Arthur turned pale and remained silent.
"What's the matter, boy," said Clinton, laughing, "you ain't going to play chickenheart, are you?"
"No," said Arthur, ashamed to confess his dislike to the plan, "but why can't you take some other store?"
"Because we havn't the men drugged in any other store, and, in case of detection, we're safer there than any where else."
"How so? I should think the chances in that case would be equal anywhere?"
"Oh, no. I'm somewhat related to the proprietor of your store, and when he found 'twas me, he'd hush the matter up—and let it go," said Clinton, quietly.
"Related to Mr. Delancey! Pray, how nearly?" asked Arthur in astonishment.
"Oh, quite near. But no matter about that now, maybe you'll find it all out one of these days. Another reason for choosing that particular store is, we can get in with less trouble. Look there."
Clinton, as he spoke, flung down upon the table a heavy brass key, which, to his amazement, Arthur saw was the one he had lost on his Carrollton ride.
"How in the world came you by this?"
Clinton laughed—"If you lost it, I must have found it;but no time is to be lost, and if we're all agreed let's go to work."
"All agreed," said Quirk; but Arthur was silent; sitting with his head bent down, as if closely examining the key, but in fact to hide the emotion he knew was visible in his face.
"Well, then," said Clinton, rising and unlocking an armoire which stood in one corner of the room, "here are some bags for us, which I have had prepared expressly. Each of us will take two; and with what else we can carry about our persons, they will be enough. Here, Pratt, are yours. What the devil ails you, man, to look so down?"
"Nothing ails me," replied Arthur, rising and taking the bags, with an effort to look interested and cheerful.
"Well," continued Clinton, "now, my plan is this: all you have got to do is to unlock the door and go in; for Quirk tells me that early this morning he managed to fill the bolt socket in the floor, so that the bolts wouldn't sink; and that he is certain Jeff was too fuddled with the wine he gave him to note the difference. If this was so, you can go in without the slightest difficulty, and as you two know all about the store, which I don't, while you are gathering the goods, I will saw off one of the window shutters, and cut out a pane of glass, so that it will seem theentrance was effected by that means. Here are the implements, you see," said he, holding up a saw and file.
"Aye," said Quirk, "but you'll need a diamond to cut the glass."
"I'll use this," said he, showing the ring on his finger.
"Just as it is?"
"Yes, as good so as any way. Now, the first thing you do after getting in, is to pull out that filling from the bolt sockets if you care to save yourselves, then pitch into the goods. Get the lightest and most valuable—silks, embroideries, rich laces, everything of that kind, but avoid the linens, cloths, and all that, as too heavy, and besides might be detected by the stamp. Lock and bolt the door after you when you go in, and you, Pratt, pocket the key; for no doubt it will be asked for to-morrow. I'll have a place ready for you to get out. And now let's be off—here are dark lanterns for you."
"But the watchman," suggested Arthur.
"Oh, never fear a watchman such a night as this; he's snugly asleep somewhere, no doubt—and if he should come too near, this would 'his quietus make,'" said Clinton, displaying a glittering dagger.
Arthur shuddered visibly.
"You promised no murder, Mr. Clinton."
"And I'll endeavor to keep that promise, Mr. Pratt," laughed Clinton. "Now let's be going."
They went out without again seeing Clinton's wife.
The storm swept on unabated, and Quirk and Clinton, arm-in-arm, started on ahead, while Arthur, reluctant, and remorseful, but ashamed to betray his feelings, followed in their footsteps, the suffering victim of his own and another's pride.
The store was reached. The noise of the tempest rendered much caution unnecessary, for thunder, wind and rain were so loudly uniting their forces that almost any noise would but have seemed the natural effect of their fury. But it was with extreme caution that Arthur applied the key to the lock, opened the door and permitted Quirk to enter. The latter instantly stepped to the window, and assisted Clinton in taking down a shutter, and the last named gentleman, with file and saw, soon gave it the appearance of having been taken down by such instruments alone from the outside. He then proceeded to cut out one of the large panes of glass, while Quirk and Arthur, having opened the bolt sockets and fastened the door with lock and bolt, proceeded to collect the goods.
Suddenly Arthur stopped, and turning to Quirk, whispered faintly: "I can't go on. Oh, this is awful, awful! Think of my poor brother, sick, maybe dying, in that room yonder, and I engaged thus! Oh! I never, never can go on!"
"Furies!" muttered Quirk, between his teeth, "this isa pretty time for such thoughts! The brat in yonder is doing well enough, I'll be bound; but if you give him time to come out here and see you, he would die for certain. You may just as well yell out and give us all up to the police as to stop now—a nice body you are to takerevenge."
That one last word acted as a spur, and Arthur again resumed the packing of the bags, and Quirk coming up to him, said, softly:—
"Now you're a man again—ain't ashamed of you now. Here's a mask for you, tie it on. I don't fear detection, but it won't do any harm to wear it. I've got one for myself."
Arthur obeyed mechanically, and tied the mask over his features and went on with his work. Boxes were rifled, drawers were emptied and shelves left vacant. The bags were filled. Everything light and valuable that could be stowed away in them had been, and Quirk and Arthur passed them up into the window for Clinton to set into the street. He lifted them all out, and wrapped them in oil cloth to prevent the goods from being damaged by the rain. He placed them in a pile beneath the window arch, so that they might be easily lifted away even by two strong pair of arms, and left them there, certain that the raging storm would prevent all chance of discovery. Quirk had crept out also, through the open pane, after having placed the goods in the window, and now seated himself upon thepile and wiped his brow, like one wearied with a long fatiguing task.
Arthur had wrapped his cloak around him preparing to leave, when Clinton again made his appearance at the window and vaulted into the store.
"I want to see if you have made a clean sweep," said he, taking Arthur's lantern from his hand, and passing lightly up through the store with a practised tread and running his eye eagerly over the shelves. "Velvets," said he, suddenly pausing to read the lable of a large box. "Why the devil didn't you get them?" and forthwith he drew it down and turned its rich contents out into an immense bandanna handkerchief which he drew from his breast.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake don't stop for them!" whispered Arthur, nervously, "let's be gone!"
"Zounds, man! here's a little fortune in itself," returned the other, carefully tying them up. "I'd be a fool to leave these."
Neither saw, so intent were they on what they were doing, the door of Wilkins' room swing slowly open, and a white-robed figure, bearing a night-lamp, glide ghost-like toward them. So feeble was the light it held, it scarcely served to reveal the way, and one trembling foot struck against a store stool, making sufficient noise to attract the attention of the robbers. They both turned suddenly, thelight of their lantern fell that way, and they stood face to face with Guly.
In an instant Clinton's hand was on his dagger; it rose glittering high in air, and aimed at Guly's heart, descended with a fearful plunge toward that pure young breast.
"Murderer!" cried a voice behind him, and a counter blow from a well directed hand, sent the instrument of death clattering upon the floor.
At the sound of that voice, though it had come from beneath a mask, Guly uttered a cry of anguish a thousand times more heart-rending than would have been a death cry, and sank senseless upon the floor, the lamp going out in its fall.
Trembling with horror, Arthur felt himself pushed forward by Clinton's strong hand in wild haste to the window. Self-preservation was strong within him, he bolted through, Clinton followed, and they once more stood in the street.
"We'll take care of the bags," whispered Clinton, hurriedly, to Arthur; "you fly up that alley, get you to bed, and take care of yourself, you'll only hinder us if you go along—pull off your boots."
Loaded with their booty, Clinton and Quirk passed away like shadows in the stormy darkness, and bewildered, yet aware of the stern necessity for obeying Clinton's advice, Arthur drew off his boots and darted like light up the alley, noiselessly unlocked the small door, fastened it, and oncemore breathed in his own room. Quick as thought he rinsed the mud from his boots in some water he knew where to find, turned the India rubber cloak wrong side out and hung it on the peg whence he had taken it, undressed, all in that to him fearful darkness, and once more sought his pillow, without causing a break in the loud snoring of Jeff who still slumbered on his mattress, unconscious of the trouble soon to fall on his devoted head.
Clasping his hands upon his wildly beating heart, Arthur lay still to listen for any sound to indicate that life had returned to Guly, or that Wilkins had awakened. For the first time, he bethought him of his mask, and raising his hand to his face found it had fallen off, probably, he concluded, in his hurried flight through the window.
It were hard to tell, perhaps, what broke the head clerk's heavy slumber. It may have been Guly's wild cry, when he sank quivering to the floor, which reached his ear, even above the tempest-din. It may have been that instinct, which, sleeping or waking, teaches the heart to miss what it loves, or it may have been the natural effect of the drug, which had spent itself, that aroused him. He opened his eyes, turned heavily, and instantly became aware that the golden head no longer nestled on his bosom.
Alarmed, he sprang to his feet in an instant, wide awake. He reached for the lamp, but found it gone; and, with nothing but a lighted match in his hand, he started out to look for Guly. The match went out before he was half way down to the store, but he went on, groping in the thick darkness, till suddenly his foot struck Guly's body; and with a moan of agony, he stooped and lifted him in his arms, and bore him hastily back to his bed, where he laidhim down, in wild suspense, not knowing whether he was alive or dead.
After several minutes he succeeded in finding a store-lamp; but the moment he lighted it the wind gushed through the open pane and blew it out, leaving him again in total darkness.
Cursing the luck, he turned to obtain another match, when another gust of wind rushed in, and swept across his face; and, like a lightning flash, the truth darted through his brain. Taking the lamp to his own room, he lighted it there, and finding, to his joy, that Guly still lived, he immediately applied the restoratives he deemed necessary; and soon saw the chest heave, the eyelids quiver, and the whole form once more wearing the glow and motion of life.
"Oh, Wilkins, such a dreadful dream! Horror! horror!"
"There, Guly, compose yourself. Don't tell me about it till you are better."
Guly obeyed, and lay quite still, trying to recall his wandering senses; and soon the truth rushed back upon his mind, in all its stern reality, and he felt it was no dream.
"Have you been in the store, Wilkins?"
"Only in the dark—to bring you back."
"Things are in wild confusion there. Oh, could I have only wakened you, it might have been different."
"Did you try, then, and fail?"
"Oh, yes; I could not thoroughly waken you, all I could do; you seemed to be in a sort of stupor. But I was certain that I heard a voice, something too human in its sound to be the fury of the storm. It was dark here, and the door was shut."
"The deuce it was! I left the lamp burning, and the door wide open; the wind must have done that work."
"It was as I tell you; and I went out, having lighted the lamp, and saw them in the very act, Wilkins, of finishing their robbery. Had I not been so weak and ill I would have cried aloud to you; but I came upon them so suddenly—so unexpectedly to myself, in the faint light, that I was surprised, for the moment, into silence, and then one turned, and raised his dirk to stab me; but the other, who had on his face a hideous mask, averted the blow."
"And you fainted?"
"I remember no more," said Guly, shuddering, as he rejected the too familiar tones, which, in that dread moment, had fallen on his ear.
"I fear," said Wilkins, kindly, "that this excitement has been too much for you. If you will remain here, and try to get some rest, I will look after the affairs in the store, and will call up Arthur and Jeff to assist me."
At the mention of Arthur's name, Guly looked anxious, but expressed his willingness to accede to this proposition.So, taking the lamp, the head clerk turned his steps toward the gloomy room at the stair-head, first taking a casual view of the confusion manifest in the store.
It was not without some slight suspicions, and many misgivings, that Wilkins went in search of Arthur; but as he pushed open the door, and looked into the room, an expression of immense relief passed over his features, and with a freer step he approached his bedside.
Arthur lay there, apparently in a profound slumber. One arm was thrown listlessly above his head, his dark curls, disheveled and tangled, were stroked back from his brow, and his cheeks, though hotly flushed, looked as if bearing the bright glow of some pleasant dream.
Wilkins laid a hand upon his arm, and awakened him. The young man started up in bed, impatiently asking the cause of his being thus disturbed. Wilkins told him in as few words as possible, and turned to awaken Jeff, while Arthur hastily proceeded to dress himself. To his surprise the head clerk found Jeff already awake, and trembling like an aspen leaf, as he sat up on his mattress, looking in dismay at Wilkins.
"What's the matter with you, Jeff?"
"Debbil, massa! Didn't I har you say de store broke open?"
"You did; and I want you to be up, and stirring quickly."
"Well, if dis doesn't beat de witches! Nuffin dis kin' eber happen afore. All jest 'cause dis nigger lef his post. See'f ole Massa don't say dat."
Wilkins bade him talk less, and dress quick; and in a few minutes the three descended the stairs together.
The fury of the storm was well-nigh spent; and the flashes of lightning, and loud peals of thunder, came at longer intervals. Faint streaks of light in the horizon, also told of scattering clouds, and approaching dawn. Closing the open pane as well as he could, so that he could carry his lamp without danger of its being extinguished, Wilkins, with Jeff and Arthur, proceeded to examine the "amount of damage done."
Suddenly Wilkins paused, and pointing out a number of clearly-defined tracks upon the floor, distinctly marked, in yet moist mud, he bade them be careful in preserving them as they might possibly give some faint clue to the robber, whoever he was. Jeff's quick eye caught at that moment what Wilkins failed to see—he observed that Arthur eagerly inspected the foot-prints, and cast a furtive glance from them to his own feet, as if to note if there were any similitude; and he saw, too, as the youth bent beneath the rays of the lamp, that his black curls, in one or two places, sparkled with heavy rain-drops. Jeff's ready mouth was open to speak; when the thought of Guly flitted, like a restraining angel, before him, and he remained silent; but,with his quick mind, convinced of Arthur's knowledge of the affair.
It was decided, that as soon as it was day, Jeff should be dispatched for Mr. Delancey; and, waiting for the dawn to break, they gathered round Guly's bed, to discuss the events of the night, and propose measures for the future.
When Mr. Delancey arrived he said but little, going about to see what goods had been taken—minutely examining the spot where the apparent entrance had been made, and silently drawing his own conclusions.
When the foot-print upon the floor was pointed out to him, he started, and turned slightly pale; inspecting it at the same time closely. There were marks of other feet, but they were mixed and confused, but this had gone higher in the store than the rest; there were tracks going and returning. The foot was small, elegantly-shaped, and, from appearance, with an instep so high that water might flow freely under without soiling the sole. After examining it for awhile, Mr. Delancey was observed to set his own foot on it, as if to note if there were any similitude. He turned away with a puzzled look, but in a few minutes called Jeff to him.
"How came you away from your post last night, eh?"
Jeff explained.
"Well, how came this handkerchief of yours, and this jack-knife, that I gave you the other day, lying near thebroken pane, in the bow-window, this morning, eh! you black rascal? tell me that!"
Jeff trembled in every joint, and caught hold of a chair for support.
"Guy, Massa, dem tings was in my pocket last night, jis 'fore I went to bed; I remember usin' 'em 'fore Mr. Quirk went out; but I'se sure I know nuffin more 'bout 'em."
"Don't you lie to me, sir! If you've had a hand in this business, I'll have your black neck twisted off, I will. Get out of my sight!"
The expression of poor Jeff's face was pitiful to behold. He turned away, with his trembling hands clasped before him, and his great eyes looking upward, as if imploring mercy.
Mr. Delancey then went into Guly's room, and listened to his recital of what had occurred, so far as he knew, during the night.
"And you are sure you have seen this young man, who drew his dirk on you, before?"
"Positive of it, sir. I caught but a glimpse of him last night, but it was sufficient to show me who it was."
"If I send for an officer, you will describe him?"
"To the best of my ability, sir."
"Be up to-day, I s'pose, won't you?" added the merchant, putting his head into the room after he had gone out.
"Shall try to do so, sir."
"Sure you know nothing of that other scamp?"
"As I told you, sir, he was masked closely, and—"
The door closed without giving him time to finish the sentence; a fact, which Guly was not sorry for.
Mr. Delancey ordered the store to be kept closed until things could be put in proper order; gave Wilkins orders to purchase and replace, as far as possible, the stolen goods, then stepped into his carriage, and drove home to breakfast.
The merchant's commands were always promptly obeyed. The officer came to converse with Guly—the broken shutter and window-pane were mended or replaced—new goods wore purchased, and put in place of the old ones, and by afternoon no one would have suspected that a robbery hadbeen committed at No. — Chartres-street.
"Fly now, for your life fly," whispered Quirk, eagerly, to Clinton, as, rid of Arthur, they pursued their way through the thick darkness and pelting storm. "If the cry of that white-faced stripling has roused Wilkins, we're as good as lost, unless we outstrip him; for I'd about as soon have a dozen blood-hounds at my heels as him."
They sped on in silence—only now and then stopping to change hands with their heavy load—until they once more stood at the door of Clinton's house. Here, placing their booty upon the ground, Clinton lifted up a trap-door, concealed just under the steps leading up to the front entrance. With Quirk's assistance, he placed the bags of goods, one by one, in a sort of cellar, rather large than deep, thus made on account of the thinness of the soil, and closely stoned and cemented, in order to be perfectly dry. Closing the door cautiously, once more, Clinton locked it, placed over it some broken bricks, loose earth, and tufts of grass,so as effectually to conceal it, then crept out, and rubbing the dust from his clothes, prepared to enter. Quirk went in with him, and they seated themselves in the little back-room, which they had left two short hours before.
"A capital haul for one night," said Clinton, triumphantly, flinging off his great-coat, and drawing his chair to the grate, where a cheerful fire was burning, rendered necessary by the dampness.
"It isn't the first thing of the kind you were ever engaged in, Clin?"
"You know better," returned the other, with an easy confidence, but at the same time a grave look crossing his features.
"Believe me, I don't want to pry into private matters, but I couldn't help wondering to-night, as we came along, if this pretty little wife of yours knew the secret of your outgoings and your incomings."
"No, thank Heaven!" replied Clinton, with more earnestness that one would have deemed him capable of. "No, she hasn't a suspicion of such things."
"Glad of it," said Quirk, "she's happier; but I say, old boy, havn't you sometimes regretted the faithfulness to a poor girl which has deprived you of your inheritance, and forced you upon such deeds as to-night for a living?"
"No! My faithfulness to Marion has made a better man of me in some respects than otherwise I ever couldhave been, though it may have made me worse in others. I have in her a noble and excellent wife, with all the sterling good qualities, which, had I married a fashionable woman, I could never have found. As for my inheritance, I would care little had I but some honest trade by which to live—but that my father thought too plebeian to be introduced in the education ofhis fashionable son—however, if I can pick his clerk's pocket of a few more bank deposits, with my part of our spoils to-night, I'll do. I'm not always going to be so bad. If my life is spared till this business is settled, I shall spend the rest of my days in Havana. Even with the memory of my crimes in my heart, I believe I can be happy with such a treasure in my bosom as Marion. My father's pride has been my curse—my sins be upon his head."
"And if you're found out in this business, what do you think will be done?"
"Oh, I shall be bought up, without doubt. The old man's spirit could never brook to have it said he had a child in prison committed for burglary."
"Well, 'tis as well to be cautious; for I fear that young Pratt knew you, and he'll tell all he saw, I'll be bound. Reckon though if he knew he had a brother in the scrape he'd be tongue-tied. I have tried to turn suspicion on Jeff, the negro. I picked his pocket of a knife and a handkerchief, and threw them down there somewhere. I 'sposethe boss would almost be tempted to string him up if he thought him guilty; however, a nigger more or less is nothing—but when it comes to such valuable members of society as you and I, caution is necessary." Here Quirk laughed coarsely.
"I'll wear whiskers awhile; that'll be disguise enough for me," said Clinton. "All that worries me is Arthur Pratt's proceeding—hope he's been good pluck."
"Never fear him; he's a little too conscientious yet awhile to be much of a b'hoy, but he'd be ashamed to show he couldn't do as well as the best of us. If that nigger didn't wake up when he went in we're safe enough in that quarter."
"Have as little to say to him as possible, to-morrow, and remember to be duly surprised at the news of the burglary."
"Trust me for that; I shall take proper care of our interests, I assure you."
"As for the disposal of the goods, that, I suppose, comes entirely upon my shoulders. I think I will dispose of this lot to Talbot; he is the best paymaster, and the first dark night I will get them away from here. After that, call for your dividends. If you are by any odd chance arrested before that, remember your oath—don't implicate anybody. Honor among thieves, you know."
"Aye, aye," returned Quirk, drinking deeply of somewine which stood upon the table. "You'll live long if you wait for me to hang you. Good night."
"Good night."
They shook hands and parted, and Quirk hurried away to his lodgings, in order to be able to say that he had occupied his own room, etc., etc., in case of trouble. As he strode away, a strange little figure enveloped in a long coat and a tattered old shawl, the better to protect it from the weather, appeared from the shadow of an adjoining building, and swung himself along between his crutches, muttering to himself: "Hih! hih! get the reward for these thieves—watch the papersIwill—know all about 'em—get the reward, hih! hih! hih! hih!" and the darkness swallowed him up as it had done him who had gone before.
Mr. Delancey sat in his drawing-room conversing with General Delville; whom he was yet allowed to believe he might one day look upon as his son-in-law. The night was dark, and a penetrating, drizzling rain was falling, which rendered the cheerful scene in that vast appartment all the more bright and pleasant.
Suddenly there came a startling ring at the door bell, the sound of which sent the blood in a hot flush to Della's temples, as she sat there quietly between her mother and the General, with her thoughts wandering where they chose, though she seemed to be listening to the conversation.
A servant entered, saying that a gentleman desired to see Mr. Delancey.
"Tell him I am engaged."
"I did so, sir; but he insisted upon seeing you."
"Perhaps some one bringing you news concerning the robbery," suggested Madame D.
"Ah, perhaps so. Show him into the library and tell him I'll be with him in a moment."
Excusing himself to his guest, the merchant sought the library. A tall man, wrapped in a heavy cloak, his hat still on and drawn over his brows, was walking impatiently back and forth across the floor. Mr. Delancey turned his cold eyes upon him earnestly for a moment and withdrew them nervously.
"Mr. Wilkins, I believe?"
"The same, sir."
"And what brings you to my house to-night?"
"That which has never brought me here before, sir, and never will again—business of a strictly private nature."
Mr. Delancey looked somewhat disturbed, but drew a chair beside a large writing-desk, and motioning his visitor to be seated, placed himself in front of him.
"Nothing wrong about the last load of goods? No trouble with the boats, is there, Wilkins?"
"Nothing of the kind, sir; my business, as I told you, is of a strictlyprivatenature."
"Proceed, I am ready to listen."
"And will you, sir, listen to me calmly; and make no sudden outbreaks or disturbance? I hate scenes, even with women, but with men, Heaven defend me!"
"I know of nothing you could say, sir, that would call forth any such ebullitions as you speak of; I am not a man of unnecessary words, as you well know."
"What I have to say can be told in a few words. I would, perhaps, do better to leave it unsaid; but I wish to repair, with what honor I can, a course, which in itself has not, perhaps, been strictly honorable. Do you know, sir, that I love your daughter?"
Mr. Delancey stared at the head clerk for a moment, like a man suddenly struck dumb; then every trace of color vanished from his face.
"Mydaughter, sir! You surely don't mean Della!"
"Have you, then, another daughter? I mean none other than Miss Della; and I this night come to ask your consent to our union. We have loved long and sincerely, and—"
"How dare you utter such words as these to me? You dare to tell me, that a child of mine has stooped to notice her father's clerk?"
"Aye! not only has one stooped tolovea clerk, but has not the other wedded a clerk's daughter? Mr. Delancey, I come to you as man to man; put away the difference of your wealth, and I am as high as yourself; as much a man, as high in station, and more honorable than yourself. Thus I dare to seek your daughter's hand; and crave her father's blessing."
"Have a care, sir, of what you say—more honorable? you dare to tell me that?"
"You know it to be the truth."
The merchant turned slightly pale.
"Mr. Wilkins, you put such a proposition as this you have suggested, merely for—merely to try me; you surely do not, cannot mean it?"
"I mean it all, sir. I am not given to trifling on such matters, and I have come to you like an honest man to ask your child's hand, and gain consent or refusal."
"And Della loves you?"
"If I may believe her words, she does; and I have her sanction to tell this to you."
Mr. Delancey started to his feet.
"And how have you dared, sir, to steal into my child's heart, and rob me of her affections? how have you dared to come like a thief in the night, and steal that heart away? I had never a suspicion of this—never thought of it. Brute that you are, thus to abuse my confidence!"
"Beware of what you say, sir. I have abused no confidence. Had you ever made me a guest at your house, ever treated me as if I had been human, like yourself, this might never have been. At least I would have wooed like an honest man, and your influence with your child might have nipped it in the bud. You must put up with the consequences of your own folly."
"Where have you ever met my daughter?"
"Never in this house, as you well know. Abroad, riding, walking, in spite of duennas and guardians, I have wooed, and won her to myself."
"She must then have deceived you. I am certain she is the betrothed of General Delville, who this moment converses with her in the parlor."
"You, sir, may be the one deceived. Della would not leave you without giving you a knowledge of her love. She bade me come to you, to ask her of you openly, and to tell you all."
"Then, sir, once for all, let me tell you, you talk in vain; never will my pride permit my beautiful child—she whom I have educated and trained to grace the home of the first in our land—to become the humble bride of a hireling clerk. Out upon you, for daring to ask it!"
"And where would be the pride you boast of, should I choose to bruit to the world those tales that I could tell, of long years of practiced deception and guilt on your part—of wealth acquired by fraudulent means—of midnight hours of watchfulness, which have brought you ship-loads of contraband goods—of days and weeks spent in devising means to escape the vigilance of our Government officers, of—"
Wilkins stopped suddenly, for Mr. Delancey fell back in his chair, groaning aloud. The head clerk held a glass of water to his lips, and he slowly recovered, and looked upin his visitor's face with a beseeching glance in his cold gray eyes.
"I am in your power, but spare me! spare me! Have mercy on an old man, who is weak and erring, but whose withered heart clings to his only daughter!"
"You give me your consent?"
"Ask anything but that."
"And you prefer to have your name go forth to the world branded with shame and infamy, rather than give your daughter to an honest man, who will strive to make her a good husband, and whom she already loves?"
Mr. Delancey moaned, and covered his face with his hands.
"Rather would you that men point at you with the finger of scorn—that former friends despise you—that the world look down upon you, and speak your name with scoffing, rather this, than see your child happy with the man of her choice?"
"Yes!" cried the merchant, springing to his feet, "if that man be you, a thousand times, yes! Go; do your worst; cast forth my name like waste-paper on the winds, scourge it, brand, blacken it; do what you will. Though you curse me to the confines of purgatory, my daughter never shall be yours!"
"This is your final decision?"
"My last—leave my house, sir, and never do you dare to darken its doors again."
"You may regret, sir, what you have said to-night," said Wilkins, putting on his hat and cloak.
"I shall always abide by it. Begone, sir! Why do you tarry?"
The folds of the heavy cloak fluttered a moment in the door-way, then passed through it, and disappeared down the long stairs. Through those vast halls, with frowning brow and heavy tread, Bernard Wilkins strode, and the massive door closed after him for the first and last time, and he went forth into the silent streets.
"Send the girl, Minny, to me," said Mr. Delancey to Della, as she was about leaving the breakfast-table, to go to her own room, the morning after Wilkins' visit to her father.
Mr. Delancey, as was usual with him, had said not a word with regard to his interview with Wilkins, but he had thought of it deeply, and was now prepared to act.
Della flew to her room.
"Minny, dear Minny, papa wants you. He sent me for you, and I am certain something terrible is about to happen, his eyes look so strangely. I know Bernard must have come last night, as he said he would, and that is what has made papa seem so silent and angry. He wants to ask you about everything. Oh, Minny, tell him what you choose, but don't give up my precious letters—don't!"
Della sank sobbing upon a chair, and Minny, pale as aghost, glided away, and entered the apartment where Mr. Delancey awaited her.
"So, girl, you have chosen to play the go-between for your mistress and a worthless fellow?"
Minny was silent.
"You who must know all, tell me what you know of this matter."
"Nothing, sir, dishonorable to my master or his daughter."
"No prevarication, minion. Whatever you know of, as having passed between Miss Della, and—and—this man, I wish you to state plainly here."
"I can tell you no more, sir, than you already know."
"By what means has this acquaintanceship been carried on? I know there has been no opportunity for much personal intercourse. Have you letters?"
"If I have, sir, they are the property of my young mistress, and as such, I will deliver them to no one without her consent."
"Fool! do you forget that you are my slave?"
"As such, my first duty is to the mistress you have bade me serve."
"Are the letters in your possession?"
"They are, sir; placed there for safe keeping."
"Bring me them instantly!" said Mr. Delancey, stamping his foot heavily upon the floor.
"No," said the girl, calmly folding her hands on her bosom; "whatever questions my master has to ask, I am ready to answer; but I can do no more."
"What do you mean?" cried the merchant, rising, and laying his hands upon her shoulders. "Go and do my bidding instantly. What did you confess you had them for, if you didn't expect me to get them? Any other of my negroes would have lied."
Minny's face flushed crimson.
"Your other negroes, sir, might act differently, under many circumstances, to what I would do—but," she continued, more calmly, "Miss Della taught me never to tell a falsehood, and these lips have never lied."
The merchant looked keenly at Minny for a moment, then said:—
"Do you know that if you disobey me I will use the lash? You are but a slave, if you have a paler skin. Do you hear? Either tell me where these papers can be found, or bring them to me yourself, or I will lash you till your back runs pools of blood."
"And I will bear it, sir, though you should make it run rivers. My mistress's confidence is more sacred to me than any drop of blood that circles round my heart, and I will shed it all sooner than betray her."
Mr. Delancey paused a moment, with a glance of something like admiration lighting up his cold eyes; perhapshe saw something of his own indomitable spirit in the girl's firm demeanor, and, perhaps, the thought that nature gave her a right to the possession of that spirit never entered his mind. With his anger every moment growing more intense, the merchant again laid his hand upon her arm.
"No more parleying, girl—bring me the letters."
"Never, sir."
"Dare you speak thus to me? Iwillhave them."
"Not while it is in my power to prevent you, sir."
"Fool! Minny, slave, out of my way!"
Minny moved not a muscle.
"Do as I command you, or, by Heaven, I'll make you. Was ever such disobedience shown a master?"
Minny stood firm, but silent, her back against the door. Mr. Delancey laid his hand upon the bell-rope, and pulled it violently.
"Voltaire," said he, to the servant who answered it, "bring me the heavy whip, with the braided lash."
It was not often that Mr. Delancey punished a slave, but when he did he was very severe. In this case, pride, anger, and a feeling something like revenge, for what he deemed Minny's obstinacy, spurred him on. The refusal of the letters had made him determined to possess them, and nothing could now have turned him from his course. Reader, he was a father; and his daughter was his idol!
The servant brought the whip, laid it on the table, glanced pityingly at Minny, and went out with a shudder.
Mr. Delancey seized Minny by the arm, and pushed her on before him, until he reached an upper balcony, near the sleeping apartments of the domestics.
"Now, girl, down with you."
"No, sir; if you lash me, let me stand and bear it like a human being, not like a dog, with my face to the dust."
"Down with you, or I will knock you down! You shall take it, as would any other slave."
Minny threw back her curls, and knelt before her master.
"On your face, girl,down!"
He raised his foot, and pushed her forward on her face. She lay there, with her heavy curls falling round her like a mantle, entirely concealing the tearless, livid face.
Delancey raised his arm, and the heavy lash descended, whirring through the air, telling how fierce the hand that dealt the blow.
The tender flesh could almost be seen to quiver through the thin, light dress; but Minny moved not, uttered no moan, nor raised her head.
"How now, girl, does your spirit hold out? Will you give up the letters?"
"Never!"
Again the lash came down, and this time, across one fair, polished shoulder, gleaming out from among the curls, in her low-necked dress, was marked a braided cut, from which the blood oozed in small round drops, staining also the waist of the dress, where the lash had fallen.
"How now?"
There came no answer: Minny lay still and quiet. Again the enraged master raised the whip, and this time the strokes were a trifle lighter, but more frequent, with no power for questioning.
Della sat in her room waiting for Minny's return. Suddenly a strange sound struck upon her ear. She started, bent forward, and listened eagerly. It came again and again. She sprang to her feet, and darted like lightning down the stairs. She ran hither and thither, scarce knowing whence to trace the sound, when suddenly she met one of the servants.
"Voltaire, in Heaven's name, where are papa and Minny?"
"On the back gallery, Miss," returned the man.
With the speed of thought, Della sped through the long passages, up the stairs, and out upon the balcony. She gained the spot just as the strong arm was upraised to give another blow.
"Papa! papa! for the love of mercy, stop!"
At that sound Minny slightly raised her head, but dropped it again, and the blow came down.
Della sprang wildly forward.
"Papa! papa! what has turned you into such a demon!"
With an almost superhuman strength, she caught thewhip, as it was again descending, in her own jeweled and delicate hands, wrested it from her father's grasp, and flung it over the railing into the court below.
Dropping upon her knees, she lifted the quadroon's head upon her lap. The eyes were closed, and the pallid face wore the appearance of death.
Minny had fainted.
Springing to a water-pipe, Della filled a basin, and drawing the girl tenderly upon her breast, rocked her gently, back and forth, as she bathed the blue-veined temples with the cooling fluid.
Still pale with anger, Mr. Delancey stood looking on.
"Poor child, poor Minny!" sobbed Della, as the tears rained down her cheeks; "all this you have suffered for me—poor thing, poor thing!"
Suddenly lifting her eyes, Della confronted her father.
"Not another night!" she exclaimed bitterly, "shall Minny stay beneath your roof. She is your own flesh and blood, papa; you know she is. You might as well have whipped me as to whip her. Oh! papa, that you should use your own child thus!"
Mr. Delancey started forward.
"Who has dared to tell you such a tale as this!—who has presumed to whisper such a falsehood in your ear?"
"It is no falsehood, papa; it is truth, all truth—would it were not! It requires no talking to see it. Has she notyour look, your spirit, much of your pride? But none of your cruelty. No, no, poor Minny, you have indeed been a sister to me. Look, papa, at this poor bleeding back, see how this dress is dyed with blood; blood which you cursed her with, blood which you have drawn forth again with the lash!The lash—think of it; and she your own daughter!"
Untouched by his child's words, Delancey turned away, every vein swelling with the wrath which he could not conceal.
"I'll teach you both to carry on your private dealings with dastardly clerks. Back to your room, and leave this heap of bloody flesh and rags for the negroes to care for."
"Shame on you, papa. No! I shall not leave her for a moment. With regard to this poor child, your authority is as naught to me."
"That remains to be seen," returned Mr. Delancey, in his cold, deep tones; and, stepping to the stairhead, he called Voltaire to his presence.
At this moment Minny drew a long, shivering sigh, looked up, and met her mistress's tearful gaze with a smile.
"They are safe, Miss—all safe; he could not get them," she whispered, faintly.
"Hush, Minny, darling. Oh, you have suffered so terribly for my sake! This is dreadful, dreadful!"
"Anything for you, Miss Della, anything."
Della's only answer was a closer pressure of that young form to her heart.
"Now," said Mr. Delancey, approaching them, with Voltaire walking behind them: "now, Minny, up with you, and get yourself out of my sight; and, mark me! you may get your back ready for another scourging unless you give me those papers before to-morrow."
"Papa, youknowMinny isn't able to walk. Let Voltaire carry her."
"Well, up with her, then. Take her to some of the negroes' rooms, and let her lie there till she repents of her obstinacy."
"Voltaire," said Della, stepping forward, "take her tomyroom, and put her upon my bed. Go!"
The negro obeyed, and Mr. Delancey offered no opposition. There was a look in his daughter's eye which he had never seen there before, an imperative manner which enforced command, and he allowed the man to pass him, bearing the bleeding and exhausted Minny in his arms.
"Now, Della," said he, turning to his child, "follow her. Until I can get this vile piece of romance out of your head, you shall remain a prisoner in your own room. Shame on you for your want of pride!"
"Thank Heaven, papa, that I have no more."
They parted—father and daughter there—both turning their heads, as they passed, to look back upon each other; then went from sight, silently and coldly.
"All the world's a stage."
"Oh, Massa Gulian," said Jeff, one day, following Guly, who had entirely recovered from his illness, to his room, "what shall I ever do, Massa Gulian, I'se so berry mis'ble?"
"And what has occurred, my poor fellow, to make you so unhappy?"
"Why, it's 'bout dis robb'ry, young massa. Don' you see dat old Master s'picions me? Tudder day, he said he bleeb'd I know'd suthin' 'bout it, 'cause he found dat knife of mine dar in de winder; and the Lord knows I'se innocent as a lamb, ob eben tinking such a ting."
"Mr. Wilkins, I think, convinced him of your innocence, Jeff. He told him every fact, concerning you, that he could think of, to prove you guiltless."
"Yes, but—but I heerd Master mutter to hisself dat he couldn't clar me in his own mind till somebody else was cotched, and proved guilty; and nobody has been cotched, and I'se berry wretched, 'deed, sah, I is."
Jeff looked all he expressed, and Guly pitied him in his heart.
"Be of good cheer, and trust in God; all will yet be well. It were impossible for any one to think you guilty, Jeff, of this."
"Seems to me dat de Lord has deserted me 'tirely. What makes my heart ache most, is Massa's manner; you see he allus used to be berry kind to me; fact is, he neber whipped me in the world, and he used to trust me with so many of his private affairs, and wus allus so kind of confidential like, long o' me, and sometimes sent me wid money to de bank, and all dat. Don't do it now; scowl on his face de minit he cum near me, and look so like a tunder cloud, I 'spects to be struck wid lightnin' ebery minit. If he'd tie me up, and whip me, and den be hisself agin, I wouldn't care; but de Lord knows I lub my Massa dearly, and can't bar' to hab him turn de cold shoulder to me, and show he hab no more confidence in his nigger, 'tall."
Guly tried to say something encouraging; but, though Jeff listened respectfully, it was very sadly; and several times he wiped the tears from his cheeks, while his young master was speaking.
"Massa Guly," said he, taking a small parcel from his pocket, "here's suthin' I found in de winder, de morning after de robb'ry, when dey was cleaning up. I 'spect itb'longs to de tiefs, but I don't want you to open it till some one's cotched, and then if it finds an owner, well and good; but if it don't, I want you to keep it to 'member me. It's a purty thing, an' it's mine if it don't get an owner, 'cause I found it; and, as I said, I want you to hab it."
"You are not going away, are you, Jeff?"
"Yes, young massa, berry fur."
"Why, how so?" said Guly, in surprise, "I had heard nothing of it."
"Well, please not to say nothin' 'bout it, massa; 'twouldn't do no good, an' I don't want it talked of. Ole Massa's plantation's a good way up de river, an' he sends all his bad niggers dar. Mebbe I won't see you 'gin, Massa Gulian, so good bye."
Gulian gave him his hand, and the negro took it in both of his, and bending over it, burst into a loud fit of weeping.
"Oh, Massa Guly, if I'se ever hurt your feelin', or done anyting berry wrong, I hopes you will forgive me. De Lord bress you, Massa Guly; you'se been de light ob mine eyes, an' de joy ob my soul, eber sin' you fuss cum here. De Lord bress you, foreber an' eber."
With a despairing, broken-hearted gesture, Jeff dropped the hand, and hurried from the room; and, at that moment Wilkins, who still retained his place as head clerk, called Guly a moment to his side.
"Guly," said he, laying his hands upon his shoulders, "do you remember the time you promised me, if ever I needed a friend, you would be that one?"
"Yes, Wilkins; and will fulfill my promise any moment!"
"Will you be at the Old Cathedral, with Blanche, at midnight?"
"Blanche! midnight! the Old Cathedral? I don't understand your meaning."
"I want you to meet me at that hour, with Blanche, at the Cathedral."
"Would she go?"
"Oh, yes; I have it all arranged with her; Old Elise will stay with her grandfather till she returns. You will be there?"
"Since you wish it—yes, without fail. You will explain matters when we meet there?"
"They will explain themselves. Don't forget."
The day wore on, and everything went on in its usual manner, until just before Mr. Delancey's dinner hour, when, to the surprise of all, the loud report of a pistol was heard, coming from the little court, just at the back part of the store. As its echo died away, all those clerks not at the moment engaged, rushed to the long windows, and sprang through into the court, to learn what the matter was. Guly was the first on the spot, and to his horror andamazement, found Jeff lying on the ground, weltering in his blood, but still showing signs of life.
"Jeff!" he exclaimed, bending over him, "what have you done!"
"Oh—Massa—Guly"—gasped the negro, turning his dimming eyes to the boy's face, "you'se come with your blue eyes to light me to Heaven. Couldn't lib longer, and hab de master dat I lubbed tink me a robber. I'se tried allus to be a good nigger, an' hope's I'll go to de good place."
"God grant it."
"Young Massa, is dis death?"
"'Tis coming, Jeff."
"Let me pray; I only knows one prayer, an' it's so short."
"Say it."
"'Now I lay me'—oh, I'se goin' fast, young massa."
"Go on."
"'Down to sleep'—Massa Guly dis long sleep."
Guly took his hand.
"'I pray de Lord my—soul—to keep; an'—should—I die'—Oh, dis is de wrong prayer—Bressed Lord, forgive my sins, and take me to dat Heaven where de white folks go, dat I may see Massa Guly, wid his white wings on. Good-bye, young massa. Last at my side in death, I'll be fust at yours in Heaven."
With a convulsive effort, the dying man turned upon his side, the limbs grew rigid, the death-rattle shook an instant in his throat, and poor Jeff was dead.
Guly left the negro's side, to acquaint Mr. Delancey, who had remained sitting stiffly in his chair, of the facts. The merchant listened unmoved, but ordered the body to be sent to his house, and a longer or better ordered funeral never passed through the streets of New-Orleans, than that which next day bore poor Jeff to his last resting-place. Whether or not that Master felt he had wronged a true and faithful slave, could not be told; but all he could do to show he honored his memory, was done; and as much expense and pomp were displayed in those last rites, as ever were lavished over a white man's bones.[A]