point. Rose has beauty—has she? Vincent fancied her—did he? A rose's doom is to fade and wither—to be plucked, then trodden under foot;" and Miss Anne laughed one of her Satanic laughs.
Sally came into the kitchen just as the clock was striking seven. The Maltese cat heard the old clock, jumped up, and shook herself, just as if her dream of a ducking at the hands of the grocer-boy were true. Three stray cockroaches—cockroaches, like poor relatives, will intrude into the best-regulated families—scampered before Sally's footsteps to their hiding-places, and the little thieving brown mouse on the dresser took temporary refuge in the sugar-bowl.
Sally had been up stairs performing her afternoon toilet by the aid of a cracked looking-glass, which had a way of multiplying Sally's very suggestive to her crushed hopes. Sally, I am sorry to say, had been jilted. Milkmen do not always carry the milk of human kindness in their flinty bosoms. Time was when Jack Short never came into the kitchen with his can, without tossing Sally a bunch of caraway, or fennel, a nosegay of Bouncing Bettys, or a big apple or pear. Time was when his whip-lash always wanted mending, and it took two to find a string in the closet to do it, and two pair of hands to tie it on when found.
"Poor old thing!" the faithless John would now say to the rosy little plumptitude who had won his heart away from the angular Sally; "Poor old thing! I was only fooling a little, just to keep my hand in, and she thought I was in love."
Sally had as much spirit as the rest of her sex, and so to show John that she was quite indifferent about the new turn in their affairs, she set the milk-pan, into which he was to pour his morning's milk, out into the porch, and closed the kitchen-door in his false face, that he might have nothing upon which to hinge an idea that she wanted to see him. And more; she tied the yellow neck-ribbon he gave her on the last fourth of July round the pump-handle, and if John Short had not been blind as well as "short," he must have seen that "when a woman will—she will, you may depend on't," and "when a woman won't—she won't, and there's an end on't."
Poor Sally, before she saw John, had lived along contentedly in her underground habitations, year after year, peeling potatoes, making puddings, washing, ironing, baking, and brewing; nobody had ever made love to her; she had not the remotest idea what a Champagne draught love was. She could have torn her hair out by the roots, when she did find out, to think she had so misspent her past time. It reallydidseem to her, although she was squint-eyed, that there was nothing else in this world of anyaccount at all. She had thought herself happy when her bonnet was trimmed to suit her, or her gown a good fit; but a love-fit! ah, that was a very different matter. Poor Sally! mischievous John!—the long and short of it was, if Bouncing Bettys have any floral significance, Sally should have been Mrs. Short.
Of course, she had no motive on the afternoon we speak of, to look long in the cracked looking-glass; it made no difference now whether she wore her brown calico with the little white dots, or her plaid delaine with the bishop sleeves; there was no use in braiding her hair, or in putting on her three-shilling collar; she had resigned herself to her fate. She even threw a pitcher of hot water at the innocent organ-grinder, because he played Love's young Dream.
Still you see, she goes on mechanically with her work, putting the tea-kettle over the fire, setting the six brass lamps in a regular row on the mantle, and tucking the ends of some clean towels, out of sight, in the half-open bureau-drawers. Sally is neat; but John Short's little Patty is plump and rosy.
Ah! now she has some company—there is Miss Harriet Place, who has the misfortune to have so stiff a neck that when she turns it, her whole body must follow. Miss Harriet has black eyes, affects the genteel, and speaks of "my poor neck" in a little mincing way, as if its stiffness were only a pretty little affectation on her part. Her cronies wink at this weakness,for Miss Harriet has a gift at trimming their bonnets, and putting finishing touches to all sorts of feminine knicknacks; then, here comes Alvah Kittridge, who is a rabid Free-will Baptist, and who lives at Mayor Treadwell's! where they have such fine dinners; at which the Mayor drinks a great deal, and "finds fault very bad," with every thing the next morning. Miss Alvah pays her way as she goes, both in stories, and maccaroons; the former her own, the latter Mayor Treadwell's.
Last, but by no means least, comes Mrs. Becky Saffron, all cap-border and eyes, the only other noticeable thing about her being her mouth, which displays, in her facetious moods, two enormous yellow tusks, one upper and one under, reminding the observer of a hungry catamount; this resemblance scarce diminishes on acquaintance, as Mrs. Becky, like all the skinny skeleton-ish tribe, is capable of most inordinate guzzling and gorging.
"Glad to see you, Miss Place," said Mrs. Becky (giving her cap-border a twitch), and getting on the right side of that stiff-necked individual, "I have not set eyes on you these six months."
"No," minced Miss Place; "I called at your boarding-house, and they said you had gone somewhere, they could not tell where."
"Oh, I'm nobody; of course they wouldn't know; I'm nobody. I'm down in the world, as one may say.I'm nobody but 'Becky.' I come and go; nobody cares, especially when Igo," and Mrs. Becky gave her two yellow tusks an airing.
"I left my old place some time ago. I'm tobroth-er's now." Mrs. Becky always pronounced the first syllable of this word like the liquid commonly designated by that syllable. "Yes, I'm tobroth-ers now. His wife never wanted me in the house. She's dreadful pert and stuck-up, for all she was nobody; so I have always been boarded out, and been given to understand that my room was better than my company. But something queer has happened. I can't find out what, only thatbroth-er has got the whip-rein of his wife now, and has it all his own way; so he came and told me that it would cost less for him to keep me at St. John's Square than to board me out; so there I am.
"It is no use forbroth-er's wife to teach me about silver forks and finger-bowls, about not doing this, or that, or t'other thing; can't teach an old dog new tricks. But I let her fret. I am not afraid of her now, for whenever she gets on her high horse,broth-er fetches her right off with the word "damages." I can't tell for the life of me what it means. I've seen her change right round when he whispered it, as quick as a weather-cock, and it would be all fair weather in one minute. It's curious. How do you like your new place, Alvah?"
"Places are all about alike," said Alvah, dejectedly. "See one, you see all. Damask and satin in the parlor; French bedsteads and mirrors in my lady's chamber, and broken panes of glass up in the attic; lumpy straw beds, coarse, narrow sheets, torn coverlets, and one broken table and chair, will do for the servants' room. Always fretting and fault-finding too, just as if we had heart to work, when we are treated so like dogs; worse than dogs, for young master's Bruno has a dog-house all to himself, and a nice soft bed in it; which is more than I can say. I declare it is discouraging," said Alvah. "It fetches out all the bad in me, and chokes off all the good. Mistress came down the other day and scolded because I washed myself at the kitchen sink. Well, where should I wash? There is neither bowl, pitcher, wash-stand, or towels furnished in my attic, and, after cooking over the fire all day, it isn't reason to ask any body not to wash wherever they can get a chance. It don't follow that I like dirt, because I have to do dirty work. I can't put clean clothes over a soiled skin. I feel better-natured when I am clean—better-tempered and more human like. When I first went out to live, I was conscientious like; but now, I know it is wicked, but I get ugly and discouraged, and then I don't care. I say if they treat me like a dog, I shall snatch a bone when I can get it. Mistress, now, wants breakfast at just such a time. She is too stingy to find me in proper kindling for my fire, so in courseit keeps going out as fast as I light it, andhendersme; and then she gets in a fury 'cause breakfast don't come up. Well, I stood it as long as I could; now I pour lamp-oil on the wood to make it kindle; that does the business. I reckon it isn't no saving to her not to buy kindling. I know it isn't right; but I get aggravated to think they don't have no bowels for us poor servants."
Mrs. Becky Saffron paid little attention to this narrative. There was more attractive metal for her on the tea-table, upon which Sally had just placed some smoking hot cakes, and a fragrant pot of tea. Mrs. Becky's great yellow black eyes rolled salaciously round in her head, and her two tusks commenced whetting themselves against each other, preparatory to a vigorous attack on the edibles.
"Green tea!" exclaimed Mrs. Becky, after the first satisfactory gulp—"not a bit of black in it—that's something like;" and untying her cap-strings, she spread her white handkerchief over her lap, and gave herself up to the gratification of her ruling passion, next to gossip. "Howdidyou come by green tea in the kitchen?" asked the delighted Mrs. Becky.
"Oh, I laid in with the housekeeper," answered Sally; "she has dreadful low wages, and has hard work enough to get even that. I iron all her muslins, and she finds me in green tea. 'Live, and let live,' you know."
"That reminds me," minced Miss Place, who sometimes set up for a wit, "that's what I read on the side of a baker's cart the other day, 'Live, and let live;' but, unfortunately, right under it was written 'Pisin cakes!'"
About half an hour after this, Mrs. Becky choked over her sixth cup of tea; Miss Place's pun had just penetrated her obtuse intellect.
MR. FINCH FINELS TO TOM CORDIS.
"Dear Tom,—"The next best thing to seeing you, you witty dog, is reading one of your letters; but accept a little advice from one who has had experience, and don't throw away so many good things on one individual; economise your bon-mots, my dear fellow, spread them over your private correspondence as sparingly as they do butter on bread at boarding-schools. Ah! you will grow wiser by and by, when you find out how very rare is an original idea. Why—we literary people, if by chance we improvise one in conversation, always stop short after it, and turning to our friends say, 'Now remember, that'smine, don't you use it, for I intend putting it in my next book.'"What am I doing, hey? Living by my wits, though not in the way of literature, which I find does not pay; for there has been such a surfeit of poor books that even a good one is now eyed with suspicion."At present, however, I am, thanks to Mrs. John Howe, in a comfortable state of wardrobe and purse. You should see this Venus! Who can set bounds to the vanity of woman? (This is in Proverbs, I believe; if it is not it ought to be.) At any rate, woman's vanity is the wire I am now pulling, to keep me in bread and butter."Mrs. John Howe is old, ugly, and shrewish; how shewouldrave, if she saw this! All her married life, she has led her husband by the nose. John is a good-natured, easy fellow, with no brains or education to speak of. Latterly, something has turned up between them, deuce knows what, I don't; but Richard is himself again, smokes when and where he likes, and goes round like the rest of us."You will see that he is improving when I tell you that he has bought his wife off to mind her own business, and let him mind his, by an allowance of so much a year; and here's where the interest of my story comes in, my dear boy, for just so long as I can make Mrs. John believe that she is as young as she ever was, (and as beautiful, as by Jove! sheneverwas), and that I can not exist one minute out of her presence, why so much the more hope there is for my tailor and landlady, confound them!En passant: I dare sayyoumight wince a little at the idea of being supported by a woman; that only shows that you have not yet learned to recognize 'the sovereignty of theindividual.' But the best thing is yet to come. Mrs. John imagines herself a blue-stocking! though she can not spell straight to save her life, and has not the remotest idea whether Paris is in Prussia or Ireland. You should hear her mangle Italian, which she has just begun. It makes my very hair stand on end; I see where it is all tending. She asked me the other day about the divorce law; as if I wouldmarrythe old vixen! Never mind, so long as the money holds out I shall hoodwink her even in this."Write soon. I saw little Kate last week, fresh as a Hebe, and beautiful as nobody else ever was, or can be. Pity she is such a little Puritan! She would be irresistible were it not for that humbug. I live in hope that contact with the world, and intercourse with me, will eradicate this, her only weakness. Bless her sweet mouth, and witching eyes."Yours, as usual,Finels."
"Dear Tom,—
"The next best thing to seeing you, you witty dog, is reading one of your letters; but accept a little advice from one who has had experience, and don't throw away so many good things on one individual; economise your bon-mots, my dear fellow, spread them over your private correspondence as sparingly as they do butter on bread at boarding-schools. Ah! you will grow wiser by and by, when you find out how very rare is an original idea. Why—we literary people, if by chance we improvise one in conversation, always stop short after it, and turning to our friends say, 'Now remember, that'smine, don't you use it, for I intend putting it in my next book.'
"What am I doing, hey? Living by my wits, though not in the way of literature, which I find does not pay; for there has been such a surfeit of poor books that even a good one is now eyed with suspicion.
"At present, however, I am, thanks to Mrs. John Howe, in a comfortable state of wardrobe and purse. You should see this Venus! Who can set bounds to the vanity of woman? (This is in Proverbs, I believe; if it is not it ought to be.) At any rate, woman's vanity is the wire I am now pulling, to keep me in bread and butter.
"Mrs. John Howe is old, ugly, and shrewish; how shewouldrave, if she saw this! All her married life, she has led her husband by the nose. John is a good-natured, easy fellow, with no brains or education to speak of. Latterly, something has turned up between them, deuce knows what, I don't; but Richard is himself again, smokes when and where he likes, and goes round like the rest of us.
"You will see that he is improving when I tell you that he has bought his wife off to mind her own business, and let him mind his, by an allowance of so much a year; and here's where the interest of my story comes in, my dear boy, for just so long as I can make Mrs. John believe that she is as young as she ever was, (and as beautiful, as by Jove! sheneverwas), and that I can not exist one minute out of her presence, why so much the more hope there is for my tailor and landlady, confound them!En passant: I dare sayyoumight wince a little at the idea of being supported by a woman; that only shows that you have not yet learned to recognize 'the sovereignty of theindividual.' But the best thing is yet to come. Mrs. John imagines herself a blue-stocking! though she can not spell straight to save her life, and has not the remotest idea whether Paris is in Prussia or Ireland. You should hear her mangle Italian, which she has just begun. It makes my very hair stand on end; I see where it is all tending. She asked me the other day about the divorce law; as if I wouldmarrythe old vixen! Never mind, so long as the money holds out I shall hoodwink her even in this.
"Write soon. I saw little Kate last week, fresh as a Hebe, and beautiful as nobody else ever was, or can be. Pity she is such a little Puritan! She would be irresistible were it not for that humbug. I live in hope that contact with the world, and intercourse with me, will eradicate this, her only weakness. Bless her sweet mouth, and witching eyes.
"Yours, as usual,
Finels."
"The dirge-like sound of those rapids," said Rose, as she tossed on her pillow at the public-house, at Niagara, vainly courting sleep; "it oppresses me, Gertrude, with an indescribable gloom."
"Your nerves are sadly out of tune, dear Rose; it will be quite another affair to-morrow,i. e., if the sun shines out. Niagara's organ-peal will then be music to you, and the emerald sheen of its rushing waters—the rosy arch, spanning its snowy mist—beautiful beyond your wildest dream! And that lovely island, too. Dear Rose, life, after all, is very beautiful. But how cold your hands are, and how you tremble; let me try my sovereign panacea, music;" and drawing Rose's head to her breast, Gertrude sang—
"Tarry with me, oh, my Saviour!For the day is passing by;See! the shades of evening gather,And the night is drawing nigh.Tarry with me! tarry with me!Pass me not unheeded by."Dimmed for me is earthly beauty,Yet the spirit's eye would fainRest upon Thy lovely features—Shall I seek, dear Lord, in vain?Tarry with me, oh, my Saviour!Let me see Thy smile again."Dull my ear to earth-born music;Speak Thou, Lord! in words of cheer;Feeble, faltering, my footstep;Leaps my heart with sudden fear.CastThinearms, dear Lord, about me,Let me feel Thy presence near!"
"Tarry with me, oh, my Saviour!For the day is passing by;See! the shades of evening gather,And the night is drawing nigh.Tarry with me! tarry with me!Pass me not unheeded by."Dimmed for me is earthly beauty,Yet the spirit's eye would fainRest upon Thy lovely features—Shall I seek, dear Lord, in vain?Tarry with me, oh, my Saviour!Let me see Thy smile again."Dull my ear to earth-born music;Speak Thou, Lord! in words of cheer;Feeble, faltering, my footstep;Leaps my heart with sudden fear.CastThinearms, dear Lord, about me,Let me feel Thy presence near!"
"Tarry with me, oh, my Saviour!For the day is passing by;See! the shades of evening gather,And the night is drawing nigh.Tarry with me! tarry with me!Pass me not unheeded by.
"Tarry with me, oh, my Saviour!
For the day is passing by;
See! the shades of evening gather,
And the night is drawing nigh.
Tarry with me! tarry with me!
Pass me not unheeded by.
"Dimmed for me is earthly beauty,Yet the spirit's eye would fainRest upon Thy lovely features—Shall I seek, dear Lord, in vain?Tarry with me, oh, my Saviour!Let me see Thy smile again.
"Dimmed for me is earthly beauty,
Yet the spirit's eye would fain
Rest upon Thy lovely features—
Shall I seek, dear Lord, in vain?
Tarry with me, oh, my Saviour!
Let me see Thy smile again.
"Dull my ear to earth-born music;Speak Thou, Lord! in words of cheer;Feeble, faltering, my footstep;Leaps my heart with sudden fear.CastThinearms, dear Lord, about me,Let me feel Thy presence near!"
"Dull my ear to earth-born music;
Speak Thou, Lord! in words of cheer;
Feeble, faltering, my footstep;
Leaps my heart with sudden fear.
CastThinearms, dear Lord, about me,
Let me feel Thy presence near!"
"Poor Rose," sighed Gertrude, as she kissed her closed lids, laid her head gently back upon the pillow, and released the little hand within her own. "If she could only bear up under this new trial; she is so pure and good that the thought of the sin the world wrongly imputes to her is wearing her life away. This journey, which I hoped would do so much for her, may fail after all. Poor wronged Rose! how can it be right the innocent should thus suffer?" but ere the murmur had found voice the answer came:
"For right is right, since God is God,And right the day must win:To doubt, would be disloyalty—To falter, would be sin."
"For right is right, since God is God,And right the day must win:To doubt, would be disloyalty—To falter, would be sin."
"For right is right, since God is God,And right the day must win:To doubt, would be disloyalty—To falter, would be sin."
"For right is right, since God is God,
And right the day must win:
To doubt, would be disloyalty—
To falter, would be sin."
And laying her cheek by the side of Rose, Gertrude slept.
The next day was fine, and the faint smile on Rose's pale face was sweet as the much longed-for sunlight.Our travelers descended to the ample drawing-room of the hotel to breakfast.
Rose glanced timidly about, scanning the forms which passed before her, as was her wont at a new place, and then the unsatisfied eye drooped beneath its snowy lid; and they who had been struck with the pensive beauty of her face, gazed upon it unnoticed by its object, whose thoughts were far away.
The tall Indian head-waiter was at his post, as purveyor of corn-cakes and coffee; and excellently well as he filled it, Gertrude protested, as an artist, against such a desecration of his fine athletic form and kingly air.
Human nature is never moreen déshabillethan in traveling; and Gertrude's bump of mirthfulness found ample food in the length and breadth of the well-filled breakfast-table. The jaded pleasure-seekers, whose fashion-filmed eyes were blind to natural beauty, were talking of "doing the Falls in one hour." The little new-made bride sat there with love-swimming eyes, innocently expecting to escape detection in the disguise of a plain brown traveling-dress: pretty little simpleton! and casting such tell-tale glances at her new husband, too! The half-fledged "freshman" was there, with his incipient beard and his first long-tailed coat, making love and bad puns to a knot of his sister's mischief-loving female friends.
In came the pompous city aristocrat, all dignity and shirt-collar, following his abdomen and the waiter withmeasured steps and supercilious glance, to the court-end of the table. There, too, was the pale student, feasting his book-surfeited eyes on the pleasanter page of young beauty's April face. There, too, the unsophisticated country girl, too anxious to please, exhausting all her toilet's finery on the breakfast-table. There, too, the poor dyspeptic, surveying with longing eye the tabooed dainties, for which he must pay to Dame Nature if he ate, and to the landlord whether or no.
"Your spirits are at high-water mark this morning," said John to his sister, as Gertrude's quick eye took these notes of her neighbors. "I think you have made up your mind not to grow old. You look as handsome as a picture, this morning."
"As an artist, allow me to tell you that your compliment is a doubtful one," said Gertrude. "And as to old age, which is such a bugbear to most of my sex, I assure you it has no terrors for me. My first gray hair will excite in me no regretful emotions."
"Ah! you can well afford to be philosophic now," retorted John, touching the shining curls around his sister's face.
"You don't believe me? I assure you that the only terror old age has for me is its helplessness and imbecility. My natural independence revolts at being a burden even to those whom I love;" and Gertrude's tone had a touch of sadness in it. "You remember old Aunt Hepsy, John? how long her body outlivedher mind; how at eighty years she would beg for tin carts, and soldiers, and rag dolls, and amuse herself by the hour with them, like a little child. This, I confess, is humiliating. In this view I can truly say I dread old age. But the mere thinning of the luxuriant locks, the filming of the bright eye, the shrinking of the rounded limbs, these things give me no heart-pangs in the anticipation. I can not understand the sensitiveness with which most men and women, past the season of youth, hear their age alluded to. It certainly can be no secret, for if Time deal gently with them the family register will not; and if the finger of vanity obliterate all traces of the latter, some toothless old crone yet hobbles, who, forgetful of every thing else, yet remembers the year, week, day, minute, and second in which (without your leave) you were introduced to life's cares and troubles.
"Beside, old ageneednot be repulsive or unlovely," said Gertrude; "look at that aged couple, yonder! How beautiful those silver hairs, how genuine and heart-warming the smile with which they regard each other! To my eye, there is beauty on those furrowed temples, beauty in those wrinkled hands, so kindly outstretched to meet each other's wants. Life's joys and sorrows have evidently knittheirhearts but more firmly together. What is the mad love of youthful blood to the sun-set effulgence of their setting lives? God bless them!" said Gertrude, as, kindly leaning oneon the other, they passed out the hall. "Old agemaybe beautiful!"
"Yes," replied John, "when the heart is kept fresh and green; that which neutralizes the counsels of old age is the ascetic severity with which it too often denounces innocent pleasure, forgetting that the blood which now flows so sluggishly in its veins had once the torrent's mad leap. But look, Gertrude, while I discuss this ham omelette, and see what is in the morning papers."
"Well—in the first place, 'dreadful casualty.' Whatwouldeditors do, I wonder, without these dreadful casualties? I sometimes amuse myself, when I have nothing better to do, in comparing their relative tastes for the horrible, and their skill in dishing it up spicily to the appetites of their various readers. The ingenuity they manifest in this line is quite incredible.
"Observe now, the flippant heartlessness with which these city items, are got up, as if a poor degraded drunkard were the less an object of pity that he had parted with the priceless power of self-resistance! A man who could make a jest of a sight so sad, has sunk lower even than the poor wretch he burlesques.
"Well—let me see—then here are stupid letters from watering-places, got up as pay for the writer's board, at the fashionable hotel, from which they are written and which the transparent writer puffs at every few lines. Then here are some ingenious letters whichthe editor has written to himself, thanking himself for 'some judicious and sensible editorials which have lately appeared in his columns, and for the general tone of independence and honesty which pervades his admirable paper.' O, dear!" said Gertrude, laughing, "what a thing it is, to be sure, to get a peep behind the scenes!
"Then here is an advertisement headed, 'Women out of employment.' I wonder none of these women have ever thought of going out to do a family's mending by the day or week. I have often thought that askillfulhand would meet a hearty welcome, and a ready remuneration, from many an over-tasked mother of a family, who sighs over the ravages of the weekly wash, and whose annual baby comes ever between her and the bottom of the stereotyped I 'stocking-basket.'
"But a truce to newspapers, with such a bright sun wooing us out of doors; now for Goat Island; but first let me prepare you for a depletion of your pocket-book in the shape of admiration-fees. You will be twitched by the elbow, plucked by the skirt, solicited with a courtesy or a bow; 'moccasins' to buy from sham squaws—'stuffed beasts' to see by the roadside—'views of Niagara,' done in water-colors, 'for sale,' at rude shanties. Then there will be boys popping from behind trees with 'ornaments made of Table Rock;' disinterested gentlemen desirous to 'take you under the sheet' in a costume that would frighten themermaids; disinterested owners of spy-glasses 'anxious you should get the best view.' I tell you," said Gertrude, "for a damper the spray is nothing to it! You must be content to cork up your enthusiasm till these 'horse-leech' gentry are appeased.
"Do you know, John, that my '76 blood was quite up to boiling-point the first time I came here, when the toll-keeper on the Canada side demanded what was my business, and how long I intended to stay over there?"
"I can fancy it," said John, laughing; "did you answer him?"
"Not I," said Gertrude, "until I had ascertained that the same catechetical rule held good on the American side. Nevertheless, I would be willing to wager that I could smuggle any thing I pleased into Her Majesty's dominions under the toll-keeper's very nose, had I a mind to try it.
"I wonder," continued Gertrude, after a pause, "could one everget usedto Niagara? Could its roar be one's cradle lullaby and the spirit not plume itself for lofty flights? Could one look at it when laughing to scorn stern winter's fetters, as did Sampson the impotent green withes of the Philistines, dashing on in its might, though all Nature beside lay wrapped in old winter's winding-sheet? see it accepting, like some old despot, the tribute of silver moon-beams, golden sun-rays, and a rainbow arch of triumph for its hoary head to pass under;—ever absolute—unconquerable—omnipotent—eternal—as God himself! Could this be the first leaf turned over in Nature's book to the infant's eye, andnotmake it unshrinking as the eagle's?
"Hark! what is that?" exclaimed Gertrude, starting to her feet, and bounding forward with the fleetness of a deer.
Oh, that shriek!
High it rose above Niagara's wildest roar, as the foaming waters engulfed its victim! In the transit of a moment, they who for fourscore years and ten, through storm and sunshine, had walked side by side together, were parted, and forever! With the half-uttered word on his lip—with the love-beam in his eye—he "was not!"
"God comfort her," sobbed Gertrude, as the aged and widowed survivor was carried back insensible to the hotel. "How little we thought this morning, when looking at their happy and united old age, that Death would so unexpectedly step between; and still Niagara's relentless waters plunge down the abyss, shroud and sepulcher to the loved and lifeless form beneath?"
Serene as the sky when the thunder-cloud has rolled away, calm as the ocean when the moon has lulled its crested waves to sleep, smiling as earth when from off its heaving bosom the waters of the flood were rolled, leaning on Him who is the "widow's God and Husband," the aged mourner whispered, "It is well."
"God has been so good to me," she said to Gertrude. "He has lifted the cloud even at the tomb's portal. Listen, my child, and learn to trust in Him who is the believer's Rock of Ages.
"The first years of my wedded life were all brightness. We were not rich, but Love sweetens labor, and so that we were only spared to each other (my husband and I), for us there could be no sorrow. Children blessed us, bright, active, and healthy, and, hugging my idols to my heart, I forgot to look beyond. I saw the dead borne past my door, but the sunshine still lay over my own threshhold. I saw the drunkard reel past, butmymountain stood strong! As I rocked my baby's cradle, my heart sang to its sweet smile—earth only seemed near, eternity a great way off. To-day I knew was bliss—the future, what was it? A riddle which puzzled the wisest; and I was not wise, only happy. Alas, the worm was creeping silently on toward the root of my gourd. It was 'the worm of the still.' One by one its leaves fell off. Silently but relentlessly he did his blighting work. Where plenty ruled, poverty came—clouds in place of sunshine—sobs for smiles—curses for kisses—tears for laughter.
"Bitter tears fell when they rolled by me in their carriages, whose wealth was coined from my heart's blood; but I did not chidehim; I toiled and sorrowed on, for still I loved. I know not where the strength came to labor, still I found my babes and him bread;but, as week after week rolled by, and the reeling form still staggered past me, my heart grew faint and sick; for the hand which had never been raised save to bless us, now dealt the cruel blow; and the children who had been wont to wait for his coming, and to climb his knee, now cowered when they heard his unsteady footsteps. Each day I hoped against hope, for some change for the better, but it came not.
"One day a thought occurred to me by which I might perchance keep the demon at bay; I would watch the moment at which this craving thirst took possession of my husband. I would give him a substitute in the shape of strong hot chocolate, of which he was inordinately fond; I denied myself every comfort to procure it. I prepared it exactly to his taste—it was ready to the minute that the tempting fiend was wont to whisper in his ear. I was first upon the ground; I forestalled the demon. The sated appetite heeded not his Judas entreaties. My husband smiled on me again, he called me his saviour, his preserver; he again entered the shop of his employer; it was near the house, so it was easy for me to run over with the tempting beverage; I watched him night and day; I anticipated his every wish; my husband was again clothed, and in his right mind; we both learned our dependence on a stronger arm than each other's. Riches came with industry, our last days were our best days.
"And now, my dear child," and the old lady smiledthrough her tears, "there is music to my ears, even in those rushing waters, for he who sleeps beneath them fills nodrunkard'sgrave. What matters it by what longer or shorter road we travel, so that heaven be gained at last?"
"Did I not tell you that old age was beautiful?" exclaimed Gertrude, to Rose, as they sought the privacy of their own apartments. "The world talks of 'great deeds' (ambition-nurtured though they be), yet who chronicles these beautiful unobtrusive acts of feminine heroism beneath hundreds of roof-trees in our land? too common to be noted, save by the recording angel! Now I understand the meaning of Solomon's words, 'Blessed is the man who hath a virtuous wife, for the number of his days shall be doubled.'
"Confess you are better,ma petite," and Gertrude kissed Rose's pale forehead; "nothing better helps us to bear our own troubles than to learn the struggles of other suffering hearts, and how many unwritten tragedies are locked up in memory's cabinet, pride only yielding up the keys to inexorable death!
"Sometimes, Rose, when I am mercilessly at war with human nature, I appease myself by jotting down thegooddeeds of every day's observation; and it has been a tonic to my fainting hopes to have seen the poor beggar divide his last crust with a still poorerone who had none; to see the sinewy arm of youth opportunely offered in the crowded streets to timorous, feeble, andobscureold age; to see the hurried man of business stop in the precious forenoon hours, to hunt up the whereabouts of some stray little weeping child; or to see the poor servant-girl bestow half her weekly earnings in charity. These things restore my faith in my kind, and keep the balance even, till some horribly selfish wretch comes along and again kicks the scales!
"And now Charley must needs be waking up there—see him! looking just as seraphic as ifhenever meant to be a little sinner! The tinting of a sea-shell could not be more delicate than that cheek; see the faultless outline of his profile against the pillow; look at his dimpled arms and fat little calves; and that little plump cushion of a foot. Was there ever any thing so seducing? I wish that child belonged to me.
"See here, Rose, look at those ladies pacing up and down the long hall, armed for conquest to the teeth. What an insatiable appetite for admiration they must needs have, to make such an elaborate toilet in the dog-days! Nothing astonishes me like the patient endurance of these fashionists at the watering-places; prisoning themselves within doors lest the damp air should uncurl a ringlet; wearing gloves with the thermometer at ninety in the shade; soliciting wasp-waists in the very face of consumption. They are what I call'the working people;' for your mechanic has the liberty of cooling himself in his shirt-sleeves, and your sempstress, though Nature may have furnished her no hips, does not perspire in interminable piles of skirts. Rose, imagine the old age of such women—no resource but the looking-glass, and that at last casting melancholyreflectionsin their faces. Not that vanity is confined to the female sex—(Come in, John, you are just in time). I am about to give you an exemplification of the remark I have just hazarded, in the history of Theodore Vanilla.
"River House was full of summer boarders when I first saw him there; nursery-maids and childrenad infinitum; ladies in profusion, whose husbands and brothers went and returned morning and evening to their business in the city.
"Of course the ladies were left to themselves in the middle of the day, and some of the most mischievous verified the truth of the old primer-adage; that 'Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do.' Theodore was their unconscious butt, and they made the most of him.
"Every evening they assembled on the piazza when the cars came in, and 'hoped,' with anxious faces, 'that Mr. Vanilla had not concluded to remain over night in the city.' The self-satisfied smile with which he would step up on the piazza rub his hands, and his
"'Now really, ladies,'
"As he turned delightedly from one to the other, were a picture for Hogarth.
"Then after tea there was a preconcerted dispute among them, which should monopolize him 'for their evening walk;' and the innocence with which he would reply to all this fore-ordained wrangling,
"'Now ladiesdon'tquarrel, and I'll engage to take turns with you,'
"Was too much for mortal risibles. One lady would affect the sulks that 'he did not sit next her at table;' another, that 'he did not, like a true knight, wear her colors in the hue of his cravat.' Enveloped in his panoply of self-conceit, he was tossed back and forth on this female hornet's-nest, an agonized, but delighted victim.
"On one occasion a gentleman, jealous for his sex's honor, whispered to one of the lady ringleaders—
"'You are too relentless; I really think this is wrong.'
"'Do you!' answered the pretty tyrant, with an arch smile; 'I will engage one could throw just such a dust in the eyes of any gentleman you might select in this house (including yourself), even with this example before your and their eyes.'"
"Gertrude," said John, reprovingly, "do you remember what Solomon says—
"'Awisewoman have I not found?'"
"John," mimicked Gertrude, "do you know the reason of Solomon's failure? It was because he met with aprettywoman, and forgot to look for awiseone!"
"Good evening, Balch. Bless me! how gloomy you look here, after coming from the glare and music of the opera, its ladies and its jewels; you are as good as a nightmare, sitting there with your one bachelor candle, keeping that miserable fire company. One would think your veins were turned to ice, or that there was not a bright eye left in the world to make the blood leap through them. Turn up the gas, sing us a song, hand out a cigar; you are as solemn as a sexton."
"I dare say," replied Balch, in a melancholy key, as he languidly turned on the gas for his friend, and set a box of cigars before him. "I know I am not good company, so I shall not advise you to stay."
"A woman in the case, I dare be sworn," said Gerritt, lighting a cigar, "Lord bless 'em, they are always at the top and bottom of every thing!"
Balch gave the anthracite a poke, crossed his slippered feet, folded his arms, and looked at Gerritt.
"I knew it," said Gerritt. "I am acquainted with all the symptoms of that malady; let's have it, Balch;you can tell me nothing new in the way of woman's twistings and turnings. Bless 'em!"
"Bless 'em?" exclaimed Balch, unfolding his arms, placing both hands on his knees and staring in Gerritt's face. "Bless 'em?"
"Yes; bless 'em. I knew what I was saying, well enough. Bless 'em, I repeat, for if they do not give a man more than five rapturous moments in a life time, it is well worth being born for. Fact;" said Gerritt, as the speechless Balch continued gazing at him.
"Did you ever see Mrs. Markham?" asked Balch, finding voice.
The solemnity with which he asked the question, and his wholetout ensembleat that moment, was too much for Gerritt, who burst into an uproarious laugh.
"Ah, you may laugh," said Balch, "it is all very well; but I wish there was not a woman in the world."
"Horrible!" said Gerritt. "I shan't join you there; but who was this Mrs. Markham?"
Balch moved his chair nearer to Gerritt, and shutting his teeth very closely together, hissed through them,
"The very d—l."
"Is that all?" said the merry philosopher. "So is every woman, unless you get the right side of her. Women are like cats; you must 'poor' them, as the children say, the right way of the fur, unless you want them to scratch. I suppose you did not understand managing her."
"Were you ever on a committee of an Orphan Asylum?" asked Balch, solemnly.
"No—no;" laughed Gerritt. "Why, Balch, I beg pardon on my knees, for calling you and your den here, funereal; I have not laughed so hard for a twelvemonth."
"Because," said Balch, not heeding his friend's raillery; "I have, and Mrs. Markham was the matron."
"O—h—I see," said Gerritt. "You thought her an angel, andshethought thatyouthought the children under her care were well cared for, when they were not; is that it?"
"Ex-actly," said Balch, in admiration of his friend's penetration; "it was awful how that woman deceived every body. I don't mind myself, though I must say that I never want to see any thing that wears a petticoat again, till the day of my death; but those poor children, I can't get over it; and I one of the investigating committee, too! It was infamous that I did not look into things closer. But, Gerritt, you see, that Mrs. Markham—" and Balch looked foolish.
"I understand;" said Gerritt. "I see the whole game; well, what did you say about it? I suppose you did not content yourself with resigning?"
"No, indeed, and that comforts me a little. I had her turned out. I don't suppose (she was so plausible) that I should have believed Gabriel himself, had be told me any thing against her; but I saw her withmy own eyes one day, when I called unexpectedly, abuse those children. She did not know I was within hearing, and tried afterward to gloss it over; it wouldn't do; and then, when the scales had fallen off my eyes, I looked back and saw a great many other things to which that scene gave me the clew. Then I went to Timmins and Watkins, two of her assistants, and after making me promise not to get them into any difficulty about it, they told me things that would make your very flesh creep; and I one of the investigating committee; but that Mrs. Markham was—"
"I have no doubt of it," said Gerritt; "but, my dear fellow, there is always a drop of consolation to be squeezed out of every thing. Suppose you had married her!"
Balch jammed the poker furiously into the anthracite, shaking his head mournfully the while, and the laughing Gerritt withdrew.
"Yes, yes," said Balch, "that is lucky; but poor little Tibbie! poor little Tibbie! that will not bringherback to life; and poor little Rose, too—and I one of the investigating committee! It is dreadful."
The moon shone brightly on the trellised piazza of the —— House, at Niagara. The sleepy house-porter had curled himself up in the hall corner; the sonorous breathings of weary travelers might be heard through the open windows, for the night was warm and sultry. Two persons still lingered on the piazza. Judging from their appearance, they were not tempted by the beauty of the night. Ensconced in the shadow of the further corner, they were earnestly engaged in conversation.
"I tell you she is in this house; I saw her name on the books—'Gertrude Dean,' your ex-wife. What do you think of that—hey?"
"The d—l!" exclaimed Stahle. "I canswear, now that I am out of school, you know, Smith."
"Of course," replied the latter, laughing; "the only wonder is, how you manage to get along with so few vacations. To my mind, swearing lets off the steam wonderfully."
"How long has this admirable spouse of mine been here?" asked Stahle.
"Don't know. Didn't like to ask questions, you know, until I had first spoken to you. She's flush of money, of course, or she could not stay here, where they charge so like the deuce. I should think it would gall you a little, Stahle, and you so out of pocket."
"It would," said the latter, with another oath, "had I not the way of helping myself to some of it."
"How's that? The law does not allow you to touch her earnings, now you are divorced."
"All women are fools about law matters. She don't know that," sneered Stahle. "She is probably traveling alone, and I will frighten her into it—that's half the battle. I owe her something for the cool way she walked round all the traps I sprung for her, without getting caught. I thought when I left her that she would just fold her hands, and let the first man who offered find her in clothes, on his own terms, for she never was brought up to work, and I knew she had no relations that would give her any thing but advice;" and Stahle gave a low, chuckling laugh.
"You see I always look all round before I leap, Smith. I can't understand it now, and I never have, why she didn't do as I expected, for she might have had lovers enough. She was good-looking, and it was what I reckoned on to sustain the rumors I took care to circulate about her before I left; but what does she do but shut herself up, work night and day, and give the lie to every one of them. I wrote to my brother,Fred, to try every way to catch her tripping, to track her to every boarding-house she went to, and hint things to the landlord, carefully, of course. Fred knows how to do it; but you know if a woman does nothing but mind her own business, and never goes into company, a rumor against her will very soon die out. I kept spies constantly at work, but it was no use, confound her; but some of her money I will have. Here she is living in clover, going to the Springs, and all that; while I am a poor clerk in a grocery store. I feel as cheap when any Eastern man comes in, and recognizes me there, as if I had been stealing. I won't stand it; Mrs. Gertrude Dean, as she calls herself, has got to hand over the cash. If I can't ruin her reputation, I'll have some of her money."
"You advertised her in the papers, didn't you, when you left?—(after the usual fashion, 'harboring and trusting,' and all that)—were you afraid she would run you in debt?"
"Devil a bit; she's too proud for that; she would have starved first."
"Why did you do it, then?"
"To mortify her confounded pride," said Stahle, with a diabolical sneer, "and to injure her in public estimation. That stroke, at least, told for a time."
"A pretty set of friends she must have had," said Smith, "to have stood by and borne all that."
"Oh, I knowthemall, root and branch. I knew Icould go to the full length of my rope without any of their interference. In fact, their neglect of her helped me more than any thing else. Every body said I must have been an injured man, and that the stories I had circulatedmustbe true about her, or they would certainly have defended and sheltered her. I knew them—I knew it would work just so; that was so much in my favor, you see."
"They liked you, then?"
Stahle applied his thumbs to the end of his nose, and gave another diabolical sneer.
"Liked me! Humph! They all looked down on me as a vulgar fellow. I was tolerated, and that was all—hardly that."
"I don't understand it, then," said Smith.
"I do, though; if theydefendedher, they would have no excuse for not helping her. It was the cash, you see, the cash! so they preferred siding with me, vulgar as they thought me. I knew them—I knew how it would work before I began."
"Well, I suppose this is all very interesting to you," said Smith, yawning, "but as I am confounded tired and sleepy, and as it is after midnight, I shall wish you good-night."
"Good-night," said Stahle. "I shall smoke another cigar while I arrange my plans. This is the last quiet night's sleep 'Mrs. Gertrude Dean' will have for some time, I fancy."
"Scoundrel!" exclaimed John, leaping suddenly upon the piazza through his low parlor window. "Scoundrel! I have you at last," and well aimed and vigorous were the blows which John dealt his sister's traducer.
Your woman slanderer is invariably a coward—the very nature of his offense proves it. There never was one yet who dared face a man in fair fight; and so on his knees Stahle pleaded like a whipped cur for mercy.
"Go, cowardly brute," said John, kicking him from the piazza. "If you are seen here after daylight, the worse for you."
"Very strange," muttered Smith the next morning, "very strange. Something unexpected must have turned up to send Stahle off in such a hurry. Well, he is a sneaking villain. I am bad enough, but what I do is open and above board. I don't say prayers or sing psalms to cover it up. I don't care whether I ever hear from him again or not."