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i i V Y e i.M 



B7 aEOEaE LIPPARO. 



Ciittiiwoti: 

B. n'. R D L I S N, 

Qneen city Fubliabliig Hon 

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if C™KrG6B, In Ito JCM ISSa, by 



n. M. BULIS 
:'8 Offlcs of tho Mslrict Coi 






PRELIMISART SKETCH. 



Christmas Eve, 1823, was a memorable night in the history of a certain 
wealthy family in New York. The night was dark and stormy, but the temp^t 
which swept over the hay, and whitened the city's roofs with snow, was but a faint 
symbol of the tempest of human passion — jealousy, covetousness, despair — then at 
work, in the breasts of a group of individuals, connected with the old and dis- 
tinguished family of. Van Hutdbn. 

On that night, Gulian Vah IIuyden, the representative of the family, and 
owner of its immense wealth — a young man in the prime of early manhood, who 
tad been happily married a year before — gave a great banquet to his male 
friends, ia his city mansion. By his side was seated his younger brother, Charles 
Van Huyden, whom the will of their father had confined to a limited income, while, 
GnLiAN, as the elder son, had become the possessor of nearly all of the immense 
wealth of the family. 

The banquet was prolonged from about nine o'clock until near dawn, and during 
its progress, Gulian and his brother had been alternately absent, for the space of 
an hour, or a half hour at a time. 

The city mansion of Gulian, situated not far from Trinity Church, flung the ' 
blaze of its festival lights out upon the stormy night. That light was not sufficient 
to light up the details of two widely different edifices, which, located within a hUQ'- 
dred yards of Gulian's mansion, had much to do with his fortunes, and the for- 
tunes of his family. 

The nearest of these edifices, an antique, high roofed house, which stobd in a 
desolate garden, was (unknown to Gulian) the home of his brother, and of that 
brother s mistress — a jvoman whom Charles did not wish to marry, until by some 
chance or other, he became the possessor of the Van Huyden estate 

The other edifice, a one-storied hovel, was the home of a mechamc and his 
yonng wife His name was John HorFMAtr, his trade that of a sto^^»aon, -«n4- 
at tide penod of this narrative, he was miserably poor 

294848 '" 



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How, during the night of Christmas eve (and while the hanquet was in progress 
in Gulian's city mansion), an unknown person, thickly cloaked, entered the hovel 
of the mechanic, bearing a new-born child in his arms. An interview followed 
between the unknown, John Hoffman, and his wife. The mechanic and his wife 
consented to adopt the child in place of one which they had recently lost. The 
stranger with the child, gave them a piece of parchment, which bore on one side, 
the initials, '_'Q. Q. V. H. C." and on the other the name of " Da. Martin Ful- 
MBR," a^ efiefltric physician, well known in New York. This parchment deposited 
in a letter addressed to Dr. Fulmer, and sent to the post office once a quarter, 
would be returned to the mechanic, accompanied by the sum of a hundred dollars, 
John was especially enjoined to keep this interview and its results a secret from 
the Doctor, Having deposited the child and parchment with the worthy couple, 
the stranger departed, and was never again seen by the mechanic or his wife. 

Within an hour of this singular interview the mistress of Charles Van Huyden, 
returned to her home ( from which she had been absent for a brief period) — flakes of 
enow upon her dress and upon her disordered hair — and placed upon her bed, the 
burden which she carried, a new'bom infant, enveloped in a shawl. As the fallen, 
but by no means altogether depraved woman, surveyed tiiis infant, she also beheld 
h«r own child eleepmg m a cradle not far from the bed — a daughter some three 
months old and named ifter its mother Frank, that is, Fbancis Van Hdyden. 

Christmis E>e passed away, and Christmas morning was near. Dr. Martin 
Fulmer was suddtnlj summoned to Gulian's mansion. And Gulian, fresh from 
the scenes of the bani^uet room, met the Doctor in an obscure garret of his man- 
Mon H* first bound the Doctor by an oati, to yield implicit obedience to all his 
tnahes an oath which appealed to all that was superstifjous, as well as to all 
that was truly relict jus in the Doctor's nature, and then the interview followed, 
temble and momtntous m its details and its results. These results stretch over a 
period of twenty one yuars — from December 25, 1823, to December 26, 1844. 
This interview o>cr, Gulian left the Doctor (who, stupefied and awe-stricken by the 
words which he had just heard, sank kneeling on the floor of the room in which 
Uie interview bad taken place), and silently departed from bis r 
his 8t*ps to the Battery. And then — yoiing, handsome, the pos 
wealth — he left this life with the same composure, that he had just departed from 
his mansion In plain words, he plunged into the river, and met the death of the 
aciciDE in its ice-burdened waves, while his brother Charles (whom we forgot to 
state, had accompanied him from the threshold of bis home), stood affrighted and 
appalled on the shore. 

Meanwhile, Dr Martin Fulmer {bound by bis oath), descended from the garret 

into a bedchamber of the Van Huyden mansion. Upon the bed was stretched a 

beautiful but dying woman. It was Alice Van Huyden, the young wife of 

/^0alsaD All night long (while the banquet progressed in another apartment) she 

lUui wrestled m the agonies of maternity, unwatched and alone. She had giveii 



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FRELIUIKABY SEXTCH. tU 

birth to a child, but when the Dr. stood by the bed, the child had been remoyed 
by unknown hands. 

Convinced of his wife's infidelity — believing that his own brother CharJea waa 
the ftutlior of bis dishonor — Qufian had left his mansion, his wealth, life and all its 
hoges, U> meet the death of the suicide in the waves of Manhattan Bay. 

And Dr. Martin Fulmer, but a few hours ago a poor man, now found himself, 
as he stood by the bed of the dying wife, the sole trustee of the Van Huyden Estate. 

His trust was to continue for twenty-one years. In case of his death, he had 
power Ui appoint a successor. And at the end of twenty-one years, on the 26th 
of December, 1844, the estate (swelled by the accumulations of twenty-one years), 
was, by the will of Gulian Van Huyden, to be disposed of in this wise : 

I. In ease a son of Gulian should appear on that day (December 25th, 1844), the 
estate should descend absolutely to hina. Or, 

II. In case on the day named, it should be proven to the satisfaction of the Trus- 
tee, that such a son had been in esistence, but had met his death in a truly just 
cause, then the estate waa to be disposed of, according to the directions em- 
bodied in a scaled codicil (which was not to be opened until December 26, 
1844) But in case such a son did not appear, and in case his death in a truly 

just cause was not proven on the appointed day, then, 

III. The estate was to he divided among the heirs of seven persons, descendants 
of the first of the Van Huyden's, who landed on Manhattan Island, in the year 
1623, These seven persons, widely distributed over the 'United States, were 
(by the directions of the Testator) to be furnished with a copy of the will. And 
among these seven or their heirs— that is, those of the number who appeared 
before Martin Fulraer, at the appointed place on the appointed day — 
would be divided. 

Such in brief, were the essential features of the will, * 

A few days after December 25, 1823, Charles Van Huyden, having in his pos- 

sion 8200,000 (given to him by Dr, Martin Fulmer, in accordance with the wishes 
of Gulian) left New York for Paris, taking with bim his mistress (now his wife), 
their child "Francis" or "Frank," and the strange child which the' woman had 
brought to her home, on Christmaa Eve, 1823, Whether this "strange" child, or 
the child left with the poor mechanic, was the offspring of Gulian Van Huyden, 
will be seen from the narrative which follows this'imperfect sketch. 

Twenty-one years pass away; it lacks hut a day or two of December 26th, 1844, 
Who are the seven heirs? Docs a son of Gulian live? What has become of 
Charles Van Huyden; of Hoffman the mechanic, and of the child left in the cm 
of the mechanic ? What has become of Charles Van Huyden's wife and child ! 

On a night in December 1844— say the S3d of the month—we shall find in 
New York, the following persons, connected with the fortBoes of tiie Vta HnydtU 
familjr t 



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The " Seven" or their heirs. 

I. Gabriel Godi-ikb, a statesman, who with an intellect rivahng some of the great- 
est names in our history, such as Clay, Calhoua or Webster, is destitute of the 
patriotism and virtues of these great men. 

ir. Hbeman Baenhuest, a clergyman, who has lured from Philadelphia to New 
York, the only daughter of a merchant of the former city. THs clergyman and 
his victim, are pursued hy the Third of the Seven. 

HI. AsiHtTB DERMorsB, a mechanic. 

IV. Israel Yorkb, a Banker, 

V. Hakry Rotalton, or Hill Royal, S. C. His claim to an undivided seventh of 
the Estate, will he contested by his half brother and sister, Eabdolph and 
Esther, who although white, are alleged to have African blood'in their veins. 

VI. Bbverlt Barron, a "man of the world." 

VII. EvELYB SoMBRS, 8 Ncw York " Merchant Prince." 
I 2d. We shall find in New York, at the period before named, Chakles Tan Hcr- 
E, DBN, transformed into Col. Tarleton, and endeavoring to remove from his hands 
I the blood of a man whom he has slmn in a duel. His daughter " Frank" grown 
t to womanhood, and brought into contact with " Nameless," who left in infancy at 
t the hovel of John Hoffman, has after a childhood of terrible hardships— a young 
I manhood darkened by madness and crime — suddenly appeared m New York, 
■ ia company with a discharged convict. This convict is none other than Johu HofE- 
^. man the mechanic. And gliding through the narrative, and among its various 
i^' actors, we shall find Martin Fulmbr, or his successor. 

f: With this prelimmary sketch— necessarily brief and imperfect, for it covers a 

^ period of twenty-one years— the following narrative is submitted to the reader. 

Tet first, let us for a moment glance at the " Van Huyden Estaie." This estate 
in 1823, was estimated at two millions of dollars. What is it ia 1844? 

The history of two millions of dollars in twenty-one years I Two millions left to 
go by itself, and ripen year after year, into new power, until at last the original 
sum is completely forgotten in the vast accumulation of capital. In the Old World 
twenty-one years glide by, and everything is the same. At the end of tweaty-one 
years, two millions would still be two millions. Twenty-one years in the New 
World is as mnch as two centuries to the Old. The vast expanse of land ; the 
constant influx of population; the space for growth afforded by institutions as differ- 
ent from those of Europe (that is from those of the past), as day from nightfall 
contribute to this result. From 1823 to 1844, the New Worid, hardened by a 
childhood of battle and martyrdom, sprang into strong manhood. Behold the 
pWlosophy of modem wealth, manifested in the growth of the Tan Huyden Estaie. 
Without working itself it bids others to work. Left to the age, to the growth of 
the people, the increase of commerce and labor, it swells into a wealth that puto 
tte Arabian Nights to shame. In 1823 it comprises certain pieces of land in the 



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FSELIUINABT BEETCB. ix 

heart of New York, and in the open country heyond New York. In 1844 the eity 
land has repeated its value hy a hundred ; the country lots have become the ahid- 
ing place of the Merchant Princes of New York. Cents in 1823, become dollars 
in 1844. This by the progress of the age, by the labor of the millions, and with- 
out one effort on the part of the lands or their owner. In 1823 there is a country 
seat and farm on the Horth River; in 1844 the farm has become the seat of 
factories, mills, the dwelling place of five thousand tenants, whose labor has 
swelled the original value of $150,000 into fen milhons of dollars. In 1823, five 
thousand acres, scattered over the wild west, ara vaguely valued at $5000 — ia 1844 
these acres, located ia various parts of the west, are the sites of towns, villages, 
mines, teeming with a dense population, and worth thirty millions of dollars. In 
1823 a tract of barren land among the mountains of Pennsylvania, is bought for 
one thousand dollars ; in 1844 this tract, the location of mines of iron and coal, is 
worth TWBBTr MILLIONS. 

Thus in twenty-one years, by holding on to its own, the Van Huyden Estate has 
swelled from two millions to one HUNnRED MHiioNa or dollars. The age moves 
on ; it remains in its original proprietorship, swelled by the labor of millions, who 
derive but a penny where they bestow upon the estate a dollar. It works not; 
mankind works for it. Has this wealth no duties to mankind ? Is there not some- 
thing horrible in the thought of an entire generation, for mere subsistence, spending 
their lives, in order to make this man, this estate, or this corporation, the possessor 
of incredible wealth ? 



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PKOLOGUE, 



TttB lamp has gone out in the old familiar room ! It used to shine, late tit night 
upon the books, upon the pictures oa the wall, and upon my face as I sat writing 
there! Oftentimes it shone upon another face which looked over my shoulder, and 
cheered me in my labor. But now the lamp has gone out — and forever. The face 
which looked upon me is gone ; the cofSn lid shut down upon it, one Summer day 1 
The room is dark forever. And the next room, where she used to sleep with her 
children — it is dark and slill ! The house is desolate ! Tliere are no voices to 
break its stillness ! Her voice, and the voices of our children, are silent forever on 
this lower earth. My heart goes back to that house and lo its rooms, tuid to ^^ 
voices that onc« sounded ther^and the faces which once made it glad, am^Rth 
more than the bitterness of Delfth I confess, that T^me can, never return. Fever- 
more, nevermore, nevermore ! Wealth may come ; change of scene may deaden 
sorrow; wrestling with the world, may divert the soul from petpetuai brooding, but 
the Truth is still the Truth, that Time can never return. And this is the end of all, 
after a life spent in perpetual battle — after toiling day and night for long years — 
after looking to the Future, hoping, struggling, suffering — to find at last, even 
before thirty years arc mine, that the lamp has gone out, and forever ! That those 
for whom I toiled and suffered — whose well-being was the impulse and the ulti- 
mate of all mycKertions — are no longer with me, but gone to return never — never- 
more. Upon this earth the lamp that lit my way through life, has indeed gone 
out, and forever. But is it not lighted now by a higher hand than mortal, and is 
it not shining now in a better world than this? 

I 

Once more I resume my pen. Since this wort was commenced. Death has been 
busy with my home — death hatji ind«ed laid my home desolate. It is a selficli 
thing to write for mooey, it is a bas« and a mean thing to write for fame, but it it 
ft good and A holy thing to write for the approval of those whom we moat intenaetf 



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Zll PBOLOOUB. 

love. Beprived of this spring of action, it is hard, very hard to take up the pen 
once more. Write, write ! but the face that once looked over your shoulder, and 
cheered you in your task, shall look over it no more. Write, write! and turn your 
gaze to every point of the horizon of life — not one face of home meets your eye. 

Take up the pen once more. Banish the fast gathering mm — h k tl m 
down. Forget the AcrrrAL of your own life, iu the ideal t wh h th p n g 
utterance. Brave old pen I Always trusted, never faithl T u th u h 1 

years of toil, be true and steadfast now ; when the face tl at wat h d y u 

progress is sleeping in graveyard dust. And when yuvrt dwnanhl 
thought, or give utterance to a holy truth, may be, that f w 11 m i up n y u 
progress, even through the darkened glass which separat th p nt f m the 
Better World. 



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CONTENTS. 



part first. 

'■ FRAHK VAN HUYDES." DEC. 23 1844.— ETESINQ. 

CHAPTER I. "Does he Reu^kb-V 21 

CHAPTER II. Fbank and heb Singular VisiToa 23 

CHAPTER III. The Childhood of the Midotubt Qossn 95 

CHAPTER IT. Maidenhood 38 

CHAPTER T. On the Eock 30 

CHAPTER VI. Amono -ma pALisADKa 31 

CHAPTER VII, In the Fobest Nook 33 

CHAPTER VIII. Home, AdieuI _. 34 

CHAPTER IX. EnUEST AND HIS SlNOPlAE AmTKNTUEES 35 

CHAPTER X. Ths Palace Home 37 

CHAPTER XI. "She'll Do!" W 

CHAPTER XII. A Rktelatios 41 

OHAPTERXIII. MospHiNE « 

CHAPTER XIV. The Saik is cowiete 44 

CHAPTER XV. "Losi^LosT, UtteelyI" *fi 



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CONTENTS. 



|)art Qe:oni. 

FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MroSIGHT. DEO. 23, 1844. 

CHAPTEK I. Bloodhodnd asd the Unknown 49 

CHAPTER 11. The Canal srarax Shtbt Stobe 50 

CHAPTER III. "Do tHKi RoAB?" : 54 

CHAPTER IV. The Seven Vaults 58 

CHAPTER V. The lEOiTE or the Pops 66 

CHAPTER VI. " JoannaI " 74 

CHAPTER VII. TheWbite Slave and his Sjstkb 77 

CHAPTERVIII. Eleanoe Ltwm 82 

CHAPTER IX. Beknakd Ltnn 86 

CHAPTER X. "yEsI Tod will meet Hjh." 90 

CHAPTER XI. In the House of the Merchant Prince -. 92 

CHAPTER Xir. ■■Show Me the Wat" 98 

CHAPTER XIII "Thb Rkvebend Voluftuabies" 104 

'.y^HAPTER XIV. "BEioir Five Pointa" 116 



part aijira. 

THEOUGH TEE SILENT CITY. DEC. 24, 1844. 

CEUFTER I. The Deh of Madau Rebiuee 133 

CHAPTER IL "Hebmak.iou -will NOT DESERT Me!" 197 

CHAPTER III. Hebman, Abthoe, Aiice 128 

CHAPTER IV. The Bed Book 131 

CHAPTER V. "What shall we do with hebJ" 134 

CHAPTER VI. A Bbief Epibode 136 

CHAPTER VU. Theodqh the Silent Citt 137 

CHAPTERVIII. In TBimn Chubcd 140 

CHAPTER IX. Tbs End of thk Habch '. 144 



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CONTENTS. 



Patl jFourtl) 

IN THE TEMPLE— FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. DEC. 24, 1844. 

CHAPTER I. TheCkntbal Cb.mbkb J40 

CHAPTER II. Thb Bluk Room 155 

CHAPTER III. Tee Golden Room 158 

CHAPTER IV. The Eeidal Cha«ser 167 

CHAPTER V. Thk Scaklet Chamber..... 170 

CHAPTER VI. Bank Stock at the Bab 175 

CHAPTER VII, "Where la the Child of Guliah Vak Huydkn?" IBl 

CHAPTERVIII. Beverly ATO Joanna 183 

CHAPTER IX. Mabt Bebkak— Cam, Eapbabi 136 



port fifti). 

THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAT. DEC. 24, 1844. 

CHAPTER I. "The Other Chb.ii" 189 

CHAPTER II. Randolph and nis Bbotheb 195 

CHAPTER III. The Hl-sband AND the PaoFLiQAiE 196 

CHAPTER IV. IsKAEL AND HIS ViCTia 198 

CHAPTER V. Maby, Cael, CoaNELiia 907 

CHAPTER VI. A Looe: into the Red Book 210 

CHAPTER VII. Makion Merlin 212 

CHAPTERVIII. NiAGAKA 214 

CHAPTER IX. A Second Mabbiaqb 216 

CHAPTER X. A Second Mcrder 217 

CHAPTER XI. Mabion a.nd Hermam Baenhuest 218 

CHAPTER XII. Marion a™ Fanny 920 

CHAPTERXIII An Unuttebable Ckime 221 

CHAPTERXIV. Suicide.... t 223 

CHAPTER XV. After the Death of Mabjon 395 



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CONTENTS. 



part Sixil). 

DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. DECEMBER 2i, 1844. 

CHAPTER I. Aebatkd for ibb Bkidal 

CHAPTER II. Herman and GocrrA 

CHAPTER III. Tfb Dbeam Eliiib 

CHAPTER IV. The Bkidal of Joanha and Beterlv 

CHAPTER v. An .Episode 



part Sencntl). 

THE DAT OF TWENTY-ONE YEARS. DEC. 25, 1844. 

CHAPTER I. Martib Fuluer ArpEAns 

CHAPTER II. "The Seven" are summoked 

CHAPTER III. "Say, between us ThkeeI" 

CHAPTER IV. The Legate of 

CHAPTER V. The Son, AT Last I 

CHAPTER VI. ALoNa Account Settled... 

CHAPTER VII. The Banqttei Rook once m. 



©ptlognc. 

E RlTEB SaOEE — Im THE VATICAN — 8k THE PrAIRIB.. 



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I E ¥ YORK: 

IT3 

UPPER-TEN AND LOVER MILLION. 



PART FIRST. 



FRANK VAN HUYDEN." 

DEC. 23, ISH— ETBNISQ. 



13 the c'^olama- 
tion of Frank, as coacealing the history of 
tie Life of Nambless within her hosoro, 
a, amgiilar expreasion flaalied over her heau- 
tiful face. "Does he remeiabcr'" was hei 
thought — "Is he coDBcioTis of -fhe words 
which have fallen from his hps,' Does ho 
pass from this singular state of trance, only 
to forget the real history of his life?" 

The agitation which had convulsed the 
facB of Nameless, at the moment when 
■ he emei^ed from, the clairvoyant state (if 
thus we may designate it) sooa passed away. 
His face became calm and almost radiant in 
ita every line. His eyes, no longer glassy, 
shone ■mth clear and healthy light; a slight 
flush animated his hitherto sallow cheeks; 
in a word, his conntenance, in a momant, 
underwent a wonderful change. 

Frank uttered an exclamation of surprise. 

"Ah ! I begin to live !" said Nameless, 
passing his hand over his forehead — "Yes, 
yes," he uttered, with a sigh of mingled sor- 
row and delight, "I have risen from the 
grave. For two years the victim of a living 
death, J now begin to live. The cloud ia 
gone; I see, I see the light '." 

He rose and confronted Frank, 

" There was another child — yes, my 
mother gave Wrth to two children, one of 
whom your father stole ou the night of its 
birth and reared as his oivn. His purpose 
you may guesB, But what has become of 
that child? It disappeared, I know, at the 
tdwe when your father arrived from Paris — 
iita'ppeared, ha, ha, Frank! Did it not dis- 
appear to rise into light agdn, ou the 2eth 



of December, 1844, as the only child of 
GuLiAH Van IIurnEK? Your father is a 
bold gamester; he plays with a feEalesa 

He paced the room, while Frank, listening 
intently to his words, watched with dumb 
wonder the delight which gave a new life to 
his countenance. 

"And Cornelius Berman, Frank — " he 
turned abruptly. 

"Died last year," 

His countenance fell. 

"And Mary — " 

" Followed her father to the grave." 

He fell back upon the sofa like a wounded 
man. It was some moments before he re- ■ 
covered the appearance of calmness. 

"How knew you this?" 

"A year ago, an artist reduced lo poverty, 
through the agency of Israel Torke, came to 
my home to paint my portrait. It waa Cor- 
nelius Berman. Torke had employed Bug- 
gies as his agent in the affair of the transfer 
of the property of Cornelius ; Buggies the 
agent was dead indeed, but Torke kppearod 
upon the scene, as the principal, and sold 
Cornelius out of house and home. The 
ipers which you took from the dead body 

Buggies were only copies ; the ori^nals 
ere in the possession of Israel Torke." 

Nameless hid his face in his hands. He 
did not speak again until many minutes baA 
elapsed, 

"And you thought that ComeUus had put 
aggies to death?" 

"I gathered it from a rumor which has 

ept through New Tork for the last two 

lars. The haggard face and wandering eye 

of the dying artist, who painted roy JHC^plj - 

confirmed this impression," 



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FBANK VAN HUYDEN. 



"And Cornelius came to this house?" 
"No; to another house, wtere 1 had been 
placed by my father. He procured a person 
to represent a southern gentleman, and per- 
sonate mj father. That h, I was represented 
ns the only child of a rich southerner ; aud 
in that capacity my picture waa painted, 
and — and — I afterward visited the home of 
the arliat, in a miserable garret, and saw his , 
daughter, who assisted her father, by the 
humblest kind of work. She was a seam- 
• atreas — she worked for ' sixteen cenla per 

"And she is dead," said Nameless, in a 

" I lost Bight of Mary and her father about 
a year ago, and have since received intelli- 
gence of their death." 

"How did you receive this intelligence?" 

"It waa in all the papers. Beverly Bar- 
ron wrote quite a touching poem upon the 
Death of the Artist and his Daughter. 
Beverly, you are aware, was eloquent upon 
such occasions : the death of a friend was 
always a godsend to him." 

Nameless did not reply, but seemed for a 
moment to surrender himself to the influence 
of unalloyed despair. 

"Look you, Frank," he said, after along 
pause, "I have seventy-one thousand dol- 
lars—" 

" Seventy-ono thousand dollars !" she ejac- 
ulated. 

"Yes, and it is 'Fsank and Nakblbsb 
AKD NiseT7-0ne against tse world.' To- 
morrow is the 24th of December ; the day 
after will be THE DAY. We must lay our 
plans; we must track Martin Fulmer to his 
haunt ; we must foil your father, and, in a 
word, show the world that its cunning can 
, ho baffled and its crime brought to justice, 
by the combination of three persons — a 
Fallen Woraan, a Convict and a Murderer! 
0, does it not make your heart bound to 
think of the good work we can do with 
seventy-one thousand dollars !" 

She gave him her hand, quietly, but 
her daik eye answered the excitement 
which flashed from every line of his coon- 
tenonoe 

"And will it not bo a glorious thing for us, 
if W8 cm wash away our crimes — yes, Frank, 
oHi onmea — and show the world what virtue 



lurks in the hfeasC of the abandoBed and the 

" Then I can atone for the crime of which 
I am guilty — for I am guilty of being the 
child of a man who sold me Into shame — 
you are guilty of having stained your hands 
in the blood of a wretch who cursed the 
very air which he breathed — and Ninety- 
One, is guilty, yes guilty of having once 
been in — my father's v>ay. These are terri- 
ble crimes, Gulian— " 

" Call me not by that name until the 25th 
of December," exclaimed Nameless; 

At this moment, Frank turned aside and 
from the drawer of a cabinet, drew forth a 
long and slender vial, which she held 
before the eyes of Namelei^ 

"And if we fail, this will give us peace. 
It is a quitt messenger, Guliin "Within 
twehe hours after the contents ol this vial 
have passed the lips, the body mil sink mto 
a peaceful skep, without one sign or token 
to teli the lile ol suicide Ils, Gulian, if 
we fail, this vial, which I procured ivith dif- 
ficulty, and which I have treasured for years, 
will enable us to fall asleep in each other's 
arms, and — forever !" 

" Suicide !" echoed Nameless, gazing now 
upon the via!, then upon her countenance, 
imbued with a look of somber enthusiasm — 
"You have thought of that?" 

"0 had this vial been mine, in the hour 
when, pure and hopeful, I was sold into the 
arms of shame, do you think that for an 
instant I would have hesitated between the 
death that lays you quietly asleep in the 
cofBn, and that death which leaves the body 
living, while it cankers and kills the soul?" 

Nameless look the vial from her hand and 
regarded it long and ardently. what 
words can picture the strange look, which 
then came over his face ! He uttered a deep 
sigh and placed the vial in her Lands again. 
She silently placed it in the drawer of the 
cabinet. 

As she again confronted him, their eyes 
met, — they understood each other. 

"Frank," said Nameless in a measured 
tone— "Who owns this house? What is its 
true character?" 

Sealing herself beside him on the sofa she 
replied t 

"As to the mimer of tiiia house, you may 



i/Googic 



I'\ 



FBANK VAN HUYDEN. 



be euro that lie is a man of property and 
moral worth, a church-membet and a re»pact- 
able citizen. But do not imagine for a 
moment that this is a common haunt of 
infamy — no, my friend, no ! None but the 
most select, the most aristocratic, ever cross 
the threshold of this pla<!e. Bemain until 
twelve o'clock to-night and you will behold 
some of the guests who honor my house 
with their presence." 

There was a mocking look upon her face 
as she gave utterance t« these words. She 
beat the cM'pet with her slipper and grasped 
the cross which rested on her bosom with a 
nervous and impatient clutch. 

"At twelve lo-night !" echoed Nameless, 
and looked into her face. "I will rem^n ;" 
and once more his whole being was enveloped 
in the magnetic iniiuenee which flowed from 
the eyes of the lost woman. 

CHAPTER 11. 



It will soon fall to our task to depict cer- 
tain scenes, which t«ok place in the Empire 
City on the 23d of December, between 
nightfall and midnight. The greater portion 
of these scenes w.ill find their legitimate de- 
velopment in " THE Temple," from midnight 
until morning; white othew will lift the 
"Golden Shroud" and uncover to our gaze 
threads and arteries of that great social heart 
of New York, which throbs with every pang 
of unutterable misery, or dilates and burns 
with every pulae of voluptuous luxury. 

Ere we commence our task, let us look in 
upon asoene which took place in the house of 
Prank, about nightfall and (of course) before 
Nameless had sought refuge in her room. 

Prank was sitting alone, in a quiet room 
near a desk upon which pen and ink and 
papers were spread. It wa? the room de- 
voted to the management of her household 
affairs. She sat in an arm-chair, with her 
feet on a stool Mid her back to the window, 
while she lifted the golden cross and regarded 
it witk an absent gaze. The white curtains 
of the windows were turned to crimson by 
the rejection of the setting sun, and the 
xvutn., glow shining through the intervals of 
her- lAaek. hair, which fell loosely on her 
I, EMited wannly upon . her cbMk. , 



Uer whole attitude was that of levery or 
dreamy thought 

While thus occupied, a male servant, 
dressed in rich livery, entered, and nddrused 
his mistress in these words ; 

"Madam, he wishes to see you." 

" He ! Whom do you mean?' said Prank, 
r^ing her eyes but without changiDg her 
position. 

"Thatqneer stranger, who never give* his 
name, — who has been here so often within 
the la£t three weeks, — I mean the one who 
wears the Hue cloak with ever-so-many 

Frank started up in her chair. 

"Show him in," she said, — "Yet stay a 
moment. Walker. Are all the arrangements 
made for lo-night?" 

"Everything has been done, precisely aa 
Madam ordered it to be done," said the ser- 
vant obsequiously. 

He then retired and presently the visitor 
entered. The room is wrapped in twilight 
and we cannot trace the details of his appear- 
ance clearly, for he seats himself in the 
shadow, apposite Frank. We am discern, 
however, that his tall form, bopt with age, is 
clad in a blue cloak with nufiiuvuB capes, 
and he wears a black fur hat with ample 
brim. He takes his seat qtlietly, and resta 
his hand upon tlie head' of his cane. 

Not a word was* spoken for several 
minutes. Each seemed to be waiting for the 
other to commence the conversation. Frank 
at last broke the embarrassing BtiUneis. 

"Soh ! you are here agiun," 

" Yes, madam," replied the sfTanger in A 
harsh but not unmusical voice, "according to 
appointment." 

"It is now three weeks sinca we &r»t 
met," said Frank. " You purchased thia 
house of the person from whom I leased i^ 
some three weeks ago. - But I, have a leoH 
upon it which has yet one year tO run. Yoa 
desire, I believe, to purchaae i&J Igue, ud 
enter at once upon possession? Well, ■»', 
I am resoUeJ not to sell ^ 

^ ithout directi} repl} ing to her quMtion, 
the man m the cloak with BMIiy capai 

ne did not meet three UMl^wi for 
(he first time, he tud Oar iu8^||,|i^ 
was long before Uiatpenod." Jh^mfif. 



rffeooP 



FBANK VAN HTJTDEH". 



■<"What meMi jou?' eaiA Frank raising 
^ ejea and endeavoring, itlthougli vainly, 
to pierce the gloom which enshrouded the 
tiiBDger. "0, it is getting dark. I will ring 
for lights." 

" Before jou ring for lights, a word, — " the 
stranger's voice sank hut Fraak heard every 
■word, — " we met for the firat lime 
funeral — " 

"At a funeral I" 

"At a funerali and after the funeral I hnd 
the body taken up privately and ordered 
jiost mwt^n examination to he made. Upon 
that hody, madam, " he paused. 

"Well, EU-?' Frank's voice was tremu- 

"Upon that body I discovered traces of a 
fatal although subtle poison." 

Again he paused. Frank made no reply. 
Sven in the dim light it might be seen 
her head sank slowly on het breast. Did 
the words of the stranger produce a strong 
impression? We cannot see her face, for the 
room is vailed in twilight. 

"This darkness grows embarrassing," he 
■ud, " will you ring for lights?' 

She replied with a monosyllable, uttered 
in a faint voice,—" No !" she said, then a 
dead stillness once more ensued, which con- 
tinued until the stranger again spoke. 

"In regard to the lease, madam. Do you 
agree to sell, and upon the terms which I 
proposed when I was here last?" 

Again Frank replied with a monosyllable. 
" Tes I" she faintly said. 

"And the other proposition : to-night you 
koH some sort of festival in this place. I 
detite to know the names of all youi guests; 
to introduce such guests as I choose within 
thew walls ; to have, for one night on!y, a 
certun control over the internal economy of 
liaa place. In ease you consent to this pro- 
position, I will pay jou for the lease double 
Ae MUOUDt which I have already offered, 
ud promise, on my honor, to do nothing 
within these walla to-night, which can in 
the slightest d^ree hann or compromise 

He stated his proposition slowly and de- 
liberately Frank took full time to ponder 
upon every word. Simple'as the proposition 
toidwd, wall sha knew, that it might embrace 
nralU of ihe most miptHMnt natara. 



" Must I consent?" she said, and her Toice 
faltered. "It is hard — " 

" ' Must' is no word in the case, madam," 
answered that stem even voice. "Use your 
own will and pleasure." 

" But the request is so strange," said 
Frank, "and suppose I grant it? Who can 
tell the consequences?" 

"It is singular," sdd the stranger as 
though thinking aloud, "to what an extent 
the art of poisoning was carried in the mid- 
dle ages ! The art has long been lost, — 
people poison each other bunglingly now-a- 
days, — although it is said, that the secret of 
a certain poison, which puts its victims 
quietly to sleep, leaving not the slightest 
tell-tale trace or mark, has survived even to 
the present day." 

Certwnly the stranger had a most remark- , 
able manner of thinking aloud. 

Frank spoke in a voice scarcely audible : 

" I consent to your proposition." 

She rose, and although it was rapidly 
getting quite dark, she unloiiked a secret 
drawer of her desk, and drew from thence 
two packages. 

"Th' w ■ " h p k ■ 1 
and th t d Pi- h d h 

"H 11 S d th am f 11 my 

giie tb d p Uy f th h II 

com h t ghL T 11 fi d h 



oth 



f n 



f 1 t 



and d y p rp Sh pi 1 th 

pack h hai d I 11 pi W Ik 

and th th servant d ur m 

mand Sh p used d es m d fte an 
instant, in a firmer voice: "If I have yialded 
to your request, it has not been altogether 
from fear, — " 

Fear ! Who spoke of fear?" 

Don't mock me. I have yielded Irom 
fear, but not altogether from fear. I hftTB 
nursed a hope that you can ^d me to 
quit this thrice accursed life which I now 
lead. For though your polite manner only 
thinly vdls insinuations the ruost deadly, 
yet I believe you have a heart. I feel that 
when you know all of my past life, a% 
you will think, I do not aay better of 
hut differently, from what you do 
Here, take this package, — it eon- 
tains py bistor^ written by my ffwn hand, 
uui Mf intended (« be Mad after mj 



LiOOt^k 



PHANK TAN HUYDEN. 



death — but you msy read it a 



ir at your 



The man in the cloak took the package ; 
hia Toiee trembled when he spoke — 

" Girl, you shall not regret this confidence, 
I will aid you to quit this accursed life." 

" Leave me for a few moments. I wish 
to sit alone and think for a, little while. 
After that we will arrange matters in regard 
to the festival to-night." 

The stranger m the cloak Ipft the ro d 
beanng with him the t»o piokages, one < 
which embraced the m> stenes of the hou' 
of Frank, iiid the other contained the shr 
of her life 

And in the darkne'^o, Frank walked up 
and down the room, pressing one clenched 
hand against her heating bosom, and the 
Other agamst her lurmng brow 

Soon afterward, Frank and the stranger 
the old-fashioned cloak, were closeted for 
hair an hour in earnest conversation. 

We will not record the details of the con- 
versation, but its results will perchance be 
Been in the future p^es of our history. 

Here, at this point of our story, let na 
break the seals of the seavid package which 
Frank gave to the stranger, and linger for a 
little while upon the pages of her history, 
written by her own hand. A strange history 
in every line ! It is called The History of 

THE MiDNIOHT QUEBB ! 

CHAPTER III. 



Msr childhood's home ! 0, is there in all 
the world a phrase so sweet as this, "My 
childhood's home !" Others may look hack 
to childhood, and be stung by bitter memo- 
ries, but my childhood was the heaven of 
my I.fe, As from the hopeless present, I 
gaze back upon it, I seem like a traveler, 
half way up the Alps, surrounded by snow 
and clouds and mist, and looking back upon 
the happy'Valley, which, dotted with homes 
and rich in vines and flowers, smiles in the 
■unshine far below. 

My childhood's home was very beautifuL 
It was a too-atory cottage, situated upon 
an eminence, its white front and rustic porch, 
iuil hidden by the horae-chewmt tMes, 
iriiiA in the wuly summw had i»wf Uos- 



Boms among their deep grefin leaves. Behind 
the cottage arose a broad and swelling hill, 
which, fringed with gardens at ila base, and 
crowned on its summit by a few grand old 
trees standing alone against the sky, was in 
summer-time clad along its entire extent 
with a garment of golden wheat. Beneath 
the cottage flowed the Neprehaun, a gentle 
rivulet, which wound among abrupt hills, — 
every hill rich in foliage and dotted with 
homes — until it lost itself in the waves of 
the Hudson. Yes, the Hudson was there, 
grand and beautiful and visible always from 
■ ; cottage porch ; the Palisades rising from 
opposite shore into heaven, and the broad 
bay of Tapaan Zee glistening in sunlight to 
the north. 

0, that scene is before me now — the cot- 
tage with its white front, half hidden by 
green leaves intermingled vith white 
the hill, which rose behind it, 
with wheat, — the Neprehaun below, 
winding among the hills, now in sunshine, 
shadow, — the Hudson, with its vast 
bay and the somber wall which rose into the 
sky from its western shore, — it ia before me 
with the spring blossoms, the voices, 
the sky, the very air of my childhood's days. 
In this home I found myself at the age of 
thirteen, I was the pupil and the charge 
of the occupant of the cottage, a retired 
clergyman, the Rev. Thomas Walworth, vibfl 
having grown gray in the active service of 
his Master, had come there to pass his last 
days in the enjoyment of competence and 
now, as on the day when I 
er, I can see his tall form, bent 
with age and clad in black, bis mild, pals 
face, with h^r as white as snow, — I can hear 
hose very music was made np 
of the goodness of a heart at peace with 
God and man. When I was thirteen, 
myself, the good clergyman, and an aged 
woman — the housekeeper — were the raily 
of the cottage. His only «on wa> 
away at college. And when I was thirtaan, 
my mother, who had placed raa in the cara 
of the clergyman years before, came to SM 
I shall never forget that visit. I ma 
sitting on the cottage porch — itwMaJutia 
day — the air was rich with frqpwoe and Uoi» 
■oms — my book vea on my kiMa^whHt £ 
Iward har step in the garden-walk. 



FEANK VAN HUYDEN. 






titU.^d verj be^tiful, and richlj' clad in 
\tta^, and her dark atUre shone with dia- 
mtmda. Very beautiful, I say, although 
there were threads of silver in her hrown 
hur, and an incessant contraction of her dark 
brows, which gave a look of anxiety or pain 
to her face. 

As she came up the garden-walk, pushing 
aside her vail of dark lace, I knew her, 
although I had not seen her for three years. 
Her presence was strange to me, yet still my 
heart bounded as I saw her come. 

" Well, Frank," she siud, as though it was 
hut yesterday since I had seen her, "I have 
come to see you," — she kissed me warmly 
on the lips and cheeks. — " Your father is 
dead, my child." 

A tear stood in her dark eye, a slight 
tremor moved her lip — that was all. My 
father dead ! I can scarcely describe the 
emotions which these words caused. I had 
not seen my father for years. There was 
'stiU a memory of his face present with me, 
coupled with an iudisdnct memory of my 
_ early childhood, passed in a, city of a foreign 
land, and a dim vision of a voyage upon the 
ocean. And at my m th ' d th 

cama up the laugh g f d y h 

of my brother Gul h h d dd ly 

disappeared about th t m m^ p t 
returned from Paris d j t hef I had 
been placed in the ch f t) giod 1 

gyman. These mingl g m m nee t 

my mother's words, d 1th h th g d 
clergyman stood mo 1 m tl It 
of a father than mj f th 1 11 I pt 

bitterly aa I heard the words, "Your father 
b dead, my child." 

My mother, who leemed to me like one 
of thoM grand, rich ladies of whom I had 
read In story-books, seated heiself beside me 
en the cottage porch. 

"Tou are getting quite beautiful, Frank," 
ihe Boid, and lifted my sunbonnet and put 
bar band through the curls of my hair, 
which was black as jet "You will be a 
woraan soon." She kissad me, and then as 
she turned away, I heard her mutter these 
words which struck me painfully although 
then I could not understand them : " A 
woman t with your mother's beauty for your 
iatiTj and yonr mother's fate for your 



The slight wrinkle between her brows 
grew deeper as she said these words. 

" You will be a woman, and must have an 
education suitable to the station you will 
occupy," continued my mother, drawing me 
quietly to her, and surveying me eamestiy. 
"Now what do ihei/ teach you here?" 

She laughed as I gravely related the part 
which good old Alice — the housekeeper — 
took in my education. Old Alice taught me 
all the details of housekeeping; to sow, to 
knit, the fabrication of good pies, good but- 
ter, and good bread ; the mystery of the 
preparation of various kinds of preserves; in 
fact, al! the det^ls of housekeeping as she 
understood it. And the good old dame, with 
her high cap, clear, bright little eyes, sharp 
nose, and white apron strung with a buudle 
of keys, always concluded her lesson with a 
mysterious intimation that, saving the good 
Mr. Walworth only, all the men in the 
world were monsters, more dangerous than 
the bears which ate up the bad children who 
mocked at Elijah. 

Laughing heartily as she heard me gravely 
enter into all these details, which I con- 
luded with, " You see, mother, I'm quite a 
h usekeeper already !" she continued : 

"And what does he teach you, my dear?" 

The laughter which animated her face, 
was succeeded by a look of vague curiosity 
as I began my answer. But as I went on, 
I r face became sad and there were tears in 

My father (as I had learned to call the 
od clergyman) taught me to read, to write, 
and to cipher. He gradually disclosed to 
me (more by his conversation than through 
the medium of books) the history of past 
ages, the wonders of the heavens above me, 
the properties of the plants and flowers that 
grew in my path. And oftentimes by the 
bright wood -fire in winter, or upon the 
porch under the boughs, in the rich twilight 
of the summer scenery — while the stars 
twinkled through the loaves, or the Hudson 
glistened in the light of the rising moon — 
he had talked to me of God. Of his lovo 
for all of us, his providence watching the 
sparrow's fall, bis mercy reaching forth itt 
almighty arms to the lowest of cMth'i 
stricken children. Of the other world, wU«||i 
stretches b«yond the jhorM of the ;' 




FRANK VAN HUYDEN. 



not dim and cloud -shadowed, but rich in the 
eunli^iit of eternal love, and living with the 
realities of a state of being in which there 
shall be no more eickness nor pain, and tears 
shall be wiped from every eye, and all things 
be made new. 

Of the holy mother watching 
holy child, while the stars shone in upon hia 
humble bed in the manger, — of that child, 
in early boyhood, sitting in the temple con- 
founding grave men, learned in the logic of 
the world, by the simple intuitions of a heart 
filled with the presence of God, — of the way 
of life led by that mother's child, whe 
thirty years had set the seal of the divir 
manhood on his brow. How after the day 
hard travel, he stopped to rest at the oottaa 
home of Martha and JJ^ary, — how ho took 
lip little children and blessed them, — how 
the Wind began to sec, the deaf to hear, the 
dead to live, at sound of his voice,- 
on the calm of evening, in a modest 
he took his last supper with the Twelve, 
John resting on his bosom, Judas scowling 
in the background, — how, amid the olives of 
Qethsemane, at dead of night, while his dis- 
ciples slept, he went through the unutterable 
agony alone untif an angel's hand wiped the 
sweat of blood from his brow, — how he died 
I'.pon the felon's tree, the heavens black above 
him, the earth beneath him dark with the 
vast multitude, — and how, on the clear Sab- 
bath mom he rosa again, and called the 
faithful woman, who had followed him to 
the Bepulcher, by the name which his mother 
bore, spoken in the old familiar lone — 
"Maryl" How he walked the earth in 
bodily form eighteen hundred years ago, 
shedding the presence of God around him, 
and even now he walked it still in spiritual 
body, shedding still upon sin-stricken and 
sorrowing hearts the presence and the love 
of God the Father. Lessons such as these, 
the good clergyman, my father (as I called 
him) taught me, instructing me always to do 
good and lead a life free from sin, not from 
fear of damnation or hell, but because good- 
ness is growth, a good life is happitieas. A 
flower shut out from the light is damn^ : it 
oaDnot grOK An evU life here or hereafter 
is in itself damrmMon; for it is want of 
growth, paralysiB or decay of all tlie nobler 



foGittie* 



As in my own way, and with such woida 
as I could command, I recounted the maimer 
in which the good clergyman educated me, 
my mother's face grew sad and tearful. She 
did not speak for some minutes ; her gaze 
was downcast, and through her long dark 
eyelashes the tears began to steal. 
I "A dream," she muttered, "only a dream! 
Did he know mankind and know but a por- 
tion of their unfathomable baseness, he 
would see the impossibility of making them 
better, would feel- the necessity of an actual 
hell, black as the darkest that a poet ever 
fancied." 

As she was thus occupied in her own 
thoughts, a step — a well-known step — re- 
sounded on the garden-walk, and the good 
clergyman advanced from the wicket-gate to 
the porch. Even now I see that pale face, 
with the *vhito hair and large clear eyes ! 

He advanced and took ray mother cor- 
dially by the hand, and was much affected 
when he heard of my father's death. My- 
mother thanked him warmly for the care 
which he had taken of her child. 

This child will be a woman soon, and 
must be prepared to eater upon life with 
all the accomplishments suitable to the poai- 
which she will occupy," contiiiued ray 
mother; "I wish her to remain with you 
until she is ready to enter the great world. 
But she must have proper instruction in 
and dancing. She must not be alto- 
gether a wild country girl, when she goes 
ity. But, however, my dear Mr. 
Walworth, we will talk of this alone." 
Young as I was I could perceive that there 
IS a mystery about my mother, her pre- 
ous life, or present position, which the 
good clergyman did not feel himself called 
upon to penetrate. 

took his arm and led him into the 
'cottage, and they conversed for a long time 
alone, while I remained upon the porch, 
buried in a sort of dreamy revery, and watch- 
ing the white clouds as they sailed along the 

"I shall be absent two years," I heard my 
mother's voice, as leaning on the good clsiv 
gyman's arm she again came' forth upon the 
porch ; "see that when I return in place oS 
this pretty child you will present la dm It 
beautiful and accomplished lady j. 



Coo'^k 



FRANK TAN HUTDEN. 



She took me in her arma and kissed me, 
while Mr. Walworth exclaimed : 

"lodeed, mj dear madam, 1 can never 
allow myself to think of Frincea' leaving 
this home while I am liviog. She has been 
with me so long — is bo dear to me — that the 
Tery thought of parting with her, is like 
tearing my heart-strings !" 

He spoke with undisguised emotion ; my 
mother took him warmly by the hand, and 
ag^n thanked him for the care and love 
which he had lavished on her child. 

At length she said "Farewell!" and I 
watched her as she went down the garden- 
walk to the wicket gate, and then across the 
road, until she entered a by-path which 
wound among the hills of the Neprehaun 
into the valley below. She was lost to my 
nght in the shadows of the foll^e. She 
emerged to view again far down the valley, 
and I saw her enter her grand carriage, and 
■aw her kerchief waving from the carrii^e 
window, as it rolled away. 

I watched, O! how earnestly I watched, 
until the carriage rose to sight on the Bum- 
mit of a distant hill, beyond the spire of the 
Tillage church. Then, as it disappeared and 
bora my mother from my sight, I sat down 
and wept bitterly. 

Would I had never Been her face again ! 

A year passed away. 

CHAPTER IV. 
Is 

It was June again, (fee summer even- 
ing I took the path which led from the , 
garden to the summit of the hill which 
rose behind the cottage. As I pursued ■ 
my way upward the sun was setting, and : 
ftt every step 1 obtained a broader glimpse 
of the river, the dark Palisades, and the ' 
bay white with sails. When I reached the 
aummit, the sun was on the verge of the ' 
borixoc, and the sky in the west all purple 
k&d gold, ^eating myself on the huge rock, 
which rose on the summit, surrounded by a 
drcle of grand old trees, 1 surrendered my- ' 
•elf to the quiet and serenity of the evening 
hour. The view was altogether beautiful. : 
Beneath me sloped the broad hills, clad in 
wbeat which already was changing from 
•meiald ta gold. Farther down, my cottage i 



home half hidden among trees. Then be- 
neath the cottage, the homes of the village 
dotting the hills, among which wound the 
Keprohaun. The broad river and the wide 
bay heaving gently in the fading light, and 
the dark Palisades rising blackly against the 
gold and purple sky, A lovelier view can- 
not be imagined. And the air was full of 
summer — scented with breath of vines and 

dered myself to thoughts which arose unbid- 
den, the first star came tremulously into 
view, and the twilight began to deepen into 
night. I was thinking of my life — of the 
past — of the future. A strange vision of the 
great world, struggled into dim shape before 
the eye of my mind. 

"A year more, and I will enter the great 
world !" I ejaculated. A hand was laid 
lightly on my shoulder. I started to my 
with a shriek. 

What, Prank, don't you know me?" said 
alf laughing voice, and I behold beside 



me a youth f 


m n t t uty 


years, whose f 


had d b d k h was 


ouched by th 


last flu.h f h d 1 


day. It was E 


t tl ly f the 


good clei^jm 


I hai t him f 


three years. I 


tl t t m h had g wn 


rem boyhood 


toy h d H t 


beside me on th 


k d t-Ukedtgth 


as freely as wh 


w b t 1 ttl h Id 


en. Ernest wa. 


full of life and hope , his 



voice grew deep, his dark eyes large and 
lustrous, as he spoke of the prospects of his 

">In one year, Frank, I will graduate and 
then, — then, — the great world lies before 
me !" His gaze was turned dreamily to the 
west, and his fine features drawn in distinct 
profile against the evening sky. 

"And what part, Ernest, will you play in 
the great world?" 

"Father wishes me to enter into the min- 
istry, but, — " and he uttered a joyous, con- 
fident laugh, — "whatever part I play, I 
know that I will win !" 

He uttered these words in the tone of 
youth and hope, that has never been dark- 
ened by a shadow, and then turning to me, — 

"And you, Frank, what part will you play 
in the great world?" he said. 

" I know noL My career ia in the handa 



,/Goo«^Tc 



PBANK TAN HUYDBN. 



99 



of my only parent, who wiil oorae next year 
(u take mc hence. My childhood Ijas boen 

wrapped in mystery; and my future, O, 

who can fofotoll the future?" 

He gazed at mc, for the first time, with an. 
earliest and eearching gaze. His eyes, large 
and gray, aiid capable of the most varied 
expression, became absent and dreamy. 

"You arc ¥cry beautiful!" he said, as 
though thinkini; aloud, — " O, very beautiful ! 
You will marry rich, — yes, — wealth and 
position will be yours at once." 

And as the moon, riBiiig over the brow of 
the hill, poured her light upon his thoughts 
fu! face, he t«ok my hand and said ; 

" Prank, why is it that certain natures live 
only in the future or the past — never in the 
present ? Look at ourselves, for instance. 
Yonder among the trees, bathed in the light 
of the rising moon, lies the cottage home in 
which we have pasaed the happiest, holiest 
hours of life. Of that luime we are not 
thinking now — we are only looking forward 
to the future — and yet the time will come, 
when immersed id the conflict of the world, 
we will look back to that home, with the 
same yearning that one, stretched upon the 
eoucli of hopeless disease, looks forward to 
his grave !" 

His voice was low and solemn — I never 
fo:^ot his words. We sat for many minutes 
in silence. At length without a word, ho 
took my hand, and we went down the hill 
together, by the light of the rising moon. 
We climbed the stile, passed under the gar- 
den boughs, and entered the cottage, and 
found the good old man seated In his library 
among his books. He raised his eyes as we 
came in, hand joined in hand, and a look of 
undifguised pleasure stole over his face. 

" See here, father," s^d Ernest laughingly, 
"when I went (« college, I left my little 
sister in your care. I now return, and dis- 
cover that my little sister has disappeared, 
and left in her place this wild girl, whom I 
found wandering t«-night among the hills. 
Don't you think there is something like » 
witch in her eyes?" 

The old man smiled and laid his hand on 
my dark hair. 

"Would to heaven!" he siud, "that she 
might never leave this quiet home." And 
the pmjer came from his hearL 



Brnest remained with us until fall Those 
were happy daj's. We read, we talked, we 
walked, we lived with each other. More 
like sister and sister than brother and sister, 
we wandered arm-in-arm to the brow of the 
hill as the rich summer evening came on, — 
or crossed the river in early morning, and 
climbed the winding road that led to the 
brow of the Palisades, — or sat, at night, 
under the trees by the river's bank, watching 
the stars as they looked down into the calm 
water. Sometimes at night, we sat in the 
library, and I read while the old man's hand 
rested gently on my head and Ernest sat by 
my side. And often upon the porch, as the 
summer night wore on, Ernest and myself 
sang together some old familiar hymn, while 
" Father" listened in quiet delight. Thu* 
three months passed away, and Ernest left 
for college. 

"Kext year, Frank, I graduate," he cried, 
his thoughtful face flushed with hope, and 
his gray eyes full of joyous light — "and 
then for the battle with the world !" 

He left, and the cottage seemed blank 
and desolate. The good clergyman felt his 
absence most keenly. 

"Well, well," ho would mutter, "a year 
is soon round and then Ernest will be with 

As for myself, I tried my books, my harp, 
took long walks alone, busied myself in 
household cares, but I could not reconcile 
myself to the absence of Ernest. 

Winter came, and one night a letter 
arrived from Ernest to his father, and in 
that letter one for — Frank 1 How eagerly I 
took it from " father's" hand and hurried to 
my room, — that room which I remember yet 
so vividly, with its window opening on tha 
garden, "and the picture of the Virgin Mai7 
on the snow-white wall. Unmindful of the 
cold, I sat down alone and perused tha let- 
ter, 0, how eagerly ! Jt was a letter fiftm a 
brother to a sister, and yet beneath the calm 
current of a brother's love, there flowed a 
deeper and a warmer love. How joyously 
he spoke of his future, and how stnugely 
he seemed to mingle my name with evtttf 
image of that future 1 I read his letter 07BT 
and over, and sleptMth it upon my bosom ; 
and I dreamed, 0! such air-oaatle dieanu^ III 
which a whole lifetime aeemed to pais «viq% 



byGoos^M 



80 



FRANK TAN HtTTDEN. 



wlule Ernest and Frank, always joun; 
slwaj's happy, went wandering, hand-il 
hand, under skies without a cloud. But I 
awoke in fright and terror. It seemed < 
me that a. cold hand — l.iie the hand of 
corpse — was laid upon my bosom, and som< 
bow I thought that my mother was dead 
and that it was her hand. I started up 
fright and l«ars, and lay shuddering until 
the rising sun shone gayly through the 
frosted window-pane. 

Another year had nearly passed away. 

It waa June again, and it was toward 
evening that I stood upon the cottage porch 
watching — not the cloudless sky and g!< 
river bathed in the aetting sun — but watch- 
ing earnestly for the sound of a footstep. 
Bmest was expected home. He had gradu- 
ated with all the honors — he was coming 
komel How I watched and wMt«d for that 
welcome step! At last the wickct-gate 
opened, and Ernest's step resounded on 
garden-walk. Concealing myself among the 
vines which covered one of the pillars of the 
porch, I watched him as he approached, 
determining to burst upon him in a glad sur- 
prise as soon as he reached the steps. His 
head was downcast, he walked with slow 
tknd thoughtful steps ; his long black hair 
felt wild and tangled on his shoulders. 
The joyous hue of youth on his cheek had 
been replaced by the pallor of long and 
painful thought. The hopeful boy of the 
last year had been changed into the moody 
and ambitious man ! As he came on, 
although my heart swelled to bursting at 
tight of him, I felt owed and troubled, and 
forgot my original intention of bursting upon 
him in a merry surprise. He reached, the 
poTch — he ascended the atep—and I glided 
silently from behind the pillar and con- 
fionted bim. 0, how his face lighted up as 
he saw ma I His eyes, no longer glassy aud 
sbfitnkcted, were radiant with a delight too 
deep for words 1 

" Frank 1" he said, and silently pressed 
my hand. 

" Kroeat," waa all I could reply, and we 
Stood in silence — both trembling, agitated — 
•ad gazing into each other's eyes. 

The good Clergyman Vna happy that eve- 
ning, as he sat at the sopijer table, with 
tftak «n one hand and Emeat on \hb other. 



And old Alice peering at us through her 
spectacljes could not help remarking, " Well, 
well, only yesterday children, and now such 
a handsome couple!" 



After au^per £jmEst and I went to the 
rock on the summit of the hill, where we 
had met the jear before The scene was 
the same— tl e ruer the ba-\ the dark Pal- 
isade and the ^aat sky illumined by the 
rising moon — but somehow we seemed 
changed We sat apirt from each other on 
the rock ind sit for a 1 ng time in silence. 
Ernest, with downcast eyes, picked in an ab- 
sent way at some flowers which grew in the 
crevices of the rock. And I, — well I believe 
I tied the strings of my sun-bonnet into all 
sorts of knots. I felt half disposed to laugh 
and half disposed to cry. 

At last I broke the silence : — 

"You have fulfilled your words, Ernest," 
I said, " You have graduated with all the 
honors — as last year jou said you would, — 
and now a bright career stretches before you. 
You will go forth into the great world, yoti 
will battle, you will win'!" 

"Frank," said he, stretching forth his 
hand, — " Do you see yonder river as it flows 
broad and rapid, in the light of the rising 
moon? You speak of a bright career before 
me — now I almost wish that I was quietly 
asleep beneath those waves." 

The sadness of his tone and look went to 
my heart. 

" You surprise me, Frank. Now," — and 
I attempted a laugh — " You have not fallen 
in love, since last year, have you ?" 

He looked up and surveyed me from head 
to foot I was dressed in white — my hair 
fell in loose curls to my shoulders. In a year 
I had passed from the girl into the woman. 
I was taller, my form more roundly devel- 
oped. And as he gazed upon me, I was 
mscious that he was remarking the change 
hich had taken place in my appearance, 
nd that his look was one of ardent admira- 

"Do you think that I have fallen in love 
smce last year 1" he said slowly and with a 
meaning look. 



wGoogle 



PHANK VAN HUYDEN. 



n 



I tumod away from his gaze, and 
claimed — 

"But you are moody, Ernest, Last year 
you were so hopeful — now ao melancholy. 
You can, you will succeed in life." 

"That I can meet with what the world 
calls success, I do not doubt," he replied 
" There is the career of the popular preacher, 
armed with a white handkerchief and a vel- 
vet Gospe), — of the lawyer, growing rich 
with the rent paid to hira by crime, and di 
voting all the powera of his immortal bouI 
to prove that black is white and white 
black — of the merchant, who sees only these 
words painted upon the face of God's 
Terse, ' Buy cheap and sell dear,' — careers 
such as these, Frank, arc before me, and I 
am free to choose, and doubt not but that I 
could succeed in any of thera. But to achieve 
such success I would not spend, I do not say 
the labor of years — No, — I would not spend 
the thought of a single hour." 

"But the life of a good Minister of the 
, Gospel, Ernest, living in some quiet country 
town, dividing his time between his parish- 
ioners and his books, and dwelling in a home 
like the cottage yonder — what say you to 
Buch a life, Ernest ?" 

He raised his eyes, and again surveyed me 
earnestly — "Ambifioua as I am, I would 
sacrifice every thought of ambition for a life 
such as you picture — but upon one condi- 
tion," — he paused — 

"And that condition?" I Siud in alow 

" Ask your own heart," was his reply, ut- 
tered in a tremulous voice. 

I felt my bosom heave, — was agitated, 
trembling I know not why, — but I made no 
answer. 

There was a long and painful pause. 

" The night is getting chill," I said at 
length, for want of something better to say : 
"Father is waiting for us. Let us go home." 

I led the way down the path, and he fol- 
lowed moodily, without a word. As he 
helped me over the stile I saw that his face 
was pale, his lipa tightly compressed. And 
when we came into the presence of his Fa- 
ther, he replied to the old man's kind ques- 
tions, in a vacant and abstracted manner. 1 
b»de him " good night !" at last ; he aoBwar- 
ed me, but added in a lower tone, inaudlbU , 



to the old man, "Young and rich and beau- 
tiful, you are beyond the reach of — a country 
clergyman," 

The next morning while we were at break- 
fast, B letter came. Itwaafrom my mother. 
To-morrow she would come and take me 
from the cottage ! 

The letter dropped from the old man's 
hand, and Ernest rising abruptly from the 
table, rushed from the room. 

And I was to leave the home of my hap- 
piest hours, and go forth into the great worldl 
The thought fell like a thunderbolt upon 
every heart in the cottage. 

CHAPTER VI. 



Atter an hour Ernest met me on the 
porch ; he was very pale. 

"Frank," said he, kindly, "TO'-morrowyon 
will leave us forever. Would you not like 
to see once more the place yonder," — he 
pointed across the river to the Palisades — 
"where we spent so many happy houis last 

He spoke of that dear nook, high up among 
the rocks, encircled by trees, and canopied 
by vines, where, we had indeed spent many 
a happy hour, 

I made no reply, but put on my sun-bon- 
net and took his arm, and in a little while 
we were crossing the river, he rowing, while 
I sat in the stem. It was a beautiful day. 
Wo arrived at the opposite shore, at a point 
where the perpendicular wall of the Pali- 
sades, is for a mile or more, broken by a huge 
and sloping hill, covered with giant forest 
trees. Together we took the serpentine path, 
which, winding toward all points of the 
compass, led to the top of the Palisades. 
The birds were singing, the brood forest 
id hanging vines quivered in the sun, 
'as balmy, and the day the very em- 
of the freshness and fragrance of 
June. As we wound up the road (whose 
brown graveled surface contrasted with the 
foliage), we saw the sunlight streaming ia 
upon the deep shadows of the wood," and 
heard from afar the lulling muuc of awater- 
Duparting from the beaten road, wo 
wandered amoi^g the forest trees, and talked 
together as gladly and u familiarly at in other 



wGooi^lc 



FBANK VAN HUTDBK. 



days. There we wandered for bouts, now 
in sunlight, now in sliidow, now resting upon 
the brow of some moss-coTcred rock, and 
now stopping beside a spring of clear cold 
water, half hidden by thick green leaves. 
Ae noon drew near, we ascended to the top 
of the forest hill, and passing through awil- 
demeas of tangled vines, came suddenly upon 
a rnde farmhouse, one story high, built of 
logs, whose dark surface contrasted with the 
verdure of the garden and the foliage of the 
overshadowing tree. It was the same as in 
the year before. There was the wel!-pole 
rising above its roof and the well-bucket 
moist with cleir cold water, and in the door- 
way stood the fanner's dame, who had often 
Welcomed ns to her quiet home. 

"Bless me! how handsome my children 
have grown I" she cried, " and how's the 
goodDomine? Come in, come in ; thefolks 
BIB all away in the fields ; come in and rest 
you, and have some pie and milk, and" — she 
paused for breath — "and some dinner." 

The good dame would take no denial, and 
we sat down to dinner with her — I can see 
thesoenebeforemenow — the carefully sand- 
ed floor, the old clock in the comer, the cup- 
board glistering with the burnished pewter, 
the neatly spread table, the broad hearth, 
covered with green boughs, and the open 
windows, with the sunbeams playing through 
the encircling vines. And then the good 
dame with her high cap, round, good-hu- 
mored face, and spectacles resting on the 
bridge of her hooked fiose. As we broke 
the home-made bread with her, we were as 
gay as la^ 

"Well, I do like to see young folks enjoy 
themselves," said the dame. — " You don't 
know how often I've thought of you since 
you were here last summer. I have said, 
and I will say it, that a handsomer brother 
and sister I never yet did see." 

" But you mistake," said Ernest, " We're 
not brother and sister." 

"Only cousins," responded the dame, sur- 
veying UB attentively, "Well, I'm glad of it, 
for there's no law ag'in cousins marryln', and 
you'd make such a handsome couple." And 
the Laughed until her sides shook. 



CHAPTER VII. 

IK THE KIBBST BOOK. 

LEAvmo the farmhouse, we bent our way 
to the Palisades again. We had been gay 
and happy all the morning, now we became 
thoughtful. We entered a. narrow path, and 
presently came upon the dear nook where 
we had spent so many happy hours. It whs 
a quiet space of green-sfcard and velvet moss, 
encircled on all sides, save one, by the trunks 
of giant forest trees — the oak, the tulip pop- 
lar and the sycamore — which arose like 
rugged columns, their branches forming a 
roof far overhead. Half-way between the 
sward and the branches, hung a drapery of 
3s, swinging in the sunlight, and shower- 
blossoms and fragrance on the summer 
Light shrubbery grew between the mas- 
1 trunks of the trees, and in one part of 
the glade a huge rock arose, its summit pro- 
jecting over the sward, and forming a sort of 
canopy or shelter for a rustic seat fashioned 
of oaken boughs. Looking upward through 
the drapery of vines and the roof of boughs, 
only one glimpse of blue sky was visible. 
Toward the cast the glade was open, and 
over the tops of the forest trees (iviioh rose 
from the glen beneath), you saw the river, 
the distant village and my cottage home 
shining in the sun. At the foot of the oak 
which formed one of the portals of the 
glade, was a clear cold spring, resting in a 
basin of rock, and framed in leaves and 
flowers. Altogether the dear nook of the 
forest was worthy of June, 

ir ft moment we surveyed this quiet 
scene — thought of the many happy houn 
had spent there in the previous summe^— 
and then turning our faces to the east, wa 
stood, hand link'd in hand, gazing over 
forest trees and river upon our far-off cottage 

" Does it not look beautiful, as it shines 
there in the sun ?" — I said. 

Ernest at first did not reply, but turned 
s gaze full upon me. His face was flushed 
and there was a strange fire in his eyes, 

To-monow yon leave that home foF- 
" he ezcliumed, and I trembled, I knew 
not why at the sound of his voice — " I will 
r aee you again — I — " ha dropped my 



few-!*" 



,/Googlc 



FKANK VAN HUYDEN. 



Iiaiid and turned his face awar. I 9a\ 
head fall on his breaat, and saw that breast 
heave with imitation ; urged bj an impult 
could not control I glided l« his side put 
my hand upon hu. arm and looked up 
his face 

"Ernest I wl spered 

He timed to me for s, moment re^: 
me with a lo k of ntenao pass on and then 
caught me ti t a 1 cart H s anas 
around mo mv bosom tea ed a^a nsl 
breast, his k ss as on mj 1 ps — tl e 
kiss sit ce chld>ood a d huw d flerent 
from the kisa which a brother presses 
sister's lipa ! 

" Prank I love you ! Many beautiful 
women have I seen, but there is that in 
gaze, your voice, your very presence, which 
is Heaven itself to me. I cannot live with- 
out you ! and cannot, cannot think of losing 
you without madness. Frank, be mini 
my wife ! Bo mine, and the home which 
shines yonder in the sunlight shall be t 
Frank, for God's sake say you love me ! 

He sank at my feet and clasped my knees 
with his trembling hands. the joy, tho 
lapture of that moment ! As I saw his face 
npr^ed to mine, I felt that I loved him 
with all my soul, that I could die for him. 
Reaching forth ray hands I drew him gently 
to his feet, and fell upon his breast and 
called him, " Husband !" Would I had died 
there, on his bosom, even as his lips met 
mine, and the words "my wife!" trembled 
on my ear ! Would I had at that moment 
fallen dead upon his breast ! 

Even as he gathered me to his bosom the 
stir all at once grew dark ; looking overhead, 
we saw a vast cloud rolling up the heavens, 
dark as midnight, yet fringed vrith sunlight. 
On and on it rolled, the air grew darker, 
darker, an ominous thnnder-pea! broke over 
Our heads, and rolled away among the 
gorges of the hills. Then the clouds, grew 
dark as night. We could not see each other's 
faces. For a moment our distant home 
shone in sunlight, and then the eastern sky 
was wrapt in clouds, the river hidden by 
driving rain. Trembling with fright I clung 
to Bmest's neck — he bore me to the beech 
in the shadow of the rock — another thunder 
peal and a flash of lightning that blinded roo. 
I Ijuried my face in his bosom, to hide my 



eyes from that awful glare. The tempest 
which had arisen so suddenly — even as we 
exchanged our first vows — was now upon ufl 
and in power. The trees rocked to the blast. 
The distant river was now dark and now one 
mass of sheeted flame. Peal on peal the 
thunder burst over our heads, and as one peal 
died away in distant echoes, another more 
awful seemed hurled upon us, from the very 
zenith. And amid tho darkness and glare 
of that awful storm, 1 clung to Ernest's neck, 
my bosom beating against his heart, and we 
repeated our vows, and talked of our mar- 
riage, and laid plans for our future. v^ 
"Frank, my heart is filled with an awful ^ 
foreboding," ho said, and his voice was so 
changed and husky, that 1 raised my head 
from his bosom, and even in the darkness 
sought to gaze upon his face. A lightning ^ 
flash came and was gone, but by that momen- 
tary glare, I saw his countenance agitated in 
every lineamenL 

" What mean you Ernest ?" 
"You will leave our home to-morrow and 
never return, never ! Tho sunshine which 
was upon us, as we exchanged our vows, 
was in a moment siiccoodod by the blackness 
of the awful tempest. A bad omen, Fran^ ' 
a dark prophecy of our future. There is 
only one way to turn the omen of evil, into 
a prophecy of good." 

He drew me close in bis arms, and bent 
his lips to my ear — " Be mine, and now ! bo 
mine I Let tho thunder-peal be our m,ir- 
riage music, this forest glade our marriage 
couch !" 

was faint, trembling, but I sprang from 
rms, and stood erect in the center of the 
glade. My dark hair fell to my shoulders; , 

ih of lightning lit up my form, clad in 
'-white. As wildly, as completely as I 
loved him, I felt my eyes flash with iudig- 

Words like these to a girl who has been . : 

reared under your father's roof !" 

Ho fell at my feet, besought my forgive- ' 

ss in frantic tones, and bathed my hands 

with his tears. 

I fiuntcd in his arms. '^,] 

When I unclosed my eyes again, I foimd 1i 

lyself pure and virgin in tho arms of my ' 

plighted husband. The clouds were parting 

the tempest was over, and the sun shone oot ^'. 



..Google 



u 



PRANK VAN HUYDEN. 



once -more. Every leaf glitUred with dia- 
mond drops. The la?t Most of the storm 
was passing over the distant river, and 
through the driving clouds, I saw the sun- 
light ehiaing once more upon our cottage 

" Forgive me. Prank, forgive me," he cried, 
bending passionately over me. "See! Your 
bad omen haa been turned into good !" I 
cried joyfully — " Pirst the sunshine, then the 
storm, but novj the sun shines clear again ;" 
and I pointed to the diamond drops glitter- 
ing in the »un. 

" And you will be true to me, Prank ?" 
"Before heaven I promise it, in life, in 
death, forever !" 



CHAPTER Vlir. 



It was toward the close of the afternoon 
that we took o r way from the "lade through 
the forest ( tl h e. W ossed 

the river, d jas d thro h th Dage. 
Together w as d 1 th d tl t led to 
«ur home, d tth wktgt f nda 
splendid can as th 1 n d ts 

The good 1 Tm tiod t th gate, 
his bared forehead and white hairs bathed 
in the sunshine ; beside him, darkly dressed, 
diwnonds upon her rich attire, ray mother. 
Old Alice stood weeping in the background. 

" Come, Frank, your things are packed and 
we must be away," she said, abruptly, as 
though we had seen each other only the day 
before ; "I wish to reach our home in New 
York, before night. Go in the house dear," 
she kissed me, "and get your bonnet and 
ehawt. Quick my love !" 

Not daring to trust myself to speak — for 
my heart was full to bursting— I hurried 
through the gate, and along the garden walk. 
- "How beautiful she haa grown!" I heard 
my mother esclMm. One look into the old 
familiar library room, one moment in prayer j 
by the bed, in which I had slept since child- 
hood! 

Placing the bonnet on my curis, and drop, 
ping my shawl around me, I hurried from 
my cottage home. There were a few mo- 
menU of agony, of blessings, of partings and 



tears. Old Alice pressed me in her arms, 
and bid me good-by. The good old cler- 
gyman laid his hands upon my head, and 
lifting his beaming eyes to heaven, invoked 
the blessing of God upon my head. 

" I give your child lo you again !" he said, 
placing me in my mother's arras — " May she 
be a blessing to you, as for years past she has 
been the blessing and peace of my home !" 

I looked around for Ernest ;• he had dis- 
appeared. 

1 entered the carri^o, and sank sobbing 
on the scat 

" But I am not taking the dear child away 
from you forever," said my mother, bending 
from the carriage window. " She will come 
and see you often, my dear Mr, Walworth, 
and 3 



the mb 
card A d I 



th t 



d g d Al 



t d h d be th 



I dd t n m h 1 u 
esc d d th 1 11 pas d th 



lla^ 



W d g ) g I P h h 

led to the summit of a hill, from which, I 
knew, I might take a last view of my child- 
hood's home. 

As we reached the summit of the hill, 
my mother was looking out of one window 
toward the river, and I looked out of the 
other, and saw, beyond the church spire and 
over the hills, the white walls of my homfl. 

" Prank !" whispered a low voice. 

Ernest was by the carriage. There was 
a look eschangod, a word, and he was gone. 
Gone into the trees by the roadside. 

He left a flower in my hand. I placed it 
silently in my bosom. 

" Prank ! How beautiful you have grown!" 
said my mother, turning from the window, 
and lining upon me an ardent and admiring 
gaze. And the oext moment she was wrapt 
in thought and the wrinkle grew deeper 
between her brows. 



wGoogle 



FRANK TAN HUYDEN. 



CHAPTER IX. 



Bbfoue I resunic my o n h t I m 
relate an instance in tlie 1 f f E t 1 ! 
had an important bearing h f (Th . 

incident I derive from MSS w tt n by Em 
est himself.) Soon after my d partu f n 
the cottage home, ho cam to N w Y k 
with his father, and they d ted th t | 
to my mother's residence as d cat d 
the card which she had left th th 1 r^ 
man ; bnt to their gre. t d i po tm 
they discovered that my mother and myself 
had just left town for Niagara Fails. Six 
months afterward, Ernest received a long 
letter from me, concluding with those words: 
" To-ia/yrow, myiKlf and motlier take passaffe 
for Ewmpe, in tite steamer. We loiU he ahetni 
for a year or more," 

Determined to see me at all hazards, he 
hurried to town, hut, too late ! The ste; 
had sailed ; her flag fluttered in the air, far 
down the bay, as standing on the battery, 
Ernest followed her course, with an almost 
maddened gaze. Sorrowfully he returned to 
the country and informed his father of my 
sudden departure for Europe. 

" Can she have forgetten us ?" said the old 

"0, father, this letter," replied Ernest, 

showing the long letter which I had wri 

"this will show you that she has not forgotten 

■^ us, but that her heart beats warmly as es 

that she is the same." 

And he read the letter to the good old 
man, who frequently interrupted him, with 
" God bless her ! God bless my child !" 

Soon afterward Ernest came to New York 
and entered his name in the office of au 
eminent lawyer. Detennining to make the 
law his profession, he hoped to complete hla 
studies before my return from Paris. He 
lived in New York, and began to move in 
the circles of its varied society. Among the 
acquaintances which he made wore cert^n 
authors and artists who, once a month, in 
company with a few select friends, gave a 
social supper at a prominent hotel. 

At one of these suppers Ernest was a 
guest. Tha wino passed round, wit sparkled, 
ftnd the enjoyment of the festival did not 
begiu to flag aveu when midnight draw near. 



While one of the guests was singing, a 
portly gentleman (once well known as ft 
man of fashion, the very Brummel of the 
side-walk) began to converse with Ernest in 

He described a lady — a young widow with 
a large fortune — who at that time occupied 
a large portion ftf the interest of certain 
circles in New York. She was exceedingly 
beautiful. She was witty, accomplighed, 
eloquent. She rivaled in fascination Ninon 
and Aspasia. Nightly, to a select circle, she 
presided over festivals whose voluptuous- 
ness was masked in flowers. , Her previous 
history was unknown, but she had suddenly 
entered the orbit of New York social life — 
of a peculiar kind of social life — as a star of 
the first magnitude, Hia Hood heated by 
wine, his imagination warmed by the descrip- 
tion of Ills fashionable friend, Ernest mani- 
fested great curiosity to behold this singular 

"You shall see her to-night — at once," 
whisi>ered the fiishionable gentleman, " She 
gives a select party to-night. Let us glide 
off from the company unobserved." 

They passed from the company, took 
their hata and cloaks — it was a clear, ccM 
winter night — and entered a carriage. 

"I will introduce you by the name of 
Johnson — Fred. Johnson, a rich southern 
planter," said the fashionable gentleman. 
" You need not call me by my real name. 
Call me Lawson." 

"But why this concealment?" asked 
Ernest, as the carriage rolled on. 

"0, well, never mind," added Lawson (es 
he desired to be called), and then continued: 
"We'll soon be near her mansion, or palap 
is the more appropriate word. We will find 
some of the first gentlemen and finest taB&M 
of New Yoii under her roof. I tell jro», , 
she'll set ^u half wild, this 'Midnight , 
Queen!"' ^ * 

" Midnight Queen !" echoed Ernest. 

" That's what we call her. A ■ Midnight 
Queen' indeed, as mysterious and voluptuous 
as the midnight moon shining in an Italian 

They arrived in front of a lofty mansion, 
situated in one of the most aristocratic parta 
of New York. Its exterior was dftrk and 
silent u th4 wintwr midiiight itwlC 



,/GoogIc 



36 



FRANK VAN HUYDEN. 



I> 



"A light hid under a bushel — outside dark 
enough, but inside bright as a now dollar,' 
whJBpered Lawson, a^cendicg the marbli 
steps and ringiog tlie hell 

The door was opered for the pace of eh 
inches or more — 

Who s ther " saiifc* voice from * ithin. 

LawEon bent his facl'ttoip to the dpeiture 
aod whispered i fe« wOrda inaudible 
Ernest. Ihe door wis opened wide, and 
carefully closed and bolted behind them, as 
soon as they cro^wd d(t.JilreahoId They 
sl^wd in a \a.t h(dl "hefted by a hanging 

£»eave hits and cloaks here — and 
Lawson took Ernest by the hand and pushed 
open a door. 

Thev ent d ra f j I rs b II antly 
lighted by t hind I is as b II intly 

furnished w th h rB d sofas d rors, 
and adorned th gl 
stalULB of w h t m II A p 
a recess and th last p I f tl three 
a Bupper-tall ts p d Th p rlora 
were Crowd d b m th t t 

and women, m f h m t d haira 
And sofaSj'were occupied in low whispered 
%inversation, while others look wine at the 
BUpper-table, and others again t 
roimd the piano, listening to the voice o; 
eieeediD^lv beantifiil woman 

Ernest uttered an ejacuhtion Never 
he teen a specta^^Ie t ke thi<< never i 
before grouped under one roof so many 
beautiful women. Beautiful women, nchiy 
dressed their arms and shoulders bare, 
vailed only bj miBt-hka We whuh gave 
new fasdnabon to their chirms It did Jiot 
hy any means decreise the surprise of Ernest 
when he discovered that some of the ladies — 
those whose necks and shoulders glowed 
■ white and beautiful in thWight — were 



"What is this place?" he whispered to 
Lawaon, as apparently unheeded by the 
gnesta, they passed through the parlors. 

"Hush I not so loud," whispered his com- 
pauion. "Take a glass of wine, my boy, 
uid your eyesight will ba clearer. This 
place is a quiet little retreat in which certun 
geatlemen and ladies of New York, by no 
J&eani lacking in- wealth or podtion, endea- 
vor to cany the Koran into practice, and 



create, even in otlr cold climate, a paradise 
worthy of Mahomet. In a word, it is the 
residence of a widowed lady, who, blest 
with fortune and all the good things which 
fortune brings, delights in surrounding her- 
self with beautiful women and intellectual 
men. How do you like that wine? There 
are at least a hundred gentieiaen in New 
York, who would give a cool five hundred 
to stand where you stand now, or even 
cross the threshold of this mansion. I 'm 
an old stager, and have brought you here in 
order to enjoy the effect which a scene like 
this produces on one so inexperienced as 
But you must remember, one law 
which governs this place and all who 
er it — " 

' That condition?" 

'All that is said or done here remains a 
secret forever within the compass of these 
walls ; and you must never recognize, in 
any other place, any person whom you have 
first encountered here. This is a matter of 
honor, Walworth." 

"And where is the 'Midnight Queen?' " 
" She ia not with her guests, I see — but I 
will give you an answer in a moment," and 
Lawson left the room. 

Drinking glass after glass of champagne, 
Ernest stood by the supper-table, a silent 
spectator of that scone, whose voluptuous 
enchantment gradually inflamed his imagi- 
and fired his blood. lie seenied to 
have been suddenly transported from dull 
matter-of-fact, every-day life, to a scene in 
far oriental city, in the days of Haroun 
Alraschid. And ho surrendered himself to 
the enchantment of the place, like one for 
the first Kme enjoying the intoxication of 
opium. 

Lawson returned, and came quietly to his 



"Would you like to see the 'Midnight 
Queen,' — alone — in her parlor ?" he wbis- 

Of all things in the world. You have 
roused my curiosity. I am like a man in a 
delicious dream." 

Understand me — she is chary of her 
smiles to an old st^or like me — ^but I think, 
that there is something in you that will 
interest her She awaits yon m her^wr(> 
ments. You are a ywiog Enghsh lord en 



Google 



FRANK TAN IIUYDEIT. 



your travels {bBtter thmi a planter), Lord 
Stanley Fitz Herbert. With that black 
dreas and somber face of yours you will take 
her wonderfully." 

" But can I indeed see her?" 

"Leave the room — ascend the stairs — at 
the head of the stairs a light shinea from a 
door which is slightly open ; take a bold 
heart and enter." 



th d 



d d t d H tood spell-bound by 

th It tb p I rs below were mag- 

ifice tly f h d th a apartment was 

w rthy f mj Es There were lofty 

w 11 I tl Ik h gings and adorned 

w th p t h th a silken canopy; 
mm r^ th t gl tt d gently in the rich 

I pt lit ord, every detail of 



Inflamed by curiosi 


V by the wine which 


hid In k 1 tl 


scene around him, 


t dd t t k 


t nie for a second 


ht, b t 1 ft th 


om, ascended the 


rs d t dbcf 


the door from whose 


rt b It f 1 1 


streamed out upon 


d kpa^a, n 


, for a moment, he 


tat d b t th t 11. 


11. He opened tiie 



1 



y d 



In th 



tood the "Midnight 
Q — h 1 1 held an open let- 

t H b k as ard Ernest as he 

lingered near the threshold Her neck and 
shoulders were bare tnd 1 e could remark at 
9, glance their snowy VLhittneos and volup- 
tuoaa outline, although her dark hair was 
gathered in glosny rnassea upon the shoul 
dera, half hiding them from i low A dark 
dress, rich in its very simjlicify left her 
arms bare and 1 d justice to the rounded 
proportions of hor form 

She turned and oonfrontei Ernest even as 
he, the blood bounding in his veins, advanced 
a single step. 

At once they spoke ; 

" My Lord Stanley, I believe,—" 

"The ' Midnight Queen,'—" 

The words died on their lips. They stood 
as if suddenly frozen to the floor. The 
beautiful face of the " Midnight Queen" was 
pale as death, and as for Ernest, the glow of 
the wine hod left his cheek — his face was 
livid and distarted. 

Moments passed and neither had power 
to speak. 

" 0, mj Gnd, it is Frank I" (be words *i , 



last \iutsi from the lipa of Ernest, and he fell 
like a dead man at her feet. 

Yes, the "Midnight Queen" was FranoM 
Van Huyden, his betrothed wife — six mon^ '■■ 
ago resting on his bosom and whieperii^ y . 
" husband" in his ear, — and now — the wife 
of another? A widow? Or one utterly 
fallen from all virtue and all hope? 

CHAPTER X. 



Haviso thus ^ven the incident from the 
life of Ernest, as far as possible, in the very 
words of his M88., let me continue my his- 
tory from the hour when, in company with 
my mother, I left the cottage home of the 
good clergyman. After the incident just 
related, nothing in my life can appear 

1 was riding in the carri^o with my 
mother toward Sew York. 

" You are, indeed, very beautiful, Frank," 
said she, once more regarding mo attentively. 
" Your form is that of a mature woman, and 
your carriage (I remarked it as you passed 
up the garden-walk) excellent. 'But this 
country dress will not do. We will do bet- 
ter than all that when we get to town." 

It was night when the carriage left the 
avenue and rolled into Broadway. The 
noise, the glare, the people hurrying by, all 
frightened me. At the same time Broad- 
way brought back a dim memory of my 
early childhood in Paria. Turning from 
Broadway, the carri^e at length stopped 
before a lofty mansion, the windows of which 
were closed from the sidewalk to tho roof. 

" This is your home," said my mothw^ h 
she led me from the carriage up the maiUe 
steps into the" hall where, in the (tght of • * 
globular-lama a group of servants in liv«y 
awaited us. ™ 

"Jenkins," — my mother spoke to mi 
elderly servant in dark livery turned up with 
red — " let dinner be served in half an hour." 

Then turning to another servant, not quite 
so old, but wearing the same livwy, she said : 

"Jones, Miss Vsa Huyden wishes to Cake 
a look at her house before we go to dinner. 
Take the light and go before us." 

The servBO^^olding a wax candle placed 
in a huge silvar 'ihndleelick, xent befon » 



■ 88 FRANK VAN HUTDEN. 

Uid Bhowed us the house from tlie first to " And ^e you not a queen," answered ray 
the fourth floor. Never before had I beheld mother, " and a very beautiful one." Turn- 
Buoh munificence even in my dreams, I ingto the servant, who stood staring at me 
eouid not restrain ejaculations ot pleasure with eyes big as saucers she sa d — 
and surprise at every step, — my mother' "Tell Mrs. Jenkins the housekeeper to 
keenly regarding me, Bometimefl with a fwnt, come here :" — Jones left tl 6 chamber ind 
smile and sometimes with the wrinkle grow- . presently returned with Mrs Jenk ns a port 
iug deeper between her brows. A range of | ly lady, with a round, |,oo i humored face 
parlors on the lower Boor were furnished j "Frank, this is your housekeeper — Mrs 
with everything that the most extravagant Jenkins simpered and ccurtsied, sbakin 



fancy could desire, or exhaustless wealth 
procure. Carpets that gave no echo to the 
step; sofas and chairs cushioned with velvet 
and (so it'seemed to me) framed in gold; 
mirrors extending from the ceiling to the 
door ; pictures, statues, and tables with t<ips 
either of marble or ebony; the walla lofty, 
and the ceiling glowing with a painting 
which represented Aurora and the Hours 
winging their way through a summer sky. 

" Whose picture, mother ?" I asked, point- 
ing to a picture of a singularly handsome 
man, with dark hair and beard, and eyes re- 
markable at once for their brightness and ex- 
pression. 

" Your father, dear," answered my 
and again the mark between her brows be- 
came ominously perceptible. " There ia your 
piano, Frank, — you'll find it something bet- 
ter than the one which you had at the good 
parson's." 

The servant led the way, up the wide stair- 
way, thickly carpeted, to the upper rooms. 
Here the magniScence of the first floor was 
repeated on a grander, a more luxurious scale. 
We passed through room after 
dazzled by new signs of wealth and luxury 
at every step. At last we paused 
thick carpet of a spacious bed-chamber, whose 
appointments combined the richest elegance 
with the nicest taste. It was hung with 
curtains of light azure. An exquisite and 
touching picture of the Viijn Mary con- 
fronted the toilette table and mirror. A bed 
with coverlet white as snow, satin covered 
pillows and canopy of Lice, stood in one cor- 
ner ; and wherever I turned there were signs 
of neatness, taste and elegance. I could not 
too much admire the apaitmenL 

"It is your bedroom, my dear," said my 
mother, silsutly enjoying my delight. 

" Why," «ud I laughingly,—" it ii grand 
•aoDgh fof a queen." I 



the same time the bundle of kevs at her 
waist, "Mrs. Jenkins this is ^our joung 
mistress, Miss Van Hujden G ve me the 

She took the keys from the housekeeper 
and placed them in my hai ds 

" My dear, this house and all that it con 
tions are yours, Isurrender t to yourchirge ' 
Scarcely knowing whit to do with myself 
I took the keys — which were heivy enough— 
and handing them back to Mn, Jenkins, 
"hoped that she would cont nue to aupenn 
tend the affairs of my mansion as hereto- 
fore." All ot which pleased my motherand 
made her smile, 

" We will go to dinner without dressing 
and my mother led the wa> down stairs to 
the dining-room. It wts a lirge apartment 
in the center of which stood a luxuriously 
furnished table, glittering with gold plate 
Servants in livery stood like statues behind 
chair and my mother's How different 
from the plain fare and simple st>le of Uie 
good clergyman's home ' Nay how widely 
contrasted with the rudt dinner in a log 
cabin to which Ernest and mjself sat down 
few hours ago I 

In vain I tried to partake of the nch dishes 
it out before me; I was loo much excited to 
it. Dinner over, coffee was sen ed and the 
irvanta retired. Mother and I were left 

Prank, do you blame me," she said, look- 
ing at me carefullj- — " for having you reared 

quietly, far away in the country, in order 
that at the proper age, strong in health and 
rich in accomplishments and beauty, you 
might be prepared to enter upon the enjoy- 
ments and duties suitable to your staUon ?" 

How could I blame her 7 

I spoke gratefully again and again of the 
\realth and comfort which surrounded m^ and 
then forgetting it all — broke forth into im- 



byGoo«^Ic 



PRANK VAN HUTDEN. 



80 



passioned priUBe of my cottage home, of the 
good clergyman, of old Alice and — Ernest. 
Something which came over my mother's 
face at the mention of Ernest's name, warned 
me that it was not yet time to apeak of my 
engagement to him. 

That night I bathed my limhs in a f 
fumed bath, laid mj head ou a silken pilli 
and slept beneath a, canopy of lace, as i 
and light and transparent as the sumii 
mist through which you can see the blue eky 
and the distant mountain. And resting 
the silken pillow I dreamed — not of the 
splendor with which I was surrounded, 
of the golden prospects of my future, — but, 
of my childhood's home, and the quiet si 
of other days. In my sleep my heart turned 
back to them. Once more I heard the ■ 
of the good old man. [ heard the shrill 
tones of Alice, as the sun shone on my frosted 
window-pane, on a clear, cold winter mom 
Then the voice of Ernest, calling me "Wife!' 
and pressing me to his bosom in the forest 
nook. I awoke with his name on my lips, 

and, 

My mother stood by the bedside gazingupon 
me attentively, a smile on her lips, hut the 
■wrinkle darkly defined between her hrows. 
The sun shone brightly through the window 



"Get up my dear," she kissed me, — "You 
have a busy day before you." 

And it was a busy day ! I was handed 
over to the milliners and dressmakers, and 
whirled in my carriage from one jeweler's 
shop to another. It was not until the third 
day that my dresses were completed — ac- 
cording to my mother's taste, — and not until 
the fourth, that the jewels which were to 
adorn my forehead, my neck, my arms and 
bosom, had been properly selected. Ward- 
robe and diamonds worthy of a queen — and 
was I happy ? No ! I began to grow home- 
sick, for my dear quiet home, on the hill-sida 
ftbove the Neprehauu. 



CHAPTEE XI. 



It was on the fourth day, in the afternoon, 
ths^tpy mother desired my presence in the 
^loT, where she wished to present me to a 



much esteemed friend, Mr. Wareham — Mr. 
Wallace Wareham. 

"An eioellent man," whispered my mo- 
ther as we went down stairs together, "and 
immensely rich." 

I was richly dressed in black ; my neck, 
my arms and shoulders bare. My dark hair, 
gathered plainly aside from my face, waa 
adorned by a single snow-white flower. As 
I passed by the mirror in the parlor, I could 
not help feeling a throb of womanly pride, 
or — vanity; and my mother whispered, 
"Frank, yon excel yourself to-day." 

Mr. Wareh^n sat on the sofa, in the front 
parlor, in the mild light of the curtained 
window. He was an elderly gentleman, 
somewhat bald, and slightly Inclined la cor- 
pulence. He was sleekly clad in black, and 
there was a gold chain across his satin vest, 
and a brilliant diamond upon his ruflSed 
bosom. He sat in an easy, composed attitude, 
resting both hands on his gold-headed cane. 
At flrst sight he impressed me, as an elderiy 
gentleman, exceedingly nice in his personal 
appearance ; and that was all. But there 
was something peculiar and remarkable about 
his face and look, which did not appear at 
first sight 

I was presented to him : he rose and 
bowed ; and took me kindly by the hand. 

Then conversing in a calm, even tone, 
which eoon set me at ease, he led me ia talk 
of my childhood — of my home on the Ne- 
prehaun — of the life which I had passed with 
the good clergyman. I soon forgot myself in 
my subject, and grew impassioned, perchance 
eloquent. I telt my cheeks glow aiid my 
eyes sparkle. But all at once I was brought 
to a dead pause, by remarking the singular 
expression of Mr. Wareham's face. 

I stopped abruptly — blushed — and at a 
glance surveyed him closely. 

His forehead was high and bold, and ea- 
circled by slight curls of black hair, Btrealced 
with gray, — its expression eminently intellec- 
tual. But the lower part of hie face wm 
heavy, almost animal. There was a deep 
wrinkle on either side of his month, and at 
for the mouth itself^ its upper tip waa thin, 
almost imperceptible, while the lower one 
large, projecting and of deep red, ap- 
proaching pnrple, thus presenting a aingo- 
it to the oorpse-Iike pallor of his 



,:eabyC.OO«^lc 



40 



PBANK VAN HUTDEN, 



c^Ml^ks. His eyes, half hidden under the 
bulging lids, when I began my description 
o! my childhood's home, all at once expand- 
ed, and I aaw their real expression and color. 
They were large, the eyehalla eiceedingly 
white, and the pupils clear gray, and their 
expression reminded you of nothing that 
you had ever seen or heard of, but simply 
made you a/raid. And as the eyes expand- 
ed, a slight smile would agitate his upper lip, 
while the lower one protruded, disclosing a 
set of artificial teeth, white as milk. It was 
the sudden expansion of the eyes, the smile 
on the upper lip and the protrusion of the 
lower one, that made up the peculiar expres- 
sion of Mr. Wareham's face, — an expression 
which made you feel as though you had just 
awoke from a grotesque yet frightful dream. 

" Why do you pause, daughter ?" said my 
mother, observing my confusion. 

"_ Proceed my child," said Mr. Wareham, 
devouring me from head to foot with his 
great eyes, at the same time rubbing his 
loner lip agaiust the upper, as though he was 
tasting Bomething good to eat. " I enjoy 
these delightful reminiscences of childhood, 
I dote 01^ such things." 

But I could notproceeJ— I blushed again- 
Mid the tears came into my eyes. 

" You have t>een fatigued by the bustle of 
the last three days," said my mother kindly : 
"Mr. Wareham will excuse you," and she 
made me a sign to leave the room. 

Never was a sign more willingly obeyed. 
1 huiried from the room, and as I closed the 
door, I heard Mr. Wareham say in a low 

" She'll do. When will you tell her?" 
That night, as I sat on the edge of my 
bed, clad in my night-dress — my dark hair 
half gathered in a lace cap and half falling 
on my thouldera — my mother came suddenly 
into the room, and placing her candle on a 
table, took her seat by me on the bed. She 
was, as I have t«ld you, an exceedingly 
1)«aabful woman, in spite of the threads of 
bIvst m her hair and the ominous wrinkle 
betvrasn her brows. But as she sat by me, 
and put her arm about my neck, toying with 
my luir, her look was infinitely affectionate. 
"j&d what do you think of Mr. Ware- 
bun, dear?" ahe asked me — and I felt that 
hm gaae «•• fixed keenly on my face. 



I described my impressions frankly and 
with what language I could command, con- 
cluding with the words, "In abort, I do not 
Uke him. He makes me feel afraid." 

"0, you '11 soon get over that," answered 
my mother. " Now he takes a great interest 
in you. Let me tell you something about 
him. He is a foreign gentleman, immensely 
rich ; worth hundreds of thousands, perhaps 
a million. He has estates in this country, 
in England and France. He has traveled 
over half the globe ; on further acquaintance , 
you will be charmed by his powers of obser- 
vation, his fund of anecdote, his easy flow 
of conversational eloquence. And then he 
has a good heart, Prank ! I could keep you 
up all night in repeating but a small portion 
of his innumerable acts of benevolence, I 
mot him first in Paris, years ago, just after 
he hiid unhappily married. And since I first 
met him he has been my f^t friend. He is 
a good, a noble man, Frank ; you vnll, you 
must like him." 

"But, then, his eyes, mother! and thiU 
lip !" and I cast my eyes meekly to the 

"Pshaw!" returned my mother, with a 
start, " don't allow yourself to make fun of 
a dear personal friend of mine." She kissed 
me on the forehead, — "you will like him, 
dear," and bade me good-night. 

And on my silken pillow I slept and 
dreamed — of home, — of the good old man, — 
of Ernest and the forest nook, — but all my 
dreams were haunted by a vision of two 
great eyes and a huge red lip — everywhere, 
everywhere they haunted me, the lip now 
projecting over the clergyman's head and 
the eyes looking over Ernest's shoulder. I 
awoke with a start and a laugh. 

"Too are in good spirits, my child," said 
my mother, who stood by the bed. 

"I had B frightful dream but it ended 
funnily. Ail night long I've seen nothing 
but Mr. Wareham's eyes and lip, but the last 
I saw of them they were flying like butter- 
flies a few feet above ground, eyes first and 
lips next, and old Alice chaaing them with 
her broom." 

" Never mind; you luiH like him," rejoined 
my mother. 

I certainly had every chance to lik« him. 
For three days he was a conitanl Tiaitor at 



/Gciogic 



FRANK VAN HUTDEN. 



tl 



OIK house. He accompanied mother and 
myself on a drive along Broadway" aod 
on the avenue. I enjoyed the excitement 
of Broadway and the fresh air of the 
try, but — Mr. Wareham was by my side, talk- 
ing pleasantly, even eloquently, and looki 
all the while as if ho would like to eat n; 
We went to the opera, and for the first tin: 
the fairy world of the stage was disclosed 
me. I was enchanted, — the lights, the c( 
tuiaes, the music, the circle of youth and 
beauty, all wrapt me in a delicious dreatu, 
but — close by my side was Mr. Wareham, 
his eyes expanded and his hp protruding 
thought of the Arabian Nights and ws 
minded of a well-dressed Ghoul. I began 
to hate the man. On the fourth day he 
brought me a handsome bracelet, glittering 
with diamonds, which my mother bade 
accept, and on the fifth day I hated him with 
all my soul. There was an influence about 
him which repelled me and made me afraid. 

It was the sixth night in my new home, 
and in my night-dress, I was seated on the 
edge of my bed, the candle near, and my 
mother by my side. She had entered the 
room with a serious and even troubled face. 
The wrinkle was marked deep between her 
brows. Fixing my lace cap on my head 
and smoothing my curls with a gentle pres- 
sure of her hand, she looked at me I 
' anxiously hut in silence. 

"0, mother!" I said, "when will we visit 
'father,' — and good old Alice, and — Ernest? 
I am so anxious to see my home again 

"You must forget that home," said my 
mother gravely. " You will shortly be sur- 
rounded by new tioa and new duties. Nay, 
do not start and look at me with so much 
wonder. I sea that I must bo plain with 
you. Listen to me, Frank. Who owns this 
house?" 

"It is yours!" 

"The pictures, the gold plate, the furni- 
ture worthy of such a palace?" 

"Yours, — all yours, mother." 

"Who purchased the dresses and the dia- 
mondd which you wear, — dresses and dia- 
monds worthy of a queen?" 

"You did, mother — of course," I hesi- 
tated. 

" Wrong, Frank, aQ wrong !" and her eyes 
■hoiM vividly, and th^ mark between her 



brows grew biaoker. "The house wUiik 
shelters you, the furnitm-e which meets yow 
ga2a,:the dresses which clothe you, and the 
diamonds which adorn your person, are the 
property of — Mr. Wareham." 

It seemed to me as if the floor had opened 
at my feet. 

"0, mother! you are jesting," I faltered. 

CHAPTER XII. X, 

A RBV ELATION. 

" I AM a beggar, child, and you are a beg- 
gar's daughter. It is to Mr, Wareham that 
we are indebted for all that we enjoy. For 
years he has paid the expenses of your edu- 
cation ; and now that you have grown to 
young womanhood he shelters you in a 
palace, surrounds you with splendor that a 
queen might envy, and not satisfied with 

She paused and fixed her eyes npon my 
face, I know that I was frightfully pale. 

"Ofi'ers you his hand in marriage." 

For a moment the light, the mirrors, the 
roof itself swam round me, and I sank half- 
fainting in my mother's arms. 

"0! this is but a jest, a cruel jest to 
frighten me. Say, mother, it is a jest !" 

" It is not a jest ; it is sober, serious ear- 
nest;" and she raised me sternly from her 
arms. "He has offered his hand, and you 
km7/ marry him." 

I flung myself on my knees at the bedside, 
clasped her hands, and as my night-dresa 
fell back from my shoulders and bosom, I 
told her, with sobs and tears, of my love for 
Ernest, and my engagement with him. 

"Pshaw! A poor clei^ymau'a son," she 
said bitterl}-. 

0, let us leave this place, mother!" I 
cried, still pressing her hands to my bosom. 
" You aay that we are poor. Be it so. Wa 
ill find a home together in the home of my 
childhood. Or if that fails us, I will work 
for you. I will Coil from sun to son and all 
night long, — beg, — do anything rather than 
many this man. For, mothpr, I eaimot 
help il, — but I do hate him with all my soul."' 
Pretty talk, very pretty '" and sho 
loosened her hands from my gnisp; "but 
did you ever try poverty, my child? TiA 
know what the votA mMB^-^ 



Coo<^lc 



FRANK TAN HUYDEN. 



Hd vou ever work sixteen hours ! 
ft day, at your needle, for aa many pennies, ! 
■walk the Btreeta at dead of winter in half- , 
naked feet, and go for two long days and 
nights without a, morsel of food? Did you ; 
ever try it, my child? That 's the life which | 
poor widows and their pretty daughters live 
in New York, my dear." 

"But Ernest loves me, — he will make his 
way in life, — we will be married, — you will 
share our home, dear mother." 

These words rendered her perfectly furi- 
OuB. She started up and uttered a frightful 
oath — it was the first time I had ever heard 
an oath from a woman's lips. Her counte- 
nance for a moment was fiendish. She 
tiesailed me with a torrent of' reproaches, 
concluding thns : 

"And this is jour gratitude for the care, 
the anxiety, the very agony of a mother's 
ansiety, which I have endured on your 
account for years ! In return for all you 
condemn me lo — poverty ! But it shall not , 
he. One of us must bend, and that one will | 
not be me. I swear, girl," — her brows were 
knit, she was lividly pale, and she raised her I 
right hand to heaven, — " that you sluill 
marty this man." 

'And I swear," — I bounded to my feet, 
my boBom bare, and the blood boiling in my 
Teins — perchance it was the same blocd 
which gavo my mother her fiery temper, — , 
" I swear that I will not marry him aa long 
«« there is life in me. Do you hear me I 
motbe*? Before I marry that miserallel 
wretch, whose Tery presence fills me with 
Icathing, I will fall a corpse at your feet." 

My words, my attitude took her by sur 
prise. She surveyed me silently but wis 
too much enraged to speak. 

"0, that my father was living!" I cried 
the fit of passion succeeded by a burst of ' 
tears ; "he would a^e me from this hideous 
marriage." 

My mother quietly drew a letter from her 
bosom and placed it open in my hand. 

" Tour father is living. That letter is the 
iMt one I have received from him. Bead it, 
tajK-angel." 

I%xik it, — it was very brief, — I read it at 
k glance. It yiae addressed to my mother, 
and bore ft n^nt date. These were ita con- 



" Dbab Frank : 

"My sentence expires in two weeks from 
to-day. Send me some decent clothes, and 
lot me know where I will meet you. Glad 
to hear that your plans as regards our daugh- 
ter approach a 'glorious' completion. 
"Yours as ever, 

"Chablbs." 

It was a letter from a convict In Auburn 
prison, — and that convict was my father [ 

" It is false ; my father died yeara ago," I 
cried in very agony. "This is not from my 
father." 

"It la from your father," answered my 
mother ; " and unless I send him the clothes 
which he asks, for, you will see him, in less 
than three weeks, in his convict rags." 

"0, mother! are you human? A mother 
to taunt her own daughter with her father's 
shame, — " 

M) temples throbbed madly anl my sight 
failed All that mortil cii endure and be 
cjUBCoui I had endured I sank on the 
fioor and had not mv mother caught me in 
hpr arms I would hive wounded'my fore- - 
head agi nat the marble table 

All night long, half waking, half delirious, 
I (ossed on my silken couch mingling the 
name of my convict father and of Ernest in 
mv broken exclamations Once I was con- 
*: lou for a moment ai d looked iround with 
clear eyes Mj mother «is watching over 
me Her face wis bithed m tears. She 
lias human after ill That moment past, 
the delirium retun ed and I struggled with 
horrible dreams until mom ng 

CHiPTLR sni 

UOBPHIKE 

W nev I aw ke next mom ng my mind 
WIS clear again and even as I unclosed my 
eve? and saw the snnl ght shining gayly 
throuah the curtains a t\ed purpose to«k 
posac s on of my soul It was yet eadf 
momii g There Has no one save myself at 
the chamber Perchance worn out by 
watching mj mother had retired to reit. I 
quietly arose and dressed myself — not in tbe 
sjilendid attire furnished by my mother, but 
in the plain white dress, bonnet, and ehawl 
which I had brought With me from my oot- 
tage homo. 



b.Google' 



FRANK VAN HUTDEN. 



43 



J early. No one is stirring in the 
. I can pass from the hall door 
unobserved. Then it is only sisteen miles 
to home, — only sixteen miles, I can walk it." 

And at the very thought of meeting 
"father" and Ernest again, my heart leaped 
in my bosom. Determined to escape from ' 
the mansion at nil hazards, I drew my vail 
over my face, my shawl across my shoulders, 
and hurried to the door. I opened it, my 
foot was on the threshold, when I found 
myself confronted by the portly form of 
Mrs. Jenkins. 

"Pardon me, Miss," she said, placing her- 
self directly before me ; "your mother gave 
me directions t« call her as soon as you 
awoke " 

"But I Bish to take a short walk and 
breathe a little of the mornmg air," I an- 
swered, and attempted to piss her 

"The morning air is not good for young 
ladies, ' said another SLiro, and my mother's 
face appeared over the housekeeper's shoul- 
der. "After a while we shall take a ride, 
my dear. For the present, you will please 
ratire to your room." 

Startled at the sound of my mother's 
voice, I involuntarily stepped back — the door 
was closed, and I heard the key turn in the 

I was a prisoner in my own room. There , 
I remained all day long ; my meals were i 
served by the housekeeper and my maid 
Caroline. My mother did not appear. How 
I passed that day, a prisoner in my luxurious ^ 
chamber, cannot bo described. I sat for hours, i 
with my head resting on my hands, and my 
eyes to the floor. What plans of escape, ' 
mingled with forebodings of the future, 
crossed my brain ! At length I took pen and , 
paper, and wrote a brief note to Ernest, in- , 
forming him of my danger, and begging him, 
as he loved me, to hasten at once to town 
and to the mansion. This note I folded, ■ 
sealed, and directed properly. "Caroline,", 
said I to my maid, who was a pleasant-faced 
young woman of about twenty, with dark ' 
hair and eyes — "I would like this letter to 
be placed in the post-office at once. Will 
you take charge of it for me ?" [ 

"I'll give it to Jocea," she responded — ' 
" He's goin* down to the post office right | 
«w«y," I 



"Bat Caroline," I regarded her with a 
meaning look, "I do not wish anyone to 
know, that I sent this letter to the poet-office. 
Will you keep it a secret ?" 

"Not a livln' mortal shall know it — not a 
Hvin' mortal ;" and taking the letter she left 
the room. After a few minutes she returned 
with a smiling face, "Jones has got it and 
he's gone !" 

I could scarce repress a wild ejaculation 
of joy. Ernest will receive it to-night ; he 
will be here to-morrow ; I will be saved ! 

The day wore on and my mother did not 
appear. Toward evening Caroline came into 
my room, bearing a new dress upon her arm 
— a dress of- white satin, richly embroidered 
and adorned with the costliest lace. 

" O, MisB, aint it beautiful !" cried Caroline, 
displaying the dress before me, " and the 
bonnet and vail to match it, will be here to- 
night, an' your new di'monds. ' It's really fit 
■ for a queen." 

It was indeed a magnificent dress. 

" Who is it for?" I asked. 

"Now, come, aint that good ! 'Who is it 
for? And you lookin' so innocent a£ jou 
ask it. As if you did not know all the 
while, that it's your bridal dress, and that 
you are to be married airly in the momin', 
after which you will set off on your bridal 

" Caroline, where did you iMim this ?" I 
nsked, my heart dying within me. 

" Why, how can you keep such things 
secret from the servants ? Aint your toother 
been gottin' ready for it all day, and aint the 
servants been a-flyin' here and there, like 
mad ? And Mr. Wareham's been so busy 
all day, and lookin" so pleased ! Laws, Miss, 
hoia can you expect to keep such things from 
the servants ?" 

I heard this intelligence, conveyed in the 
garrulous manner of my maid, as a con- 
demned prisoner might lie.ir the reading of 
his death warrant. I s.iiW that nothing could 
shake my mother in her purpose. She was 
resolved to accomplish the marriage at all 
hazards. In the morning I was to be mar- 
ried, transferred body and soul to the posses- 
sion of a man whom I hated in my very » 

But I resolved that he ihoald not poaseH 
me living. He might many m«, but 1m 



CiOO<^lc* 



u 



FBANK VAN HTJTDBN. 



■honld only place the bridal ring upon the 
hand of a corpse. 

The resolution came i 
to accomplish it was neil 

Approa<:hing Caroline ii 
I apoke of ray nervousnei 
ftud of A vial of morphiru 
kept by her for a nervoiia 

"Could you not obtain 



How 

my thoaghL 
L a guarded manner, 
I and loss of steep, 

which my mother 

afTection. 

i, Caroline? 



1 Eadly in want of 
voua that I cannot 
" I put my 
a dear good 



and without my mother seeing you, for she 

does not like 

Dse of morph 

sleep, but I ara so nervou 

close my eyes. Get it for 

arms about her neck — "thi 

girl." 

" Lawa, Mies, how kin one resist your purty 
eyes 1 It is in the casket on the bureau, is 
it 7 Just wait a moment ;" she left the room 
and presently returned. She held the vial 
in her hand. I took it eagerly, pretended to 
place it in the drawer of a cabinet which 
stood near the bed, but, in reality, hid it in 
my bosom. 

"Now mother, you may force on the 
marriage," I mentally ejaculated ; " but y 
daughter has the threads of her own destiny 
in her band. 

How had I accustomed myself to the idea 
of suicide ? It came upon me not slowly, 
but like a flash of lightning. It was in op- 
position to all the lessons I had learned from 
the good clergyman. ' But,' the voice of the 
tempter, seemed whispering in my 
'while suicide is a crime, it becomes 
tiM when it is committed to avoid a g 
crime.' It is wmng to kill my body, but 
infinitely worse to kill both body and soul in 
the prostitution of an unholy marriage. 

Ah evening drew on I was left alone. I 
bathed myself, arranged my hair, and then 
attired myself in my white night-robe. And 
then, as the last glimpse of day came faintly 
through the window curtains, I sank on my 
biees by the bed, and prayed. how in 
one vivid picture the holy memories of the 
put came npon me, in that awful moment ! 
"Ernest I will meet you in the better 

I drank the contents of the vial and rose 
to mv feet. At the same instant the door 
Opened and my mother appeared, holding a 
]4;hted candle is her hand. She saw me in 



my white dress, was struck, perchance, by 
the wildneas of my gaze, and then her eye 
rested upon the extended hand which held 
the vial. 

"Well, Prank, how do you like your mar- 
riage dress," she began, but stopped, and 
changed color as nhe saw the vial. 

" O, mother," I cried, " with my last breath 
I forgive you, and pray God that you may 
be able to forgive youfself." 

I saw her horror-stricken look and I fell 
insensible ot her feet. 

CHAPTER XIV. 



When I awoke again — but I cannnot pro- 
ceed. There are crimes done every day, 
which the world knows by heart, and yet 
shudders to see recorded, even in the most 
carefully vailed phrase. But the crime of 



which I ■ 
for belief 
mother the 



I the > 
Wareham the crin 
accomplice, the vie 

had been reared 



too horrible 
nal, my own 
m a girl of 
1 purity and 
afar from the world. 
When I awoke again — for the potion failed 
to kill — I found myself in my room, and 
Wareham by my side, surveying me as a 
ghoul might look upon the dead body which 
he has stolen from the grave. The vial 
given to me by the maid did not contain a 
fatal poison, but merely a powerful anodyne, 
which sealed my senses for hours in sleep, 
combibed with the reaction of har- 
rowing eicitement — left me for days in a 
state of half dreamy consciousness. I awoke 
My sight was dim, my senses 
dulled, but I knew that I was lost ! Lostl 
0, how poor and tamo that word, to expresa 
the living damnation of which I was the 
of the next twenty-foiu 
hours, I can but vaguely remember. I was 
taken from the bed, arrayed in the bricUl 
and then led down stairs into ttuT 
parlor. There was a marriage celebrated 
there (as I was afterward told) — yes! it 
there that a minister of the Gospel, 
book in hand, sanctified with the name of 
marriage, the accursed ba^ain of which I 
the victim — mai^}age, that sacrament 
which makes Of home, God's holiest altu, 
the Imeat type of Heaven — marriage wo^ Id 



b.Gooi^lc 



PRANK TAN HUIDEN. 



m; case, made the cloak of nn uiiBpeaka^bli 
crime. I can remember that I said somi 
words, which mj mother whiBpered in m] 
ear, and that I signed my name to a letter 
which she had written. It was the letter 
whicli Ernest received, announcing my inten- 
tion to visit Niagara- Aa for the letter which. 
I had written to him, on the previous day, 
it never went farther than from the hands of 
Caroline to those of my mother. I was hur- 
ried into a carriage, Wareham by my side, 
and then on board of a steamboal^ and have a 
vague consciousnese of passing up the Hud- 
son river. I did not clewly recover my 
senses, until I found myself at Niagara Falls, 
leaning on Warebam's arm, and pointed at 
by the crowd of visitors at the Falls, as "the 
beautiful bride of the Millionaire," 

From the Falls, we passed up the Latos, 
and then retraced our steps; visited the Falls 
agdn; journeyed to Montreal, and then home 
by Lake Champlain and the Hudson river. 
My mother did not accompany us. We 
were gone three months, and as the boat 
glided down the Hudson, the trees were 
already touched by autumn. As the boat 
drew near Tapaan bay, I concealed myself in 
my stateroom — I dared cot look upon my 
cottage home. 

We arrived at home toward the close of a 
September day. My mother met me at the 
door, calm and smiling. She gave me her 
hand — but I pushed it gently away. Ware- 
ham led me up the stops. I stood once 
more in that house, from, which I had gone 
forth, like one walking in their sleep. And 
that night, in our chamber, Wareham and 
myself held a conversation, which had an 
important bearing on his life and mine. 

I was sitting alone in my chamber, dressed 
in a white wrapper, and my hdr flowing 
unconfined upon my shoulders ; my hands 
were clasped and my head bent upon my 
breast. I was thinking of the events of the 
bst three months, of all that I had endured 
from the man whose very presence in the 
same room, filled me with loathing. My 
husband entered, followed by Jenkins, who 
placed a lighted candle, a bottle of wine and 
glasses on the table, and then retired. 

" What, is my pretty girl all alone, and in 
a thinking mood 1" cried Wareham, seating 
himself by the table and filling a glass with 



I ; " and pray, my lore, what is the suV 
ject of your thoughts?" 

And raising the glass to his lips, he sur- 
veyed me from head to Toot with that gloat- 
ing^gaze which always g.. ve a singular light 
to liis eyes. His face was slightly flushed 
on the colorless cheeks. He had already 
been drinking freely, and was now evidently 
under the influence of wine. 

" You have a fine bust, my girl," he con- 
tinned, as though he was repeating the 
"points" of a horse; "a magnificent arm, a 
foot that beats the Medicean Venus ail hol- 
low, and limbs, — " he paused and sipped his 
wine, protruding his nether lip which now 
was scarlet red, — "such limbs! I like the 
expression of your eyes — there's fire in 
them, and your clear brown complexion, and 
your moist red lips, and, — " he sipped his 
wine again, — " altogether an elegantly built 
female." 

And he rose and approached me. I also 
rose, my eyes flashing and my bosom swell- 
ing with suppressed rage. 

" Wareham, I warn you not to touch me," 
I said in a low voice. "For three months I 
have been your prey. I will be so no longer. 
Before the world you may call me wife, if 
you choose — you have bought the right to 
do that — but I inform you, once for all, that 
henceforth we are strangers. Do you under- 
stand me, Wareham ? I had as lief bo 
chained to a corpse as to submit to be 
touched by you." 

He fell back startled, his face manifesting 
surprise and anger, but in an instant his gate 

upon me again, and he indulged in ». . 
low burst of laughter. "f 

Come, I like this 1 It is a pleasant 
change from the demure, pious girl of three 
months ago to the full ■ blown tiageij 
queen." He sank into a chair and fllle4 
another glass of wine. "Be seated, Frank, 
I want to have a little talk with my pet." 

I resumed my seaL 

" You give yourself airs under the impres- 

ra that you are my wife, — joint owner of 

y immense fortune, — my rich widow in 

perspective. Erroneous impression, Frank, 

I have a wife living in England." 

le entirely malignant look, which accom- 
panied these words, convinced me of theii 
sincerity. For a moment I fett as thouj^ 



..Google 



FBANK VAN HUYDKN. 



an ftwful weighT liad crushed my brain, and 
by a glance at the mirror, t saw I was friglit- 
fnlly pale ; but recovering myself by a strong 
eiertion of will, I anHwered him in 
words : 

" Gent! emeu, who allow themselves 
than one wife at a time, are sometimes 
(owing to an unfortunate prejudice c 
ety) invited to occupy an apartment 
State prison." 

"And no you think yo« hold a re 
my head?" — he drank his wine — "but I 
have only one wife, Frank. The gentleman, 
who married you and me, was neither cler- 
gyman not officer of the law, but slnipiy a 
convenient friend. Our mock marriage was 
not even published in the papers." 

Every word went like an ioebolt to my 
heart. I could not apeak. Then, as his eyes 
glared with a minglad look of hatred and 
of brutal passion, he sipped his wine as he 
surveyed me, and continued : 

"Tou used the word 'bought' some time 
ago. You were right. 'Bought' is the 
word. Tou are simply my purchase. In 
Constantinople these things are easily man. 
8ged; they keep an open market of fine 
prlfl there ; but here we must find an affable 
mother, and pay a bugs price — sometimes 
even marry the dear angela. I met your 
mother in Paris some yeaiB ago, and have 
been intimately acquainted with her over 
since. When she iirst spoke of you, you 
were a child and I was weary of the world — 
]aded, ttHl of its pleasures, by which I mean 
iti women. An idea struck me ! What if 
tiiii |ffetty little child, now being educated 
in itmocenoe and pious ways, and so forth, 
should, in the full blossom of her beauty and 
piety — say at the ripe age of sixteen — be- 
ootna the consoler of my declining years? 
Aad BO I paid the expenses of your educa- 
Son (your father consenting that I should 
adopt you, but very possibly understanding 
the whole matter as well as your mother), 
and yon were aocordingly educaled for me. 
And when I first saw you, three months ago, 
it was your very innocence and pious way 
of tftlking which gave an irresistible effect to 
jour beauty, and made me mad to possess 
jmt at all faojiards." 

It is i^pOBMbls to depict the bitter mock- 
iBg tans In whicb these words wore spoken. 



"I settled this mansion, the furniture, and 
so forth upon your mother, with ten thou- 
sand dollars. That was the price. You see 
how much you have cost me, my dear." 

"But I will leave jour accursed man- 
sion." I felt, as I spoke, as though my 
heart was dead in my bosom. "I am not 
chained to you in marriage ; I am, at Jeast, 
free." I started to my feet and moved a 
step toward the door. 

"But where will you go? back ta your 
elderly clerical friend, with every finger 
leveled at you and every voice whispering 
' There goes the mistress of the rich English- 
man !' Back to your village lover to palm 
yourself upon him as a pure and spotless 
maiden?" 

I sank into a chair and covered my face 
with mj hands. 

"Or will you begin the life of a poor 
seamstress, working sixteen hours per day for 
as many peimies, and at last, take to the 
streets for bread?" 

His words cut me to the quick. I saw 
that there was no redemption in this world 
>man whose innocence has bean 
sacrificed. 

But think better of it, my dear. ^ Your 
mother shall surround you with the most 
select and fashionable company in New 
York, — she shall give splendid parties, — you 
will be the presiding genius of every festi- 
for myself, dropping the name of 
husband, I will sink into an unobtrusive 
When you see a little more of the 
world you will not think your case such a 
hard one after all." 

My face buried in mj hands, I had not 
le word of reply. Lost, — lost, — utterly 



CHAPTER XV. 



Mt mother soon afterward gave her first 
party. It was attended by many of the rich 
and the fashionable of both sexes, and there 
the glare of lights, the presence of beau- 
tiful women, and the wine-cup and the 
dance. The festivafwas prolonged till daj- 
bvak, and another followed soon. The 
atmofiphere was new to me. At first I was 
amazed, then intoxicated, and then — cot- 



..Google 



FRANK VAN HUXDEN. 



<7 



rapted. Anxious to bury tho memorj of i 
my shame, to forget how lost and abandoned 
I was, to drown every thought of my child-] 
hood's homo and of Ernest, who never could , 
he mine, soon from a silent spectator I be- 1 
came a participant in the revels which, night 
after night, wore held beneath my mother's 
rao£ The persons who mingled in these 
scenes, were rich husbands who came accom' 



!s ■ wives who 
1 ma„ f th 



usb d f th 



panied by other men's i 
had aa ti d th m 1 es 
sake of 1th t h h 
aad tU m th tl 

women— a rd 11 th t m t th 
mansic s d ha d ta rg tl 

the vict th m 1 f t —of 

bad social world, which on every hand con- 
trasts immense wealth and voluptuous indul- 
gence with fathomless poverty and withering 
wa t d wh' h t ften makes of a mar- 
nig b t th 1 I: f nfamy and prostitu- 
t I h d ry revel, and lost 

mj If th m dd niiig excitcmoat. 1 

aa ad d fiatte d and elevated at last 
to tiie pos t of p d ng genius of these 
s 1 became th 'Midnight Queen." 
But lot the curtain fall. 

One night I noticed a new visitor, a re- 
markably handsome gentleman who sat near 
me at the supper-table, and whose hair and 
eyes and whiskers were black a9 jet. He 
regarded me very earnestly and with a look 
which I could not define. 

"Don't think me impertinent," he said, 
and then added in a lovL^er voice, "for I am 
your father, Frank. Don't call me Van 
Huyden — my name is Tarleton now." 

Fearful that I might one day encounter 
Ernest, I wrote him a long letter breathing 
something of the tone of my early days — 
for I forgot for awhile my utterly hopeless 
condition — and informing him that mother 
and myself were about to sail for Europe. 
I wished him to believe that I was in a 
foreign land. 

And one night, while tho revel was pro- 
gressing in the rooms below, Wareham en- 
tered my room and interested >me in the 
description ti'hich he gave of a young lord, 
who wished to be introduced to me. 

" Young, handsome, and pale as if from 
thought. The very style of man you admire, 
my pet" 



"Let him come up," I answered, and 
Wareham retired. " ' 

1 stood before the mirror as the young lord 
entered, and as I turned, I saw the face of 
my betrothed husband, Ernest Walworth. 

Upon the horror of that moment I need 

He felt insensible to the floor, and was 
carried from the room and the house to tho 
carriage by Wareham, who had led him to 

I have never seen the face of Ernest since 
that hour. 

I received one letter from him — one 
only — in which he set forth the cicoum- 
stancea which induced him to visit my 
house, and in which be bade me "fare- 
well." 

He is now in a foreign land. The honea 
of his father rest in tho village churchyard. 
Tho cottage home is desolate. 

Wareham died suddenly about a year after 
our "marriage." The doctors said that his 
death was caused by an overdose of Morphine 
administered hy himself in mistake. He died 
in our house, and as mother and myself stood 
over his coffin in the darkened room, the day 
before the funeral, I noticed that she regard- 
ed first myself and then the face of the dead 
profligate with a look full of meaning. 

"Don't you think, dear mother," I whis- 
pered, " that the death of this good man was 
very singular ?" 

She made no reply, but still her {ux wore 
that meaning look. 

" Would it be strange, mother, if your 
daughter, improving on your lessons, had 
added another feature to her accomplish- 
ments — had from the Midnight Queen," — I 
lowered my voice — " become the Midnight 
Poisoner f" 

I met her gaze boldly — and she toned 
her face away. 

He died without ever a dog to moum for 
him, and his immense wealth was inherited 
by a deserted and much abused wife, who 
lived in a foreign land. 

Immense wealth in him bore its natural 
flower — a life of shameless indulgence, end- 
ing in a miserable death. 

I did not shed very bitter tears at his fu- 
neral. Hatred is not the word to eipreaa tlw . 
! feeling with which I regard his memory. 



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FRANK VAN HUYDBN. 



Boon afterward my mother was taken ill, 
and wasted rapidly to death. Hera was an 
awful death-bed. The candle was burning 
to its socket, and mingled its rays with the 
pale moonlight which shone through the 
window- curtains. Her brown hair, streaked 
with gray, falling to her shoulders, her form 
terribly emaciated, and her eyes glaring in 
her shrunken face, she started up in her bed, 
clutched my hands in hers, and — begged 
me to forgive her. 

My heart was stone. I could not frame 
one forgiving word. 
As her chilled hands clutched mine, she 
■Wpidly went over the dark story of her life, — 
how from an innocent girl, she had been 
hardened int« the thing she was, — and again, 
her eyes glaring on my face, besought my 



"I forgive yon, Mother," I said slowly, 
and she died. 



My father was not present at her death, 
nor did he attend her funeral. 

And for myself — what has the Future in 
store tor me ? 

0, for Rest ! 0, for Foi^venesa ! 0, for a 
quiet Sleep beneath the graveyard sod ! 

And with that aspiration for Rest, For- 
giveness, Peace, uttered with all the yearn- 
ing of a heart sick to the core, of life and all 
that life can inflict or give, ended the manu- 
script of Fbahceb Van Huydbn, the MiD- 



It is now our task to describe certain scenes 
which took place in New York, between 
Nightfall and Midnight, on this 23d of De- 
cember, 1844, And at midnight we will 
enter The Temple where the death's head 
is hidden among voluptuous flowers. 



..Googt'e 



N E ¥ Y R K: 

ITS 

UPPER-TEN AND LOWER MILLION. 



FART SECOND. 



"FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT." 



i, ISli 



Two persons were sitting at a table, in the 
Refectory beneath Lovejov's Hotel. One of 
these draak brandy and the other drank 
water. The brandy drinker was our friend 
Bloodhound, and the driakor of water was 
a singular personage, whose forehead was 
shaded by a broad-brimmed hat, while the 
lower part of his face was covered by a blue 
kerchief, which was tied over his throat and 
mouth 

S t d t t bl th t f the 



II 






? 



the 



y f d th 
g tl m th th h ad bnmm d h t d 

bl k h f 

I d d t d yth 1 pi d the 

H d— I m t h t L J y , 

ahout duak. Tlou wore a tee-total stranger 
to me. You says, says you, that you'd like 
to do a good turn to Harry Royalton, and at 
the same timers this white nigger and his 
sister — you know who I mean ?" 

" Randolph and Esther — " 

" Well, we closed our bargain. You gave 
me a note to Randolph and one to his sister. 
I hunted 'em out and delivered your notes, 
and hero I am." 

Bloodhound smiled one of his most fright- 
ful smiles, and consoled himaelt with a glass 
of brandy. 

" Where did you find these persons ?' 
Baked Blue Kerchief. 

"At a tip-top boardin' house up (own, ao- 
eotdin' to your directions. I fust saw the 
IMt and delivered your note, and utca lia 



el E 



V the gal and did the same. 
Now, old hoss, do you think they'll come 7" 

'■'Vou saw the contents of those notes ?" 

" I did. I saw you write 'em and read 'em 
afore you sealed 'em up. The one to Ran- 
dolph requested him to be at a sartin place 
on the PivQ Points about twelve o'clock. 
An' the one to Esther requested her to ba 
at the Temple about the same hour. -Now 
do you think they'll come ?" 

" You have seen Godlike and Royalton ?" 
said the unknown, speaking thickly through 
the neckerchief which enveloped his mouth. 

"Godlike will be at the Temple as the 
clock strikes twelve, and Harry and me will 
be at Five Points, at the identical spot — you 
know — at the very same identical hour." 

" That is sufficient. Here is the sum I 
promised you," and the stranger laid two 
broad gold pieces on the table : " we must 
now part. Should I over need you, we will 
meet again. Good night." 

And the stranger rose, and left the refec- 
tory. Bloodhound turning his head over his 
shoulder as he watched his retreating figure 
with dumb amazement. 

" Cool t I call it cool !" he soliloquised ; 
" WMter, see here ; another glass of brandy. 
Yet this is good gold ; has the right ring, 
hey? Judas Iscariot ! Somehow or 'nother, 
everything I touch turns lo gold. Wonder 
what the chap in the blue bandketcher hal 
agin the white nigger and his sister 1 Who 
keers ? At twelve to-night Godlike will 
have the gal, and Harry and I will have the 
nigger. Ju-daa Iscariot \" Here let us leave 
the Bloodhound for awhile, to his solemn 
meditaUons and his glass of brandy. 



^eab.GoOl^lc 



r 
1. 



PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



CHAPTER IL 

TBB OAHAL BTREET BHIBT 8T0KE. 

" Do j^u call them stJtclies ? S-a-y ? 
How d'yo expect s, man to git a livin' if he's 
robbed in that way ? Do you call that a 
shirt — s-a-y 1" 

" Indeed I did my best — " 

" Did your best ? I should like to know 
what you take mo for ? D'yo think I'm a 
fool ? Did not I give you the stuff for five 
Bhirts, and fust of all, I exacted a pledge of 
five dollars from yon, to be forfeited if you 
spoilt the stuff — " 

"And you know I was to receive two shil- 
lings for Bach shirt. I'll ttank you to pay 
me my money, and restore my five dollars 

"Not a copper. This sMrc is spoilt. And 
if those-you have in your arms are no better, 
why they are spoilt too — " 

"They're made as well as the one you 
hold — no better." 

"Then I can't sell 'em for old rags. Just 
(rive 'era to mo, and clear out — " 
'' ■ "At least give me back my five dol- 
lars—" 

" Not a copper. Had you finished these 
shirts in the right style, they'd a-sold for fif- 
teen dollars. As it is, the money Is forfeit- 
ed, — I mean the five dollars which you left 
with mc as a pledge. I can't employ you 
any more. Just give me the other four 
shirts, and clear out." 

The Etorokceper and the poor girl were 
separated by a counter, on which was placed 
a showy case. She was dressed in a faded 
calicQ gowD, and a shawl a£ worn and faded, 
hang aboHt hershoulders. She wore a straw 
bonnet, although it was a night in mid-win- 
ter ; and beneath her poverty-stricken dress, 
her shoes were visible : old and worn into 
shreds they aoarcelf clung to her feet. Her 
entire appearance indicated extreme pover- 



Tha storekeeper, who stood beneath the 
jM-light, was a well preserved and portly 
Oian of forty .years, or more, with abold head, 
ft vjde mouth and a snub nose. Rings glis- 
tered on his fat fingers. Hie black velvet 
v«t was crossed by a gold^^chaia His spot- 
less shirt bosom was deoOjrst«d ly a flashy 



breastpin. He spoke sharp and quick, and 
with a proper sense of his dignity as the 
Proprietor of the "omlt univebsaii bhibt 
STORE, No. , Canal St., New York." - 

Between him and the girl was a glass case, 
in which were displayed shirts of the moat 
elegant patterns and elaborate workmanship. 
Behind him were shelves, lined with boxes, 
also filled with shirts, whose prices were la- 
beled on the outside of each box. At his 
right-hand, was the shop-window,— -a small 
room in itself — flaring with gas, and crowd- 
ed with shirts of all imaginable shapes — 
shirts with high collars, Byron collars, and 
shirts without any collars at all ; — shirts with 
plaits large, small and infinitesimal — shirts 
with ruffles, shirts with stripes and shirts 
with spots ; — in fact, looking into the win- 
dow, you would have imagined that Mr. 
Screw Gbabb was a very Apostle of clean 
linen, with a mission to clothe a benighted 
world, with shirts ; and that his Temple, 
"t^ OsLY Univebsal SHiaT Stose," was 
the most important place on the fice of the 
globe. There, too, appeared eloquent ap- 
peals to passers-by. These werp prmted on 
cards, in immense capitals, — "Shibtb tor 
THE Million ! The Greai: Shirt Em- 
POBJUM 1 Who would be witlidul a ahtrf, 
when Screw Grab sells Oimn for only $1 ? 
This IS the ONLY Shirt Sroaa,"— and bo 
on to the end of the chapter. 

The conversation wliich we have recorded, 
took place in this store, soon after ' gas-light' 
on the evening of Dec. 23d, 1844, between 
Mr. Screw Gbabb and the Pooa Gibl, who 
stood before him, holding a small bundle in 

"You surely do not mean to retain my 
money ?" said the girl — and she laid one 
hand against the counter, and attentively sur- 
veyed the face of Mr. G-rabb — " You &id 
fault with my work — " 

" Never saw wass sdtchin' in my life," 
said Grabb. 

" But that is no reasoit why you should 
refuse to return the money which I placed 
your hands. Consider, Sir, jou will dia- 
ss me very much. I really cannot afford 
lose that five dollars, — indeed — " 
She turned toward him a face Which, llD- 
issod as it was with a look of exbemfldis- 
tress, was also invested wl^ the Ugbt of B 



..Google 



FROM NI&HTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



51 



clear, culm, almost holy t^auty. It wa 
face of a girl of sixteen, whom thought and 
ansiety had ripened into grave aod se 
womanhood. Her brown hair was gathered 
neatly miderherfadedstrawhotmel, display- 
ing a. forehead which hore traces of a cor- 
roding care ; there was light and life in her 
large eyes, light and life without much of 
hope ; there was youth on her cheeks and 
lips ; youth fresh and virgin, and unstained 
by the touch of ein. 

"Will you give me them four ahirta, — 
s-a-y?" was the answer of Grabb, — " them 
as you has in your bundle there?" 

The girl for a moment saemed buried in 
reflection. May-bo the thought of a dreary 
winter night and a desolate home was busy 
at her heart. When she raised her head she 
iised her eves full upon the face of Mr. 
Grabb, and said distinctly : 

"I will not give you these shirts until you 
return my money." 

"What's that you say? You won't give 
'em back — wont you?" and Mr. Grabb dart- 
ed around the counter, yardstick in hand. 
"We'll see,— we'll see. Now just hand 'em 

He placed himself between her and the 
door, and r^ed the yardstick over her 
haad. 

The girl retreated step by atep, Mr. Grabb 
advancing as she retreated, with the yard- 
stick in his fat hand. 

" Give 'em up, — " he seized her arm, and 
attempted to tear the bundle ftom her grasp. 
"Give 'em up you " he applied an epi- 
thet which he had heard used by a manner 
of a theater to the unfortunate giris in his 
employment 

At the word, the young woman retreated 
into a comer behind the counter, her face 
flushed and her eyes flashing with an almost 
aav^e light — 

" You cowardly villain !" she said, " to in- 
sult me because I will not permit you to 
rob mo. 0, you despicable coward — for 
shame !" 

The look of her aye and curl of her lip 
by no means pleased the corpulent Grabb. 
He grew red with rage. When he spoke 
again it was in a loud voice and with an 
emphatic sweep of the yardsUck. 

"If you don't give 'em up, I *U — I'll 






)one in your body. You hussy! 
You 1 What do you think of your- 
self — to attempt to rob a poor man of his 
property?" 

These words attracted the attention of the 
passers-by; and in a moment, the doorway 
was occupied by a throng of curious specta- 
tors. The poor girl, looking over Grabtfa 
shoulders, saw that she was the object of the 
gaze of Bomo dozen pairs of eyes. 

"Gentlemen, this hussy has attempted to 
rob me of my property! I gave her stuff 
sufficient to make five shirts, and she 'a spoilt 
'em so I can't sell 'em tor old rags, and — and 
she won't give 'em up." 

" If they aint good for nothing, what d 'ye 
want with 'em?" remarked the foremost of 
the spectators. 

But Grabb was determined to bring mat- 

"Now, look here," he said, holding the 
yardstick in front of the girl, and thus im- 
prisoning her in the corner; "if you don't 
give 'em up, I'll-etrip the clothes from your 

The girl turned scarlet in the face ; her 
arms sank slowly to her side ; the bundle 
fell from her hands ; she burst into tears. 

"Shame ! shame !" cried one of the spec- 

"It 's the way he does business," added a 
I'oir.e in the background. " He won't give 
mt any work unless the girl, who applies for 
t, places some money in his hands as a 
pledge. When the work is brought into the 
he pretends that it 's spoilt, and keepB 
the money. That 's the way he raises 
capital '■" 

What 'a that you say?" cried Grabb, 
turning fiercely oa the crowd, who had ad- 
vanced some one or two paces into the stora. 
Who said that?" 

A man in a coarse, brown bang-up ad- 
vanced from the crowd— 

I said it, and I '11 stand to it ! Ainl 
you a purty specimen of a bald-headed 
Christian, to try and cheat the poor girl out 
of her hard-aimed money?" 

" I '11 call the police," cried Grabb. 
" What a pattern 1 what a beauty 1" coni-' , 
inued the man in the brown bang-up} 
why rotten eggs 'ud b« wasted on Buoh a 
carcass u that I" 



wGoogle' 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



"Police 1 Police 1" Bcreamed Grabb,- 
" Gentlemen, I'd like to know if there is any 
law iti this land ?" 

iVliile this altercation was in progress the 
poor girl — thorougiily ashamed to find her- 
self the center of a public broil — coTered 
her face with her hands and wept as if her 
heart would break. 

" Take my iuTn," said a voice at her side; 
" there will be a fight. Quick, my dear Miss, 
you must get out of this aa quick 
possible." 

The speaker was a short and slender m 
wrapped in a Spanish mantle, and his hat 
was drawn low over his forehead. 

The girl seized his arm, and while the 
crowd formed a circle around Grabb and the 
browc ban^, up thej contnyed to pass unob- 
BWTed from the Store Presently tlie poor 
girl was liurr(ing alon^. Canal street, her 
hand still clasping the arm cl the stranger 
in the ckak 

' Bad bus aess Bad bu ness !" he i 
in a quick ahrupt tone That Grabb 
flcoun irU Here s Broadway my dear, and 
I must b 1 you ^ood n „ht. Good-night,- 
jood-night." 

And he left the poor girl at the comer i 
Broadway and Canal street. He was lost 
the crowd ere she was aware of his departm 
She was left alone, on the street corner, 
the midst of that torrent of life ; and it w 
not until some moments had elapsed that 
she could fully comprehend her desolate 
condition. 

" It was the last five dollars I had in the 
world I What can I do ! In the name of 
God, what can I do !" 

She looked up Broadway — it extended 
there, one glittering track of light. 
"Not a friend, and not a dollM' in the 

She looked down Broadway — far into the 
diitance it extended, its million lights over- 
stched by a dull December sky. 

" Not a friend and not a dollar !" 

She turned down Broadway with languid 
ftnd leaden steps. A miserably clad and 
hsart-broken girl, she glided among tiie 
ercnrds, which lined the street, like a specter 
ttirongh the mazes of a bauqnet, I 

Poor prll Down Broadway, nntil 'the 
Patk li passed, and tha huga Astot House \ 



glarea out upon the darkness from its hun- 
dred windows. Down Broadway, until you 
reach the unfinished pile of Trinity Church, 
where heaps of lumber and rubbish appear 
among white tombslflnes. Turn from Broad- 
way and stride this narrow street which 
leads to the dark river : your home is there. 

Back of Trinity Church, in Greenwich 
street, we belleie, there stands on this 
December night a fiur stoned edifice, ton- 
anted, only a few jears ago, by a wealthy 
family Then it was the palace of a man 
who counted hio «ealth by hundreds of 
thousands. THovj it is a palace of a different 
sort ; look at it, as from garret to cellar it 
flashes with light in every wisTdow. 

The cellar is the home of ten families. 

The first floor is occupied as a beer 
"saloon;" you can hear men getting drunk 
in three or four languages, if you will only 
stand by the window for a moment. 

Twenty persons liye on the second floor. 

Fifteen make their home on the third 

The fourth floor ia-tenanted by nineteen 
human beings, . '. 

The garret is divided into four apartments; 
one of these has a garret-window to itself, 
and this is the, hoihe of the poor girl. 

She ascended the marble staircase which 
led from the first to the fourth floor. At 
step her ear was assailed with curses, 
drunken shouts, the cries of children, and a 
thousand other sounds, which, night and 
day resounded through that palace of rags 
and wretchedness. Feeble and heart-sick 
she arrived at length in front of the garret 
door, which opened into her home. 

She listened in the darkness ; all was atill 
within. 

lie sleeps," she murmured, "thank 
God !" and opened the door. All was dark 
within, but presently, with the aid of a 
match, she lighted a candle, and the details 
of the place were yisible. It was a nook of 
the oRginal garret, fenced off by a partition 
of rough boards. The slope of the roof 
formed its ceiling. The garret window 
occupied nearly an entire side of the place- 
There was a mattress on the floor, in one cor- 
ner; a small pine table stood beside the par- 
; and the recess of the garret-wiDdow . 
icGupied by an old um>-ob«E, 



,/Goo«^lc 



FEOM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



This chair was occupied by a man whose 
body, incased in a faded wrapper, reminded 
you of a skeleton placed in a sitting posture. 
His emaciated hands rested on the arms, and 
hia bead rested helplessly against the back 
of tlie obair. His hair was white as snow; 
it was scattered in flakes about hiii forehead. 
His foce, furrowed in deep wrinkles, 
Eridly pale ; it resembled nothing savi 
face of i corpse. His eyes, wide open and 
filed as if the band of death had touched 
him, were centered upon the flame of the 
candle, wbile a meaningless smile played 
about his colorless lips. 

The girl kissed him on the lipa and fore- 
head, but "be'gave no sign of recognition 
save a faint laugh, wbicb died on the air ere 
it was uttered. 

For the poor man, prematurely old and 
reduced to a mere skeleton, was an idiot. 

"Oh, my God, and I have not bread to 
feed him !" No words can describs the tone 
and look with which the poor girl uttered 
these words. 

She flung aside Eet-bonnct-and shawl. 

Then it might be Sion.thal, in spite of ber 
faded dress, she was a very beautiful young 
woman ; not only beautiful in regularity of 
features, but in the whiteness, of her shoul- 
ders the fullness of ber bust, the proportions 
f h t !1 d d d form. Her hiut, 

cap g f m tl bbon which bound it, 
t am d f ly her shoulders, and 

Cftu ht th f tb 1 ght on every glossy 

Sh 1 d 1 f h ad upon her head, 
and — th bt. 

H dh bdt dto keep a home for the 
po I b t the chair — very bard. 

She bid tned her pencil and gained bread 
for iwhiie thus but her dran ngs ceased to 
command a price at the picture store and 
tbs means of subsisterce fa led her She 
bad taught music and bad b en a miserable 
dependet t upon the neb b en insulted bv 
their daughlers and been made the object 
of the nsult ng offers of the r sons And 
forced at length by the cond t on of her ] 
Idiot Fathbb to remain with him m their , 
own borne — to be constantly near him, day 
and night — she had sought work at the shirt 
stone OD Canal street, and been robbed of the 
treMure wbicb she had ocoumulatad thto-jgh '. 



68 

treasure— Fi7» 



;the s 
Dollars. 

She had not a penny; there was no bread 
in the closet ; there was no fire In the shoot 
iron stove which stood in one corner ; her 
Idiot Father, her iron fate were before her — 
harsh and bitter realities. 

She was thinking. 

Apply to those rich relations, who had 
' known her father in days of prosperity ? No. 
Better death than that. 

She was thinking. Her forehead on her 
hand, her hair streaming over her shoulders, 
her hosom which had never known even the 
tbougiit of pollution, heaving and swelling 
within her calico gown — she was thinking. 

And as she thought, and tJuniglil ber h^dr 
began to burn, and her blood to bound rapidly 
in her veins. 

Her face is shaded by her band, and a 
portion of ber hair falls ovei; that hand ; 
therefore you cannot tell ber thoughts by 
the changes of her countenance. 

I would not like to know her thoi^hts. 

For tbero ia a point of misery, at which 
but two doors of escape open to the gaze of 
obcautiful woman, whostruggles with the lart 
extreme of poverty: one door has the obatk 
behind it, and the other, 

Yes, there are some thoughts which it is 
not good to write on paper. It was in the 
' midst of this current of dark and bitter 
I thoughts, that the eye of the young woman 
I wandered absently to the faded shawl which 
i she bad thrown across the table. 
', " What is this ? A letter ! Pinned to my 
shawl — by whom f" 

It wss indeed a letter, addressed to her, 
and pinned to her shawl by an unknown 
hand. 

She seized it eagerly, and opened it, and 

Her face, her neck, and the glimpse of her 
boBom, opening above her dress, all became 
scarlet with the same blush. Still her eyes 
grew brighter as she read the letter, and 
incoherent ejaculations passed from ber lips. 

The letter was written— so it said— by the 
man who had taken her from the store oq 
Canal street Its contents we may not gaea«t 
save from the broken words of the a^Uted 
girl. 

"'At twelve tfcfcei^ ot."am.'.'t.XMrLE^' 



ibVGooglc 



64 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



while the candle burned 
i meditated upon the 



ichoae street ani number you will find on the 
inch$ed cird.' " 

And a card dropped from the letter iipon 
the table. She seized it eager]]' and cksped 
it as though it was so much gold. 

"'The Temple,'" she murrauted again, 
and her cjes instinctively wandered to the 
face of her father 

Then she burst into a flood of teara. 

For three hours, 
lowurd its socket, i 
contents of that letter. 

At last she rose, and took from a closet 
near the door, a mantilla of black velvet, the 
only garment which the pawnbroker had 
spared. It was old and faded ; it was the 
only relic of hotter days. She resumed her 
bonnet and wound the mantilla about her 
. shoulders and kissed her luior Fatheh 
the lips and hrow. He had fallen into 
dull, dreamless sleep, and looked like a dead 
man with hia fallen lip and half-shut eyes. 

" ' The Temple !' " she exclaimed and at- 
tentively perused the card. 

Then eitiDguishing the candle, she mound 
B coverlet about her father's form, and left 
Mm there alone in the ganet. She passed 
the threshold and went down the marble 
Blairs. God pity her. 

Teg, God pity her ! 

CHAPTER III. 

At nine o'clock, on the night of December 
23d, 1844, 

.'' Do they tear ?" said Israel Torko, pass- 
ing his hand thr(piigh hin gray whiskers, as 
he sat at the head of a largo table covered 
with green baize. 

It was in a large square room, on th 
»cond story of his Banking House — if Israel' 
place of husinesB can be designated by that 
name. The gas-light disclosed the floor 
covered with malting, and the high walls, 
overspread with lithographs of unknown 
citiu »nd imaginary eopper-minea. There 
weie also three lithc^raphs of the towns in 
which Israel's prindpa) Banks were situated. 
There waa Chow Bank and Unddj Bun, 
and there in all ita glor^ was Terrapin Hol- 
low. In Moh of these distant towns, located 
fcrmewhara in Hew Jersey or Pennsylvania — 



or Heaven only knows where — Israel owned 
a Bank, a live Bank, chartered by a State 
Legislature, and provided with a convenient 
President and Cashier. Israel was a host of 
stockholders in himself. He had an office in 
New York for the redemption of the notes 
of the three Banks ; it is in the room above 
this office that we now behold him. 

" Do they roar ?" he aaUod, and arranged 
his spectacles on his turn up nose, and 
grinned to himself until his little black eyes 
shone again. 

"Do they roar?" answered the voice of 
Israel's man of business, who sat at the lower 
end of the green baizo table — "Just go to the 
window and hear 'em ! Hark ! There it 
goes again. It sounds like fourth of July." 

Truth to say, a strange ominous murmur 
came from the street — a murmur composed 
of about an equal quantity of curses and 
groans. 

"Them's six thousand of 'em," said the 
man of business ; " The street is blsick with 
'em. And all sorts o' nasty little boys go 
about with placards on which such words are 
inscribed; 'Here's an orphan — one & (fiCTn 
that was cheated by Israel Yorke and Ms Three 
Banks.' Hark ! There it goes again !" 

The man of business was a phlegmatic in- 
dividual of about forty years ; a dull heavy 
face adorned with green spectacles, and prop- 
ped by a huge black stock and a pair of im- 
mense shirt collars, Mr. Fetch was indeed 
Israel's Man ; he in some measure supplied 
the place of the late lamented Jedediah 
Bugles, Esq., 'whose dignity of ohwaoter 
and strict integrity,' etc, eta, (for the rest, 
see obituaries on Buggies in the daily pa- 

" Fetch, they do roar," responded Israel. 
"Was there notice of the failure in the af- 
ternoon papers?" 

"Had it put in myself. Dilated upon the 
robbery which was committed on you last 
, in the cars ; and spoke of- your dispo- 
. to redeem the notes of Chow Bank, 
Muddy Hun and Terrapin Hollow, as soon 
as — you could make it convmimL" 

Yes, Fetch, in about a week these notes 
be bought for ten cents on the dollar," 
calmly remarked Totke, " they're mostly in 
the hands of market people, mecbanica, day- 
laborers, servanb-maids, and thoas kind of 



wGoogle 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



55 



people, who can't agorA to watt. Well, 
Fetch, what were tUey seliin' at to-day?' 

" Three shillings on the dollar. You know 
wo only failed this mornin'," answered Fetch. 

" Yes, yes, about a week will do it" — Is- 
rael drew forth a gold pencil, and made a 
calculation on a card, — " In about a week 
they'll be down to ten cents on the dollar. 
We must buy 'cm in quietly at that rate ; 
our friends on Wall street will halp us, you 
know. Well, let's see how tie profit will 
stand — there are in circulation $30(^000 of 
Chow Bank notes — '' 

"And $150,000 of Muddy Kun," inter- 
rupted Fetch. 

"And $200,000 of Terrapin Hollow, 
tinued Yorke, — "Now supposiu' that tliere 
are altogether $500,000— a half million of 
these cotes now in circulation — wa can buy 
'em in quitfly you know, at ten cents on the 
dollar, for some—some— yes, $50,000 will 
do it. That will leave a clear profit of 
$450,00a Not so bad,— eh, Fetch?" 

" But vou forget how much it coat you to 
get the charters of these banks — " interrupt- 
ed Fetch, " The amount of champagne 
that I myself forwarded to Trenton and to 
Hanisburg; would float a small brig. Then 
there was some ready money that you loaned 
to Members of Legislature — put tbat down 
Mr. Yorke." 

"We'll say $5000 for champagne, and 
$25,000 loaned to Members of Legislature 
(though they don't bring anything near that 
now), why we have a total of $25,000 for 
expenses iiicnrred in procuring cliaHers. De- 
duct that from $150,000 and you still have 
$435,00a A neat sum. Fetch." 

" Yes, but you must look to your charac- 
ter. You must come out of it with flyin' 
colors. After nearly all the notes have been 
bought in, by ourselves or our agents, we 
must announce that having recovered from 
our late revenes, we are now prepared to re- 
deem dl •ur notes, dollar for dollar." 

"And Fetch, if we manage it right, 
there'll be only $10,000 worth left in circu- 
lation, at the time we make 
ment. That will take $10,000 from 
till of $425,000, leavin' us still tie . 
$415,000. A pretty sum, Fatcli. 

" Tou may as well strike off that $15,000 
for extra eipcnses, — paragraphs 



the newspapers, — grand juries, ^d other 
little incidents of that kind. 0, you'll come 
out of it with (^utrader." 

" Ghoul of the BIcrze will assail me, -eh 1" 
said Israel, fidgeting in his chair: "He'll 
talk & nothin' else than Chow Bank, Muddy 
Run and Terrapin Hollow, for months to 
come, — eh. Fetch?" 

"For years, for years," responded Fetch, ' 
" It will be nuts for Ghoul." 

" And that cursed afiair last niglit ! " con- 
tinued Yorke, as though thinking alaud, 
"Seventy-one thousand gone at one slap." 

Fetch looked funnily at his principal from 
beneath his gold spectacles: "No? It wa» 
real then ? I thought — " 

Mr. Yorke abruptly consigned the lioughts 
of Mr. Fetch to a personage who shall be 
nameless, and then continued : 

It was f-eo?, — a tona/Ja robbery. Seventy- 
one thousand at a slap ! By-the-bye, Fetch, 
has Blossom been here to-night — Blossom 
the police officer?" 

"Couldn't get in; too much of a crowd in 
the street." 

" I did not intend him to come by the 
front door. He was to coaxa up the back 
way, — about this hour — he gave me some 
hope this afternoon. Tliat was an unfortunate 
affair last night !" 

"How they roar! Listen I" said Fetch, 
bending himself into a listening attitude. 

And again that ominous sound came from 
the street without, — the combined groama 
and cuises of sis thousand human beings, 

"Like buffaloes!" quietly remarked Mr. 
Yorke. 

" Like demons 1" added Mr. Fetch. "Hear 

" Was there much fuss to-day, when we 
suspended. Fetch ?" 

" Quantities of market people, mechanics, 
widows and servant maids," said the man of 
business. "I should think you'd atood a 
pretty good chance of being torn to piecas, 
if you'd been visible. Had this happened 
south, you'd have been tarred and feathered. 
Here you'd only be tore to pieces." 

A step was heard in the back part of the 
room, and in a moment BLoaaoK, ki hla 
pictorial face and bear-skin over-eoa^ sp>' . 
pevcd upon the scene, 

" WbAt ie the matter willt ^ur hmd?" 



,,Go. 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



Mked SCr. Fetch, — " Is that a handkerchief 
01 a towel 1" He pointed to something like 
a turban, which Poke-Berry Blossom wore 
under his glossy hat. 

Blossom sunk sullenly into a chair, with- 
out a word. 

"What'B the matter?" exclaimed Torke, 
" Have you — " 

" Suppose you had sixteen inches taken 
out of yer skull," responded Blossom in a 
sullen tone, " You'd know what was the 
matter. Thunder!" ho added, "thia is a 
rum world !" 

"Did you — "again began Yorke, brushing 
his gray whiskers and fidgeting in hia 
Chdr. 

"Yes I did. I tracked 'em to a grogg^y 
up town airly this evenin'. I had 'em all 
alone, to myself, up stairs. I caught the 
young 'un examinin' the valise — I seed the 
dimes with my own eyes. I — " 

" You arrested them ?" gasped Yorke. 
"How could I, when I aint a real police 
and hadn't any warrant ? I did grapplf 
with 'em ; but the young 'un got out on th< 
roof with the valise, and I waa left U. 
manage the old 'un as best I could. I tried 
to make him b'lieve that I had a detachment 
down stairs, but ha gi'n me a lick 
topknot that made mo see Fourth of July, 
I tell you. There I laid, I don't know how 
long. Whea I got my senses, they was 
gone." 

"But you pursued them ?" asked Yorke, 
with a nervous start 

"With a hole in my head big enough to 
put a market-basket in ?" responded Blos- 
som, with a pitying smile, "what do you 
think I'm made of? Do you think I'm a 
Japan mermaid or an Egyptian mummy ?" 

It will be perceived that Mr. Blossom said 
nothing about the house which stood next 
to the Yellow Mug ; he did not even 
Mention the latter place by name. Nor did 
he relate how he pursued Nameless into this 
house, and how after an unsuccessful pursuit, 
he returned into the garret of the Mug, 
where Ninety One, (who for a moment or 
two had been hiding upon the roof,) grappled 
with hini,'and \sii him senseless by a well 
planted blow. Upon these topics Mi: Blos- 
■om msuntained a mystorious ^lence. ' Bis 
reasons for tliis course may herea^vr appear. 



" And so you've given up the affair ?" said 
Yorke, sinking back into his chair. 

Now the truth is, that Blossom, chafed by 
hia inquiries and mortified at his defeat, was 
cogitating an important iqatter to himself— 
"Can I make anything by givin' Israel into 
the hands of the mob ? I might lead 'em 
up the backstairs. Lord I how they'd make 
tho fur fly! But vjh/d fay me* The 
italicized query troubled Blossom and made 
him thoughtful. 

"And so the seventy thousand 's clean 

gone," exclaimed Fetch, in a mournful tone : 

It makes one melancholy to think of it." 

" Pardon me, Mr. Yorke, for this intru- 
:on," said a bland voice, "but I have fol- 
lowed Mr. Blossom to this room. I caught 
sight of him a few moments ago as he left 
Broadway, and tried to speak to him as he 
pushed through tho crowd in front of your 
door, but in vain. So being exceedingly 
anxious to see him, I was forced to follow 
him up stairs, into your room." 

" Colonel Tarletou !" ejaculated Yorke. 

" The handsom' Curnel !" chorussed Blos- 



It was indeed the handsome Colonel, who 
with bis white coat buttoned tightly over his 
cheat and around his waist, stood smiling 
and bowing behind the chair of Benj 
Blossom. 

"You did not tell any one of the hack 
door," cried Yorke, — "If you did — " 

"Why then, (you were about to remark I 
believe,) we should have a great many more 
persons in the room, than it would bo 
pleasant for you to see, juai rufw. 

The Colonel made one of his most ele- 
gant bows as he made this remark. Mr. 
Yorke bit his nails but nmdo no reply. 

Mr. Blossom, a word with you." The 

Colonel took the police officer by the arm 

and led him far back into that part of the 

n most remote .rom the table. 

What's up, Mister?" asked Blossom, 

arranging his turban. 

As they stood there, in the gloom which 
pervaded that part of the room, the Colonel 
answered him with a low and significant 
whisper ; 

Do you remember that old ruffian who 
charged last night in the cars with — " 
You mean old Ninety-One, m he CilU 



wGoogic 



PItOM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



BT 



hifiself," interrupted Blossom — " Weil, I 
guess I do," 

" Very good," continued the Colonel. — 
"Now suppose tliis ruffian had concealed 
liimself in the house of a wealthy man, with 
the purpose of committing a robbery this 
very night !" 

Blossom wa? all ears. 

"Well, well, — drive ahead. Suppose, — 
suppose," — he said impatiently. 

" Not so fast. Suppose, further, that a 
gentleman who bad overheard thia villain 
plotting this purposed crime, was to give you 
full information in regard to the affair, could 
yoii, — could yon, — when called upon to 
give evidence before the court, forget the 
name of this gerakmanf" 

"I'd know no more of him than an un- 
born baby," e^erly whispered Blossom. 

"Hold'a moment. This gentleman over- 
hears, the plot, in the room of a ceiiain iowe 
not used as a church, precisely. The gentl 
man does not wish to be known as a visits 
to tliat Juiuse, — you comprehend? But n 
tliat house, he happens to hear the ruffian and 
bis young comrade planning this robbery 
Himself unseen, he hears their whole con 
versation. He finds out that they intend to 
enter the house where the robbery is to take 
place, by a false key and a back stairway. 

"Tou want to know, in strwgbt-for'ard 
talk," interrupted Blossom, " whether, when 
the case comes to trial, I could remember 
having overheard the convict and the young 
'un mesself? There's my hand on it, 
Cumel. Just set me on the track, and you'll 
find that I'll never say one word about you. 
Beside, I was arter these two covies this 
very night, — I seed 'em with my own eyes, 
in the garret of the Yellow Mug." 

" You did ! " cried the Colonel, with an ac- 
cent of undisguised eatisfaotion. " Then 
possibly you may remember that yon over- 
heard them planning this burglary, as you lis- 
tened behind the garret door ? " 

"Of course I can," replied Blossom, "I 
remember it quile plain. Jist tell me the 
number of the house that ia to bo robbed, 
and I'll show you fireworka.^ 

The Colonel's face was agitated by a 
■mile of iufemoE del^bt. Leaving Blossom 



for a moment, he paced the floor, with his 
finger to his lip. 

" Pop and Piil will leave town to-mor- 
cow," he muttered to himself, "and they'll 
keep out of the way until the storm blows 
over. This fellow will go to the house of 
Sowers, inform him of the robbery, a search 
will bo made, and Ninety-one discovered in 
one room, and the corpse of Evelyn in the 
other. Just at that hour I'll happen to be 
passing by, and in the confusion I'll try to 
secure this youthful secretary of Old Sow- 
ers. I sliall want hira for the twenty-fifth 
of December, As for the otheb, why, 
Frank must take care of him. Bhall Nine- 
ty-one come to a iiint of the murder ? " — 
the Colonel paused and struck his forehead. 
"Head, you have never failed me, and will 
not fail me now !" 

Ho turned to Blossom, and in low whis- 
pers the twtun arr'inged all the details of the 
ffai rh V o rs d together there in the 

I m nt 1 th y pe f l!y understood each 
th Bl ss tn tu n n now and then lo in- 

II n a qu t lau h and the Colonel's 
d k e flish ng th earnestness, and may 
b th th h pe of gratified revenge. At 
length they shook hands, and the Colonel 
approached the table : 

"Mr. Yorke, I have the honor' to wish 
you a very good evening," said the Colonel, 
and after a polite bow, he departed. 

"I leave him with his sorenaders," he 
muttered as he disappeared. " This murder 
off my hands, and the private secretary in 
my poiver, I think I will hold the trump 
card on the Twenty-fifth of December ! " 

With this muttered exclamation he went 
down the back stairway. 

" Yorke, my genius!" cried Blossom, clap- 
ping the financier on the back, "if I dont 
have them $71,000 dollars before twenty- 
four hours, you mayoail me — you may call 
me, — most tmything you please. Ey-the- 
bye, did you hear that howl ? Good-night, 
Yorke." And he went down the backstdr- 

The financier, coughing for breath, (for 
the hand of Blossom bad been somewhat 
emphatic), fixed hb gold specs, and brosbedi* 
his gray whiiikers, and turning to Ut. Fatolw 
said gayly. 



byGoO-^ 



PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



"He looks as if he was on the right 
treek ; dont he, Fetch ?" 

Falch said be did ; and presently he also 
retired down the back stairway, promising to 
tie hie Principal at an early hour on the 
morrow. " How they do roar ! " he ejacu- 
lated, as he disappeared. 

Yorke was alone. He shifted and twisted 
uneasily in hia chair. His little black eyes 
ehonc with peculiar luster. He sat for a 
]ong time buried in thought, and at last 
gave utterance to these words : 

"I think I'd better retire until the storm 
Hows over, leaving Fetch to bring in my 
notes, and manage affairs. To what part of 
the world shall I go ? Well, — w-e-U !~ 
Havana, yes, that's the word, Havana ! But 
first I must see the result of this Van Hoy- 
den matter on the Twenty-fifth, and provide 
mjBelf with a armpanion — a pleasant com- 
pankrn to ehoer me in my loneliness at Ha- 
vana. Ah ! " the man of money actually 
Iweathed an amorous sigh, — " iwelae to-night, 
— THE Temple ! — that's the word." 

And in the street without, black with 
heads, there were at least three thousand 
people who would have cut the throat of Is- 
rwl, had they once laid hands upon him. 

" Tbe Tkmplb ! " he again ejaculated, and 
sinking back in hia chair, he inserted his 
thumbs in the arihholes of his vest, and 
resigned himself to a pleasant dream. 

Leaving Israel Torko for a little while, 
we will trace the movements, and listen to 
the words of a personage of far different 
character. 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE BKVBS VAULTS. 

About the hour of nine o'clock, on the 
23d of December, a gentleman, wrapped in 
tbe folds of a Spanish mantle, passed along 
Broadway, on his way to the Astor House. 
Through the glare and glitter, the uproar 
and the motion of that thronged pathway, ho 
paMed rapidly along, his entire appearance 
tud manner distinguishing him from the 
tHHvd. As he came into the glare ot the 
ti0ti4DtlT-'1ighted windows, hia face and tWf 
ttinl, disclosed but for an instai^ bao^Mh 
hi* Woad Bomfoen), made an imprecdDil 



upon those who beheld them, which they 
did not soon foi^et. That face, lumat- 
urally pale, was lighted by eyes that shone 
with incessant luster ; and its almost death- 
like pallor was in strong contrast witli hia 
moustache, his beard and hair, all of intense 
blackness. His dark hair, tossed by the 
winter winds, fell in wavy tresses to the col- 
lar of his cloak. His movements were quick 
and impetuous, and his stealthy gait, in 
some respects, reminded you of the Indian. 
Altogether, in a crowd of a thousand you 
would have singled him out os a remarkable 
man, — one of those whose faces confront 
you at rare intervals, in the church, the 
street, in the railroad-car, on ship-board, and 
who at first sight elicit the involuntary ejac- 
ulation, " That man's history I would like to 

Arrived at the Astor House he registered 
his name, Gasfak Manuel, Havana. 

He had just landed from the Havana 

As he wrote his name on the Hotel hook, 
he uncovered his head, and — by the gas 
light which shone fully on him, — it might 
be seen that his dark hair, « hirh fell to his 
shoulders, was streaked with threads of 
silver. The vivid bnghtness of his eyes, 
the deathlike pallor of his f'lce, became 
more perceptible in the strong light ; and 
when he threw his cloak aside, you beheld a 
slender frame, slightly bent in the shoulders, 
clad in a dsffk frock coat, which, single 
breasted, and with a strait collar, reached to 
the knees. 

His face seemed to indicate the traveler 
who has journeyed in many lands, seen all 
phases of life, thought much, suffered deeply, 
and at times grown sick of all that life can 
inflict or bestow ; his attire indicated a mem- 
ber of some religious organization, per- 
chance a member of that society founded 
by Loyola, which has sometimes honored, 
but oftener blasphemed, the name ot Jbshb. 
Directing his trunks, — there were some 
three or four, huge in siEC, and strangely 
strapped and banded — to be sent to hii 
room. Oaspar Manuel resumed his cloak and 
sombrero, and left the hall of the hotel 

It was an hour before he appeared again. 
As he emerged from one of the corridoH 
into the light of the hall, you would bay* 



^Jb 



byGoo«^Ic 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



scarcely recognized the man In place of 
bia Jestiit'liku attire, be uorc a, f^hionablj 
made black dress coat, a anou-wbite vest, 
black pants and neatly -fitting boots. Tliere 
was a diamond in the center of his block 
scarf, and a massy gold chain across his vest. 
And a diamond even more daa^ling than 
that which shone upon bis acarf, sparkled 
from the little finger of his left-band. 

But the change in bia attire only made that 
face, framed in hair and beard, black aa jet, 
seem more lividly pale. It was a strange 
faded face, — you would bavo given the world 
to have known the meaning of that thought 
which imparted its Incessant fire to his eyes. 

Winding his cloak about bis slender frame, 
and placing his sombrero upon his dark hnir, 
he left the hotel. Passing with his quick 
active step along Broadway, he turned to the 
East river, and soon entered a silent and de- 
serted neighboring house. Silent and deser- 
ted, because it stands in the center of a 
haunt of trade, which in the day-timo, mad 
with the fever of traffic, was at night as 
silent and deserted as a desert or a tomb. 

He paused before an ancient dwelliriV-. 
house, which, wedged in between huge ware- 
houses, looked strangely out of place, in that 
domain of mammon. Twenty-one years be- 
fore,that dwelling-house had stood in the very 
center of the fashionable quarter of the city. 
Now the aristocratic mansions which once 
lined the street had disappeared ; and it was 
left alone, amid the lofty walls and closed 
windows of the warehouses whie"h bounded 
it 00 either hand, and gloomily confronted it 
from the opposite side of the narrow street. 

It was a double mansion — the hall door 
in the center — ranges of apartments on ei- 
ther side. Its brick front, varied by marble 
over the windows, bore the marks of time. 
And the wide marble steps, which led from 
the pavement to the hall door — marble 
steps once white as snow — could scarcely be 
distinguished from the brown sandstone of 
the pavemenL In place of a bell, there was 
an unsightly-looking knocker, in the center 
of the masaive door ; and its roof, crowned 
with old fashioned dormer-windows, and 
heavy along the edges with cumbrous wood- 
work, presented a strange contrast to the 
monotonous flat roofs of the warehouses on 
either aide. 



I Altogether, that old-fashioned dwelling 
: looked as much out of place in that silent 
street of trade, as a person attired in the cos- 
tume of the Revolution, — powdered wig, 
ruffled shirt, wide skirted coat, breecbos and 
knee-buckles, — would look, surrounded by 
gentlemen attired in the business-like and 
practical costume of the [ifeseiit day. And 
while the monotonous edifices on either side, 
only spoke of Trade — the Kate of Kit- 
change — the price of Dry Goods, — the old 
dwelling-house had something about it 
which breathed of the sssociations of Home. 
There had been marriages in that house, and 
deaths : children had first seen the bgbt 
within its walls, and coffins, contiuning the 
remiuns of the fondly loved, had emerged 
from its wide hail door : dramas of every- 
day life had been enacted there : and there, 
perchance, had also been enacted one of 
those tragedies of every-day life which dif- 
fer so widely from the tragedies of fiction, 
in their horrible truth. 

There was a story about the old dwelling 
which, as you passed it in the day-time, 
when it stood silent and deserted, while all 
aMund was deafening uproar, made your heart 
dilate with involuntary curiosity to know 
the history of the ancient fabric, and the 
history of those who had lived and died 
within its walls. 

Gaspar Manuel ascended the marble 
steps, and with the knocker sounded an 
alarm, which echoing sullenly through the 
lofty hall, was shortly answered by the open- 
ing of the door. 

In the light which hashed upon the pallid 
visage of Gaspar Manuel, appeared an aged 
servant, clad in gray Uvery faced with black 
velvet. 

" Take these letters to your maSter, and 
tell him that I am come," said Gaspal in a 
prompt and decided tone, marked, aitbough 
but slightly, with a foreign accent He 
banded a package to the servant as he 

"But how do you know that my master is ,; 

at home?" — The servant shaded his ey« ^ . 

with Ilia withered hand, and gazed hed< 
tatinglf into that atrange countenance, so 
lividly pale, with eyes unnaturally bright 
and masses of waving hair, black as jet 

" Bzekiel Bogart lives here, doei he luit ?" 



^o;,eabyCoO«^lc 



00 



FROM NIGHTFALL TJKTIL MIDNIGHT. 



"That is my master's name." 

"Take these letters to him then at once, 
and tell him I am waiting." 

Perchajice the Eoft and musical intonations 
of the stranger's voice had its effect upon 
the servant, for he replied, "Come in, sir," 
and led the way into the spacious hall, 
which was dimly lighted by a hanging lamp 
of an antique pattern. 

" Step in there, sir, and presently I will 
bring you an answer," 

The aged servant opened a door on the 
left side of the hall and Caspar Manufl 
entered a square apartment, which had 
evidently formed a part of a larger room 
The walls were panneled with oak ; 
cheerful wood fire burned in the old-fashio 
ed arch ; an oaken table, without covering f 
any sort, stood in the center ; and oak 
benches were placed along the walls. Taking 
the old chair, — it stood by the table, — Gas- 
par Manuel, by the light of the wax candl 
on the table, discovered that the room was \ 
already occupied by some twenty or thirty . 
persons, who sat upon the oak benches, as 
silent as though they had been carved there. 
Persons of all classes, ages, and with every 
variety of visage and almost every contrast 
of apparel. There was the sleek dandy of 
Broadway ; there the narrow-faced vulture 
of Wall street ; there some whose decayed 
attire reminded you either of poels out of 
favor with the Magazines, or of police offi- 
cers out of office ; one whose half Jesuit 
attire brought to mind a Puseyite clergyman ; 
and one or two whose self-complacent vis- 
ages reminded one of a third-rate lawyer, who 
had just received his first fee ; in a word, 
types of the varied and contrasted life which 
creeps or throbs within the confines of the 
large city. Among the orowd, were several 
whoso rotund corporations and evident dis- 
position to shake hands with themselves, 
indicated the staid man of business, whose 
capital is firm in its foundation, wid duly 
recognized in the solemn archives of (he 
Bank, A man of gray hairs, clad in rags, 
sat in a comet by himself; there was a wo- 
man with a vail over her face ; a boy with 
half developed form, and lip innocent of 
hur : it was, altogether, a singular gathering 

The dead silence which prevailed was 
most temmkaUe Ijlot a wotd was said 



ne of those persons seemed to be 
of the existence of the others. Aa 
the oak benches on which they 
sat, they were Wiuting to see Ezehiel Bogart, 
and this at the unusual hour of ten at night. 

Who was Ezekiel Bogart ? This was a 
question often asked, but which the denizens 
of Wall street found hard to answer. lie 
was not a merchant, nor a banker, nor a law- 
yer, nor a gentleman of leisure, although in 
some respects he seemed a combination of 
all. 

He occupied the old fashioned dwelling ■ 
was ee t 11 t f pi ice t 11 b rs 
and IS ted 1 11 t f ] eopi t 

iso ost 1 Th m h 1 1st 



rt B t 1 t 

h t h tly f 11 d wh t th 



th 
Id 1 I 



1th 8 



1 ti 



h d 



1 h 



m t y th th 
■W ash to M t f St t to 
1 worn-out clai^ of which hejs at 
once the judge, lawyer and (under the rose) 
sole proprietor. 

The transactions of Ezekiel Bogart were 
quite extensive ; they involved much money 
and ramified through all the arteries of the 
great social world of New York. But the 
exact nature of these transactions ? All was 
doubt, — no one could tell. 

So much did the mystery of Mr. Bogart'a 
career puzzle the knowing ones of Wall 
street, that one gentleman of the Green 
Board wetft quite crazy on the subject, — 
after the fourth bottle of champagne — and 
offered to bet Erie Eail-road stock against 
New" Jersey copper stock, that no one could 
prove that Bogart had ever been bom. 

" Who IS Mekiel Bogart f" 

No doubt every one of the persons here 
assembled, in the oak panneled room, can 
return some sort of answer to this question ; 
but will not their answers contradict each 
other, and render Ezekiel more mythical 

"Sir, this way," said the aged servant, 
opening the door and beckoning to Gaspat 
Manuel. 

Gaspar followed the old man, and leaving 
the room, ascended the oaken staircase, 
who^je banisters were fashioned of solid 
mahogany. 



Google 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



«t 



On the second floor he opened a donr, — 
"lu there, sir," and crossing the threshold, 
Gaspar Manuel found himself in the pre- 
f E k»l Bo" rt 
It sq or p rtment, lined with 

h 1 c8 Irom th ce 1 g to thti floor, and 
11 m d by I mp hich hanging from 
th I h d b t f int and mysteiioua 

11th h th pi In the center w 

a large square table, whose green baize b\ 
fece was half concealed by folded packagi 
opened letters, and huge volumea, bound 
dingy buff. Without wiadows, and warmed 



by heated 


air, fhia roo 


m w 


13 comj let 


elvflrt 


proof — f( 


the con; 


ents 


of those 


shelv 


were too 


pro lous t 


be 


etfOied 


to th 


slightest chanto cf de 


ftruc 


ion 




Inamrr 


n ch-ur co^ 


ered 


withrfdtt 


orocc 



and placfld directlj beneath the light, sat 
EzekiJ Bogart a min whom we may as 
well examine attentively f>r wo flhall not 
Boon see his like agiin His form hent in 
Iho shoulders, yet displaying marks of mus- 
cular power, was clad in a loose wrapper of 
dark cloth, with wide sleeveB, lined with 
red. A dark skull-cap covered the crown 
of his head ; and a huge green shade, evi- 
dently worn io protect his eyes from the 
light, completely concealed his eyes and 
nose, and threw its shadow over his mouth 
and chin. A white cravat, wound about his 
throat in voluminous folds, half concealed 
Ms chin ; and his right hand — sinewy, yet 
colorless as the hand of a corpse — which 
was relieved by the crinLSon lining of the 
lai^B sleeve — was laid upon an open letter. 

Gaspar Manuel seated himself in a chair 
opposite this singular figure, and observed 
him attentively without uttering a word. 
And Ezekiel Bogart, whose eyes were pro 
tected by the huge green shade, seemed for 
a moment to study with some earnestness, 
the pallid face of Gaspar Manuel. 

"My name iaEzekie! Bogart," he spoke 
in a voice so low as to be scarcely audible, — 
"and I am the General Agent of Martin 
Fulmer." 

He paused ss if awaiting a reply from 
Gaspar Manuel, buf Gaspar Manuel did not 
utter a word. 

"You come highly recommended by Mr. 
John Qrubb, who is Mr. Fulmer's agent on 
the Pacific coast," continued EzekieL "He 



especially commends you to my kindness 
and attention, in the letter which I bold ia 
my hand. He desires me to procure you an 
early interview with my principal, Dt. Martin 
Fulmer. He also states that you have im- 
portant information in your possession, in 
regard to certain lands in the vicinity of the 
Jesuit Mission of San Luis, near the Pacific 
coast, — lands purchased some years ago, from 
the Mexican government, by Dr. Martili 
Fulmer. Now, in the absence of the Doctor, 
I will be moat happy to converse with you 
on the subject" — 

"And I will be happy lo converse on the 
subject," exclaimed Gaspar, in his low voice 
and wiUi a slight but significant smile, " but 
first I must see Dr. Martin Fulmer." 
Ezekiel gave a slight start — 
" But you may not be able to see Dr. Mar- 
tin Fulmer for some days," he said. " His 
movements are uncertmn ; it isat times very 
difficult to procure an interview with him." 
"I must Bee him," replied Gaspar Manuel' 
a decided voice, "and before the Twenty. 
Fifth of December." 
Again Ezekiel started : 
" Soh ! He knows of the Twenty- Fifth !" 
he TOutterod. After a moment's heatation 
said aloud : " This land which the Doo- 
bought from the Me.ticaji government, 
and which he sent John Grubh to overlook, 
fertile, is it not ?" 

Gaspar Manuel answered in a low voice, 
bose faintest tones were marked with a 
clear and impressive emphasis ; 

The deserted mission house of San Luis 
stands in the center of a pleasant valley, en-, 
circled by fertile hills Its walls ot inter ^, 

led wood and stone are almost buned- 
from Mew by the eier green foliage of the 
ive trees which surround it Once 
merry with the hum of busy labor, and 
echoing with the voice of prayer and prais^ 
t is now silent as a tomb. Its vineyards and 
ts orchards are gone lo decay, — orchards 
rich with the olive and the apple, the pome- 
granate and the orange, stand neglected and 
forsaken, under an atmosphere as calm, ft 
climate as delicious as southern Italy. And 
the hills and fields, which once produced th« 
planfidn. snd banana, cocoanut, indigo and 
sugar-eaue — which once resounded wi^L 
the f^Wfl of hundreds of Indian laberan, 



,/Goo«^lc 



PEOM NIGHT?ALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



who yielded to the rule of the Jesuit Fa- 
thers — &re now as sod and silent as a desert 
And yet a happier sight you cannot conceive 
than the Talley of the San Luia, in the lap 
of *hiel« stands the deserted mission-house. 
It is watered hy two rivulets, which, flowing 
from the gorges of distant hills, join near the 
misaion-house, into a broad and tranquil 
river, whose shores are always bright with 
the verdure of spring. The valley is sur- 
rounded, as I have s^d, by a range of rolling 
Mils, which formerly yielded, by their inex- 
haustible fertility, abundant wealth to the 
Fathers. Behind these, higher and abrupt 
hills arise, clad with ever-green forests. In 
the far distance, rise the white summits of 
the Sierra Nevada." 

"This misMon was one of the many esta- 
blished between the Sierra Nevada and the 
Pacific coast," interrupted Eiekiel, "by zeal- 
ous missionaries of the Papal Church. If I 
mistake not, having obtained large granla of 
land from the Mexican government, they 
gathered the Indians into missions, reared 
huge mission-houses, and employed the Indi- 
ans in the cultivation of the soil." 

"Not only in California, on the west side 
of Sierra Nevada, but also far to the east of 
that range of ' Snow Mountains ' abounded 
these misBiQntf ruled by the Fathers and 
supported by the labor of the submissive 
Indians. But now, for hundreds and hun- 
dreds of miles, you will find the mission- 
houses silent and deserted. The rule of the 
Fathers passed away^n 183G — in one of the 
thousand revolutions of Mexico — the mis- 
sions jiassod into the hands of private indi- 
viduals, and in some cases the Indians were 
baDBfeired with the land." 

"But the mission-houae of San Luis 1" 

"Is claimed by powerful members of the 
Society of Jesus, who residing in the city 
of llKlico, have managed to keep a quiet 
hold npoti the various govetnments, which 
nave of late years abounded in that unhappy 
re^Hic They claim the mission-house and 
the lands, originally grantod sixty years ago, 
to BWtliers of their order by the Govern- 
ment, and they claim certain Ituids, not named 
IB the original grant." 

He paused, but EEekiel Bogaft oonMfiitei 
Ae Hiit«tied; 

"Unds ^Tobased sonM yMaa/ate, from 



the Government by XKr.Uortin Fulmer? Is 
their claim likely to be granted ?" 

"That is a question upon which I will ba 
most happy to converse wilh Dr. Martin 
Pulmer," was the bland reply of Gaspar 
Manuel. 

" These lands are fertile — that is, as fertile 
as the lands immediately attached to the 

" Barren, barren as Zahara," replied Gaspar. 
" A thousand acres in all, they are bounded 
by desolate hills, desolate of foliage, and 
broken, into ravines and gorges, by mountain 
I streams. You stand upon one of the hills, 
and survey the waste which constitutes Mat- 
tin Pulmer's lands, and you contrast them 
with the mission lauds, and feel as though 
Zahara and Eden stood side by side before 
you. A gloomier sight cannot be imagined." 

"And yet," said E/.ekiel, "these lands 
are situated but a few leagues from the 
mission- house. It is stmnge that the Jesuit 
Brothers should desire to possess such a 
miserable desert Do you imagine their 

"It is about theirnuitivfa th&t I desire to 
Bpeak with Dr. Martin Fulmer," and Gaspar 
shaded his eyes with the white hand which 
blazed with the diamond ring. 

There was a pause, and beneath his up- 
lifted hand, Gaspar Manuel attentively sur- 
veyed Ezekiel Bc^art, while Ezekie! Bogart, 
as earnestly surveyed Gaspar Manuel, under 
the protection of the green shade which 
concealed his eyes. 

"You seem to have a great many visitors 
to-night," said Gaepar, resting his arm on the 
table and his forehead on his band; "allow 
me to ask, is it usual to transact business, at 
such a late hour, in this country 1" 

" The business transacted by Dr. Martia 
Fulmer, differs widely from the business of 
Wall street," replied Ezekiel, dryly. 

"The property of Gulian Van Huyden, 
has by this time doubled itself ?" asked 
Gaspar, still keeping his eyes on the table. 
Ezekiel started, but Gaspar continued, aa 
though thinking aloud — " Let me see : at the 
lime of his death, the estate was estimated 
at two millions of dollars. Of this $1,251,- 
(WO was invested in real estate in the dty of 
New York ; $10C^00O in bank ud other 
kinds of stock; $60,000 ia kadi in tW 



iiMl 



b.Gooi^le 



PBOM ItlGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



Western country; $1,000 in a tract of one 
thousand seres in Pennsjivania ; and $458,- 
000 in bank notes and gold. Then the Van 
Huyden mauBlon and grounds were valued 
at $150,000. Are my figures correct, i 

Aa though altogether amazed by the 
minute knowledge which Gaspar Manuel, 
seemed to poasoss, in regard to the Van 
Huyden estate, Ezckiel did not reply, 

"By this time this great estate has no 
doubt doubled, perhaps trebled itself." 

Ezekiel raised his hand to hia mouth, and 
preserved a statue-like silence. 

" This roora, which is no doubt vaulted 
and fire-proof, contains I presume, all the 
important records, title-deeds and other papers 
relating to the estate." 

Ezekiel rose from his ha and 1 wly 
lighted a wax candle wh h t d up n the 
table. Gathering the da k w pp 1 d 
with scarlet, about his tall f rm h hs m d 
bent with age, he took th 1 ndl t k 

in hia right hand, and swept aside a curtain 
which concealed the shelves behind his chair. 
A narrow doorway was disclosed. 

" Will yon step this way, for a. few mo- 
ments, sir ?" he sdd, pointing to the doorway, 
as he held the light above his head, thus 
throwing the shadow of the green shade 
completely over his face. 

Gaspar Manuel without a word, rose and 
followed him. They entered a room or rather 
vault, resembling in the general features the 
one which they had lefL It was racked and 
shelved ; the floor was brick- and the shelves 
groaned under the weight of carefully ar- 
ranged papers. 

" This room or vault, without windows as 
you see, and rendered secure, beyond a 
doubt, from all danger of robbery or of fire, 
is one of seven," said Ezekiel. " In this room 
are kept all title deeds and papers, which 
relate to the Thousand aches in Pennsyl- 

"The Thousand acres in Pennsylvania !" 

I echoed Gaspar, "surely all those documents 

and papers, do not relate to that tract, which 

Van Huyden originally purchased for one 

thousand dollars ?" 

"Twenty-one years ago, they could have 
j been purchased for a thousand dollars," an- 
' ^ered Ezekiel; "twenty-one years, to a 
t: COnntiT Uk« (his, is the same as five hundred 



to Europe. Those lands could not now 
purchased for twenty millions." 

" Twenty millions !" 

" They comprise inexhaustible mines • 
coal and iron — the richest in the Btate," B 
swered Ezekiel quietly and drawing a ci 



tain, he 1 d th w y t 


th d It 


"Her h aid h Id 


th 1 ht bo 


his head th t t j 


t 11 f 11 po th 


pallid fac f Gaspir 


hi b wa« 


buried i h d w h 


t pt 11 p pera 


and title d d h h 


t t th laid n 



the V 



—1 d 



s d f 



fifty tho d d 11 r* t a t m wh Ohi 
WBS a th ly ttl d I d 11 th n 

further west a wildeme^ — but lands which 
now are distributed through five states, and 
which, dotted with villages, rich in mines 
and tenanted by thousands, return an annual 
rent of, " 

He paused. 

"Of I do not care to say how many dol- 
lars. Enough, perhaps, to buy a German 
prince or two. Tliis way, sir." 

Passing through a narrow doorway, they 
entered a third vault, arched and shelved 
like the other. 

"This place is devoted to the Van Huy- 
den mansion," said Ezekiel, pointing to the 
well-filled shelves. " It was worth $150,000 
twenty-one years ago, but now a flourishing 
town has sprung up in the center of its lands; 
m lis a 1 ma ufactor es a so in its valleys ; 
a populat of fi e tho isand souls exists, 
whe e t c t ne years ago there were not 
all told. And these five 
n" n ght and day, not so 
3 as to ncroasD the wealth 
. estate." 



t vo h ndred o I 
thousind a e lah n 
m oh fo tl am el e 
of tho Van Huyden 

" And all this is estimated at, — 

" We will not say," quietly responded 
Ezekiel. " Hero are the title-deeds of the 
town*, of the mansion, of manufactory and 
mill, nit belong to the estate ; not one of the 
five thousand souls owns one inch of ths 
ground on which they toil, or one shingle of 
the roof beneath which they sleep. 

Tijey entered the fourth vault. 

.•^is is dedicated to the 'Real Estate i& 
the city of New York,'" said Ezekiel — 
worth $1,521,000, twenty-one years ajgD, 
and now — well, well— New York twenty-: 



lOieab.GoOl^lc 



J 



FROM HIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



oOB yeara ago was the prcsumptious rival of 
Philadelphia. She ia dow the city of the 
Contiaent And this real estate is located in 
tha most thnving portions of the city — 
among tha haunts ot trade near the Battery, 
and in the region of 



"And you would not like to nama thi 
iMUftl revenue '" — a Bmile crossed the pali 
™^e of Caspar Manuel, 

Ezekiel led the way into the fifth vault. 

"Matters in regard to Banks and bank 
stock are kept here," he said, showing the 
bght of the candle npon the well laden 
ahehea — "Rather an uncertain kind of pro- 
perty The United States' Bank made a 
Bad onslaught upon these shelves. But let 
us go into the next room." 

And they went into the .jisth roi 

"This is our hank," said Ezekiel; "that 
ja to say, the Treasury of the Van Huyden 
estate, in -which, we keep our specie basts. 
Tou perceive the huge iron safe which occu- 
pies nearly one-half of the apartraent ? Dr. 
Martin Fulmer carries the Key of course, and 
with that Key he can perchance, at any mo- 
ment, command the destinies of the commer- 
cial world. A golden foundation ia a solid 
foundation, as the world goes." 

As though for the moment paralyzed, by 
the revelation of the immense wealth of the 
Tan Huyden estate, Caspar Manuel stood 
motionless as a statue, resting one arm upon 
the huge safe and at the same time resting 
hia forehead in his hand. 

"We will now pass into tie seventh apart- 
ment," said Ezekiel, and in a moment they 
stood in the last vault of the seven. "It is 
arched and shelved, you perceive, like the 
others ; and the shelves arc burdened with 
carefully-arranged papera " 

" Title-deeds, I presume, title-deeds and 
mortgages ?" interrupted Gaspar Manuel, 

" No," answered Ezekiel, suffering the raye 
of the candle lo fall upon the crowded 
shelves. " Those shelves contain briefs of the 
peiBonfd history of permamnt persons of this 
city, of many parts of the Union, I may say, 
of many parts of the globe. Sketches of the 
personal history of prominent persons, and of 
parBons utterly obscure ; records of remark- 
ride facts, in the history of paTticular fami- 
Bcaj brief but interetAiDg poitraibires of 



incidents, societies, governments and men; 
^ the contents of those shelves, sir, is know- 
' ledge, and knowledge that, In the grasp of a 
determined man, would be a fearful Power. 
For," he turned and fixed his gaae on Gaspar 
.Manuel; "for you stand in iha Secret Po- 
' lice Department of the Tan Huyden estate." 
These last words, pronounced with an em- 
phasis of deep significance, evidently aroused 
an intense curiosity in the breast of Gaspar 
Manuel. 

" Secret Police Department 1" he echoed, 
his dark eyes flashing with renewed luster. 
"Even so," dryly responded Ezekiel, "for 
the Van Huyden estate is not a secret society 
like the Jesuits, nor a corporation like 
Trinity Churcli, nor a government like the 
United States or Great Britain, but it is a 
Government based upon Money and controlled hy 
the Iron Will nf One Matt. A Government 
based, I repeat it, upon incredible wealth, 
and absolutely in the control (S'" one man, 
who for twenty-one years, has devoted hia 
whole soul to the administration of the sin- 
gular and awful Power intrusted to him. 
Such a Government needs a Secret Police, 
ramifying through all the arteries of the 
social world — and you now stand in the 
office of that wide-spread and almost ubiqui- 

"A secret society may be disturbed by 
internal dissensions," said Gaspar Manuel, as 
though thinking aloud ; " a government may 
bo crippled by party jealousies, but this Gov- 
emnment of the Van Huyden Estate, based 
upon money, is simply controlled by one 
man, who knows his mind, who sees his 
way clear, whose will is deepened by a con- 
viction — perhaps a fanaticism — as unrelent- 
ing as death itself. Ah ! the influence ot 
such a Government is fearful, nay horrible, 
[template !" 

is, it is indeed," said Ezekiel, in a low 
and mournful voice ; " and the responsibi- 
lity of Dr. Martin Fulmer, most solemn anU 
terrible." 

But what would become of this Qovera- 
menf, were Dr. Martin Fulmer to die before 
the 25th of December 1" asked Gaspar 
Manual. 

But Dr. Martin Fulmer will not die 
before the 25th of December," responded ~ 
Hzekiet, in a tone of singular emphasia, > 



fe>. 



edb.Google 



Jl 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT, 



"And .this 




his grasp on the 25th of December," con 


tinued 


GafljarM 


1 Wh w'U 1 


hm' 


I to h 1 


d w 11 t f 11— th 


dbl 


P 

i I 


t 11 b w d 


th 


2 tl ID 


mbe 1 ly esp d d E 


k 1 dm 


t Caspar h 


t d 


h t p th 


li th Its 


ap t- 


m t dr 


tly 1 dmtl first 


f th 


Its 


! Srsthhldl 


■n 



while Gaspar Manuel, resuming his cloak and 
sombrero, stood ready to depart. 

" No>¥ that I have given jou some reve- 
lation of the immenso resources of the Van 
Huyden Estate," said Ezekiel, as ho atten- 
tively surveyed that cloaked and motionless 
figure ; "you will, I presume, have no objec- 
tion to converse with me in regard to the 
lands on th«.Pacific, as freely and as fully, 
as though yoff stood face to face with Dr. 
Martin Fulmer?" 

" Pardon," said Caspar Manuel with a low 
brow, "the facts in my possession are forthe_ 
ear of Dr. Martin Fulmer, and for his ear 

" Very well, sir," replied Ezekiel, in a tone 
of impatience, " as you please. Call here to- 
morrow at — " he named the hour — "and 
you shall see Dr. Martin Pulmer." 

"I will he here at the hour," and bidding 
good-night ! to Ezekiel, Caspar bowed and 
movpd to the door. He paused for a mo- 
ment on the threshold 

" Pardon me, sir, hut I would like to ask 
you a single question." 
" Well, sir." 

"I am curious to know what has induced 
you, to disclose to me — almost au entire 
stranger — the secrets and resources of the 
Van Huyden Estate ?" 

"Sir," responded Ezekiel Bogart, in a 
voice which deep and stern, was imbued 
. with the consciousness of Power; "you will 
I excuse me from ^ving you a direct reply. 
: But you wonld not have crossed the thresh- 
old of any one of the seven apartments, had 
] I not been conscious, that it is utterly out of 
) your. power, to ahitae the knowledge which 
j yon have obtsuned," 

t. Again GaspariManuel bowed, and without 
|> ^ilrord, left the room, 



Ezekiel Bogart was al ne 

He folded his arms and bo ed h a head 
upon his hreaft. 8t ange and t a Ituous 
thoughts, stamped the deep 1 ne upon his 
massive brow. The d m!y 1 ^hted oom was 
silent as the grave, and the light lell faintly 
upon that singular figure, buried in the folds 
of the dark robe lined witli scarlet, the head 
covered with an unsightly skullcap, the eyes 
vailed hy a green shade, the chin and mouth . 
concealed by the cumbrous cravat, Lowet 
drooped the head of Ezekiel, but still the 
light fell upon his bared forehead, and 
showed the tumultuous thoughts that were 
working there. The very soul of Ezekiel, 
retired within itBelf and absent from all ex- 
ternal things, was buried in a maze of pro- 
found, of overwhelming thought. 

The aged servant entered with a noisclBaa 
step, "Here is a letter, sir," he said. But 
Ezekiel did not hear. " Sir, a letter from 
Philadelphia, hy a messenger who has just 
arrived." But Ezekiel, profoundly absorbed, 
was unconscious of his presence. 

The aged servant advanced, and placed 
the letter vi the table, directly before his 
absent-minded master. He touched tjzekiel 
respectfully on the shoulder and repeated in 
a louder voice — -"A letter, sir, an important 
letter from Philadelphia, hy a messenger 
who has just airivcd." 

Ezekiel started in his chair, like one 
suddenly awakened from a sound slumber. 
At a glance he read the suporsonption of 
the letter : " To EzeJdel Bogart, Esq.— Im- 
portant," 

" The handwriting of the Agent whom I 
yesterday sent to Philadelphia!" he cjacu- 
hit«d, and opened the letter. These were 
its contents : 

fhihidelphia, Dec. 23, 1844. 
Sift ; — I have just returned to the city, 
from the 'Asylum — returned in time to di»- 
*atch this letter by an especial messenger, 
who will go to Ne^iprk, in the five o'clock 
tram. At your reqtrest, and in accordance 
with your instructions, I visited the Asylum 
for the Insane, this morning, expecting to 
bring away with me the Patient whom yon 
named. He escaped some days ago — so the 
manager informed me. And since his escape 
no intelligence has been had of his move- 



66 



FfiOM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



W 



^ 



ments. I have not time to add more, 
deaire your instructions in the premises. 
Yours truly, H. H 

To EZEKIEL BOOART, Esd- 

No sooner had Ezekiel scanned the e 
tents of this epistie, than he was seized with 
powerful B^tation, 

" Escaped ! The child of Gulian escaped!" 
. he cried, and started from the chair — " to- 
morrow he wa9 to be here, in this house, in 
readiness for the Day. Escaped ! Why did 
not the manager at once send me word ? 
Ah, woe, woe !" He turned to the aged 
serTiint, and continued, "Bring the pi 
who hrought this letter, to me, at i 
quick ! Not an instant ia to be lost." 

And as the aged servant left the r 
Ezekiel sank back in his chair, like one 
is overpowered by a sudden and unexpected 
calamity. 



CHAPTEB V. 



Pausing on the sidewalk in front of the 
Aslor, he engaged a hackney-coach — 

"Do you know whore, , resides?" 

he asked of the driver ; a huge individual, 
in a white overcoat, and oil-akin hat. 

" Sure and I does jiat that," was the an- 
swer. " It's meaalf that knows the residence 
of his Biv'rence afl well as the nose on my 

"Drive me there, at once," said Caspar 
Manuel. 

And presently the earmge was rolling up 
Broadway, bearing Gaapar Manuel to the 
residence ot a prominent dij,nitary of the 
Roman Catholic Churih 

As the little 'hek on the mantle struck 

the hour of elcv n the Prelate as s tt ng n 

an eaay cha r nfutofal ^ht ood fire 

It was in a pac ous ap^rtm nt connected 

with his 1 brary by a narro v doi r Two 

tall wai candies pH ed upon the table by 

his side, shed the r 1 „ht over the softly ar 

peted floor the neitly papered walla and 

■er the person of the Prelate ho as seated 

his ease, n the center of the scene 

The Prelate was a man of some forty-five 

years, with boldly marked features, and sharp 

fiery eyes, indicating an incessantly active 

mind. The light fell mildly on his tonsured 

encircled by brown hair, streaked with 

gray, and his bold forehead and compressed 

lip. His form broad in the shoulders, mus- 

the chest, and slightly inclined to 

corpulence, was clad in a long robe of dark 

purple, reaching from his throat to his feet. 

There was a cross on his tight breast and a 

diamond ring on the little finger of his left- 

ThuB alone, in his most private room — the 
labors of the day accomplished and the world 
shut out — the Prelate was absorbed in 
ma^es of a delightful reverie. 

Jle filed his eyes upon a picture which 

hung over the mantle, on the left. It Wi 

portrait of Cardinal Dubois, who in the days 

the ^rk of the Regency, trailed his Red Hat in 

gold . mire of nameless debaucheries. 



THE LB&ATE or THE FOPB. 

As Gaspac Manuel left the house of Eze- 
kiel Bogart, he wrapped his cloak closely 
about his form, and drew his sombrero low 
upon his face. His head drooped upon his 
breast as he hurried along, with a quick and 
impetuous step. Soon he was in Broadway 
again, amid its glare and uproar, but he did 
not raise his head, nor turn his gaze to the 
right or left. Head drooped upon his breast 
and arms gathered tightly over his chest, he 
threaded his way through the mazes of the 
Crowd, as alsent from the scene around him, 
as a man walking in his sleep. 

Arrived at the Astor House, he hurried to 
his room and changed his dress. Divesting 
hiinself of his fashionable attire — black dress- 
coat, scarf, white-vest — he clad himself in a 
■iogle -breasted fronk-coat, button^ to the 
. throat and reaching below the knee*. Above 
it> strughl collar, a glimpse of his whit^ 
eravat was perceptibl4feA.nd o 
ioifaee of his coat, w«s wound i 

thiiii, to which was fended, a Golden Ssalj "Fool!" muttered the Prelate, "ho had 
and a Golden Cross. Over this costume, not even sense t« hide hia vices, under jlh^ 
which in its severe simplicity, displayed his thinnefet vail of decency." 
slender fraaia to great advantage, ha threw He turned his eyes to k IK^' wU(4i 
his cloak, aqd once more huiried from the hung over the mantlevn th^ji^bt. "Tti 
HoUL was a tatai \" he mutterei'sni » imiU il 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MfDNIGHT. 



67 



over his face. The portrait was that of 
Ordinal Richelieu who butchered the Hu- 
guenots in France, while he was supplying 
armies to aid the Protestanta of Q-ermany. 
Richelieu, one of those Politicians who seem 
to regard the Chiirch simply aa a machine 
for the ad van cement of their personal ambi- 
tion, — the cross as a glittering bauble, only 
designed to dazzle the eyes of the masaes, — 
the seamless Cloak of the Kodeemer, as a 
cloak intended to cover outr^es the most 
atrocious, which are done in the name of 
God. 

" He was e, man !" repeated the Prolate. 
"He moulded the men and events of his 

time, and, " he stopped. He smiled. 

"Why cannot I mould to my own purposes, 
h m d mj sing the 

Ch as at Some 



saying the Legate — in obedience to 
gesture from the Prelate — flung 
aside his hat and cloak, and took a seat by 
the table. 

The Legate was none other than our friend 
Gaspar Manuel. 

They were in si 
and the Prelate. 



Ik 






1 


m d h gize from 


D bo tn C 


d ! R h lieu, the 


I h fi d h p n a mar- 


h h to d 


h r of the 


A d h Ip 


m d d his eyes 


d h n h 


h d d slowly 


bf h f 


h h he saw 


f dra 
i 


1 by a pro- 


1 b 


h h 1 e gazed. 


b f 


h f ra ho very 


!k 1 f h d 


be Pope : and 


e strongest, ste 


rnest Popes that ever 



h b 



leld the scepter of the Vatican. 

"It can be won," ejaculated the Prelate, 
and the means lie here," he placed his 
And upon a Map which lay on the table. 
t was a map of the American Continent. 

" I came up stairs without ceremony," said 
calm oven voice ; " your Grace's servant in- 
jrmed me, that yon expected me." 

" I am heartily glad to see you, my Lonl," 
dd the Prelate, turning abruptly and eon- 
onting his visitor; "it is now two years 
nee I met your Lordship in Rome. It was, 
OM remember, just before you departed to 
[exico, as the Legale of His Holinesa. How 
IS it been with you since I saw you last ?" 

"I have encountered many adventures," 
nvawd "His Lordship," the Legate, "and 
, me tpixa iotereatitig than those connected 
i itiMt&sV'MiaiM'f IUq I'U^ and its lands — " 



» •■ 



:|*" 



igular contrast, the Legate 
The muscular form and 
hard practical face of the Prelate, was cer- 
tainly, in strong contrast with the slender 
frame, and pale — almost corpse-llke-face of 
the Legate, with its waving hwr and beard 
! of inky blackness. Conscious that their con* 
I vorsation might one day have its issue, in 
! events or in disclosures of vital importance, 
I they for a few moments surveyed each other 
in silence. When the Prelate spoke, there 
was an air of deference in his manner, which 
showed that he addressed one far superior to 
himself in position, in rank and power. 

We will omit the Lordship and Graces 
with which these gentlemen, interlarded their 
conversation. Lordships and Graces and 
, Eminences, are matters with which we slm- 
. pie folks of the American Union, are but 
: poorly acqumnted. 

; "You arc last from Havana?' asked the 
Prelate. 

"Yes," answered the Legato: "and a 
month ago I was in the city of Mexico ; two 
months since in California, at the mission of 
San Luis." 

"And the Fathers are likely to regain 
possession of the deserted mission ? Yon 
intimated so much in the letter which you 
were kind enough to write mo from Havana." 

" They are likely to regain potsession," 
said the Legate. 

"But the mission will be worth notbiBC' 
without the thousand acres of Wren land," 
continued the Prelate t " Will the barren 
land go with the mission ?" 

"In regard to that point I will ioforin you 
fully before we part. For the present let me 
remind you, that it was an important part of 
my missioD, to the New World, to ascertain 
the* prospects of the Church in that section, 
of the Continent, knowffta the United BtaAm, 
Allow me to solicit from you, a brief ex p(W|t'. 
tion of the condition and proepoots of OUI 
Church in this part of the globe." 

The Prelate laid his baud upon the Ame- 
rican Continent: 



byGoogIc 



PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



"The north, that is the EepubUc of the 
United States, will iinally absorb and rule 
OTec all the nfttions of the Conlineiit. By 
war, by peace, in one way or another the 
thing is certain — " 

He paused : the Legate made a gestu 
assent. 

"It is our true policy, then, to absorb and 
rule over the Republic ot the North. To 
make our Church the secret spring of 
Government ; to gradually and without ■ 
citing suspicion, mould erery one of its 
institutions to our own purposes ; to control 
the education of its people, and bend 
elective franchise to our wi!i. Is not 
our object ?" 

Again the Legate signified assent. 

"And this must he done, by making New 
York the center of our system. New York 
ia in reality, the metropolis of the Continent; 
from New York as from a common center, 
ttierefore all our efforts must radiate. From 
New York we will control the Republic, 
shape it year by year to our purposes ; as it 
adds nation after nation to its Union, wo will 
make our grasp of its secret springs of action, 
the more certain and secure ; and at last the 
hour will com h th C t t appa- 
rently on ted rep bl will fact, be 
the riche t It th t eat b d g-place, 
the most 1 bl p p ty f th Church. 



, the 1 



1! 



th 



aeaffoldin f It p bl m 11 f 11 and as 
it fells, o ChiK h w 11 ta d led, her 

foandatio th heart f th American 

Republic h h d po ry hill and 

valley of th C t t P y know," 
and his ey flash d tl t b t 1 against 
What is call d D m IP gress, is 

to ba fou ht t th Old W Id where 
everything la i b t the New 

World, wh th d m bl h sies do 
most abou d. 

"True,' mtarrupted the Legate, thought- 
fully; "the New World is the battle-field of 
opinions. Hera the fight must take place." 

" You ask how mr work is to be^n 7 
Here in New York we wilt commence it 
Hundreds of thousands of foreigners of* our 
faith arrive in this dty every year. Be it 
our task to plant an eternal barrier between 
fhwe men, and those who ai« American 
dtiseni "bj lurth. To prevent them from 



mingling with the American People, from 
learning the traditions of American history, 
which give the dogma of Democracy ita 
strongest hold upon the heart, to isolate them, 
in the midst of the American nation. In a 
word, the first step of our work is, to array 
at the zealous Foreign party, an opposition to 
an envenomed Native Amtriain party." 

" This you have commenced already," 
said the Legate, — "it was in Mexico, that I 
heard of Philadelphia last summer — of Phil- 
adelphia on the verge of civil war with Pro- 
testants and Catholics flooding the gutters 
with their blood, while the flames of burning 
churches lit up the midnight sky." 

The outbreak was rather premature," 
calmly continued the Prelate, "but it has 
done us good. It has invested us with the 
light of raartyrdom.^lhe glory of persecution. 
It has drawn to us the sympathies of tens 
of thousands of Protestants, who, honestly 
disliking the assaults of the mere 'No- Po- 
pery ' lecturers upon our church, as honestly 
entertain the amusing notion, that the Rulers 

r church, look upon ' Toleration, Liberty 
of Conscience,' and so forth, with any feeling, 
but profound contempt." 

Ah 1" ejaculated the Legate, and a smile 
crossed hia face, "deriving strength from the 
illimitable bitterness of the Native American 
and Foreign political parties, we already 
hold in many portions of the Union, thi 
ballot bos in our grasp. We can dictate 

I to both political parties. Their leader: 
court us. Editors who know tliat we rootec 
Protestantism out of Spain, by the red hint 
of the Inquisition, — that for our faith wi 
,ade the Netherlands rich in gibbets ani 
graves, — that we gave the word, which start 
ed from its scabbard the dagger of St. Bar 
tbolomew, — grave editors, who know all thi 

nore, talk of us as the friends of Libert; 
and Toleration — " 

But there was Calvert, the founder o 

Maryland, and Carroll the signer of the De 

ration of Independence, these were Catho 

., were they not. Catholics and friends o : 

Liberty ?" 

" They were laymm, not ruUrs, you wi ' 
remember," said the Prelate, significantly 
at best they belonged to a sort of Catholic 
which, in the Old World, wb hava dme oi , 

to root out of Uie chuitch. Bst ]«r ' 



b,cSi'ogi! 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



howevor, wo can me their names and their 
incmq,rio3, as a cloak for our purposes of ulti- 
mate dominion. But to resume : both poli- 
tical parties court us. Their leaders, who 
loathe ua, are forced to kneel to ns. Thi 
we can do freely and without blame, which 
damn any Protestant sect but to utter. The 
Tery 'No- Popery' lecturers aid us: they 
attack doctrinal points in our chnrch, which 
are no more assailable than the doctrinal 
points of any one of their ten thousand sects: 
they would be dangerous, indeed, were they 
to confine their assaults to the simple fact, 
that ours is not so much a church as an EM- 
PIRE, having for its object, the temporal 
dominion of the whole human race, to bo 
accomplished under the vail of spiritualism. 
An EMPIRE built upon the very sepulcher 
of Jesus Christ, — an empire which holds 
Religion, the Cross, the Bible, as valuable 
Just so far as they aid its efforts for the tem- 
poral subjection of the world, — an empire 
which, using all means and holding all means 
alike law'ful, for the spread of its dominion, 
has chosen the American Continent as the 
scene of its loftiest triumph, the theater of its 
final and most glorious victories !" 

As he spoke the Atheist Prelate started 
from his chair. 

Far different from those loving Apostles, 
who through long ages, have in the Catholic 
Church, repeated in their deeds, the fullness 
of Love, which filled the breast of the Apos- 
tle John, — far different from the Fenelons 
and Pasclials of the church, — this Prelate 
was a cold-blooded and practical Atheist. 
Love of women, love of wine, swayed him 
not. Lust of power was his spring of action 
— his soul. He may have at times, assented 
to Religion, but that he believed in it as an 
awful verity, as a Truth worth all the phy- 
sical power and physical enjoyment in the 
universe, — the Prelate never had a. thought 
like this. An ambitious atheist, a Borgia 
without his lust, a Richelieu with all 
of Richelieu's cunning, and not half of 
Bichelleu's intellect, a cold-blooded, practical 
schemer for his own elevation at any cost, — 
such was the Prelate. Talk to him of Christ 
as a consoler, as a link between crippled 
humanity and a better world, as of a friend 
who meets you on the dark highway of life, 
toi takea you from steet and cold, iiito the 



light of a dear, holy home, — talk to him of 
the love which imbues and makes alive 
every word from the lips of Christ, — ha I ha ! 
Your atheistical Prelate would laugh at the 
thought. He was a worldling. Risen from 
the very depths of poverty, he despised the 
poor from whom he sprung. For years a 
loud and even brawling advocate of justice 
for Ireland, — an ecclesiastical stump orator ; 
a gatlierer of the pennies earned by the hard 
hand of Irish labor, — ho was the man to 
blaspheme her cause and villify its honest 
advocates, when her dawn of Revolution 
darkened into night again. He was the 
pugilist of the Pulpit, the gladiator of con- 
troversy, always itching for a fight, never so 
happy as when he set honest men to clutch- 
ing each other by the throat Secure in his 
worldly possessions, rich from the princely 
revenues derived from the poor — the hard 
working poor of his church,— ra tyrant to the 
palish priests who were so unfortunate as to 
be subjected to his sway, by turns the Dema- 
gogue of Irish freedom and the Moudiard of 
Austrian despotism, he was a, vain, had, cun- 
ning, but practical man, this Atheist Prelate 
of the Roman Church. 

"Now, what think you of our plans and 
our prospects ?" said the Prelate, trium- 
phantly — " can we not, using New York aa 
the center of our operations, the Ballot Box, 
social dissension and sectarian warfare as the 
means, can we not, mould the New World 
to our views, and make it Rome, Rome, in 
every inch of its soil ?" 

The Legato responded quietly: 

"I see but one obstacle — " 

" Only one ; that is well — " 

"And that obstacle is not so much tha 
memory of the American Past, which some 
of these foolish Americans still consider holy 
— not so much the memory of Penn the 
Quaker; Calvert the Catholic, who planted 
their silly dogma of Brotherly love on thfl 
Delaware and SL Mary's, in the early dawn 
of this country, — not so much the Declara- 
tion of Independenpe, nor the blood-marks 
which wrote ita principles, on the soil from 
BunKer Hili to Savannah, from Brondyttine 
to Yorktown, — not so much the history of 
the sixty-eight yeais, which in the American 
Republic, have shown a growth, tm enterpriae, 
a development Derw whawsad on Qodt 



byGoogIc 



TO 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



earth before, — oot so much all this, aa the 
single obstacle which I now lay on the table 
before you." 

And from the breast of his coat ha drew 
forth a small, thin volume, which he laid 
upon the table : 

"This!" cried the Prelate, as though a 
bomb-shell had burst beneath his chair ; 
"This! Why this is the four Oospels ac- 
cording to Matthew, Marit, Lulte aud John !" 

"Precisely. And Matthew, Mart, Luke 
and John, those simple fellows are the very 
ones whom we have moat to fear." 

" But I have driven this boot from the 
Common Schools !" cried the Prelate, rather 

"Have yoQ driven it from the home?" 
quietly asked the Legate. 

The Prelate absently toyed with hia cross, 
Mt'iJid not answe;-. 

" Call you drive it from the home f" asked 
the Legate. 

The Prelate gazed at the portrait of Car- 
dinal Dubois, and then at Itichelieu'a, hut did 
not reply. 

" Do you cot see the difHoulty?" continued 
the Legato, "so long as Matthew, Mark, 
Luke and John, sit down by the firesides of 
the people, making themselves a part and 
parcel of the dearest memories of every 
household, — so long we may chop logic, 
weave plots, traffic in casuistry, but in vain ! 

"True, that boolt is capable of much mis 
chief," said the Prelate ; " it has caused mor 
revolutions than you could count in a year. 

"In Spdn, where this hook is scarcely 
known, in Italy, where to read it is impri- 
sonment and chains, we can get along well 
enough, but here, in the United States, where 
this book is a fireside book in every home, 
the first book that the child looks into, and 
t]ie last that the dying old man listens to, as 
his ear is growing deaf with death, — here 
what shall we do ? You know that it is a 
Democratic book 1" 
"Yes." 

"That it is so simple in its enunciations 
of brotherly love, equality, and the love of 
God for all mankind, m simple and yet so 
strong, thtt it has required eighteen centuries 
of tcholuUc caii^try and whole tona of 
'mlumea, deTOttd to theological apocial plead- 
ing, to darkOB tti simple meaning T" 



" Yes, yes." 

"That m its p. rtraitures of Ciinsf, there 
is somethmg that stirs the hearts of the 
humblest, and sets them on fire with the 
thought, 'I tou, am not a beast, but a 
child of God, destined tn haie a home 
here and an immortalitj hereafter ' That 
ifa profound contempt of nchea and of 
mere worldly power, — its injunctions to the 
rich, ' eell all thou hast and give to the poor ;' 
its pictures of Christ, coming from the work- 
man's bench, and speaking, acting, doing and 
dying, BO that the masses might no longer be 
the sport of priest or king, but the recreated 
men and women of a recreated social world ; 
that in all this, it has caused more revolu- 
tions, given rise to more insurrections, level- 
ed more deadly blows at absolute authority, 
than alt other books that have been written 
since the world began ?" 

"Yes — y-e-B — y-e-s," said the Prelate. 
" True, true, a mischievous book. But how 
would you remedy the evil ?" 

"That's the question," said the Legate, 

After a long pause they began to talk con- 
cerning the mission of San Luis in California 
— its fertile hills and valleys, rich in the 
olive, fig, grape, orange and pomegranate, — 
and of the thousand acres of barren land, 
claimed alike by the Jesuits and Dr. Martin 
Fulmer. 

" The claim of the Fathers, to the mission- 
house u]d lands of San Luis, is established 
then ?" said, the Prelate. 

"It has been acknowledged by the Mexi- 
can Government," was the reply of the 
Legate. 

And the claim to the thousand barren 

It rests in my hands," replied the Le- 
gate : " by a train of circumstences altogether 
natural, although to some they may appear 
singular, it is in my power to decide, whether 
these thousand barren acres shall belong to 
Church or to Dr. Martin Fulmer." 
And it is not difficult to see which waj 
your Terdict will fall ;" the Prelate's eyes 
parkled and a smile lit up hia haish ktr 

"These acres are barren, barren so far ai 
the fig, the orange, tiie vine, the pome- ; '' 
gran^ ue c«uceru»d, barren aven f)t ^\\ 



Huid. ... 



,/Googlc 



FBOM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNiaHT. 



n 



tiightest portion of shrubbery or verdure, but 

" Rich, in gold !" ejaculated the Prelate, 
folding his anlis and Gsing hia eyes musingly 
upon tlie (ire, — "gold sufficient to pave my 
way from lliis chair to the Papal throne ;" 
be muttered to himself. " In Rome," he 
said aloud, "I had ac opportunity 
mine the records of the various 
established by our Church in California 
they all contain traditions of iucredibte 
of gold, hidden rnder the rockaand sands of 
California, Does your experience confirm 
those traditions T" 

"l have traversed that land from the Sii 
ra Nevada to the Pacific, and from North 
South," replied the Legate, and it is n 
opinion, based on fact^ that California 
destined to exercise an influence upon the 
course of civilization and the fate of 
such as has not been felt for a thousand 

He pauseil, as if collecting 
one focua, a panorama of the varied scenery, 
climate, productions, of the region between 
the snows of the Sierra Nevada and the 
Pacific Then, while his pale face flushed 
with excitement, and his bright eyes grew 
even yet more vivid in their luster, he con- 
tinued : 

" The bowels of the land are rich in gold," 
he said, in that low-toned but musical voice. 
"It is woven in the seams of her roclta. It 
impregnates her soil. It gleama in the sand 
of her rivers. Gold, gold, gold, — such as 
Banker never counted, nor the fancy of a 
Poet) ever dreamed of. Deep in her caverns 
the ore is shining ; upon her mountain sides 
it fiinga back the rays of the sun ; her forest 
trees are rooted in gold. Could you fathom 
her secrets, you would behold gold enough 
to set the world mad. Men would leave 
their homes, and all that makes life deiu-, 
and journey over land and sea, by hundreds 
of thousaoAa, in pilgrimage to this golden 
land. The ships of the crusaders woujd 
whilen every sea, their earavins would belt 
every desert. The whole world, stirred into 
avaricious last, would gravitate to this rock 
of gold. 



"The 



HuperstiWon of Gold ?" schoed the 

Prelate. 

" Yes, superstition of gold. For that wide- 
spread opinion in regard to the value of g|old, 
of the most incredible euperetitioiu 
that ever damned the soul of man. It ob- 
t^ns in all ages and on every shore. In the 
days of the Patriarchs, and in the days of the 
Bankers, — among the sleekly-attired people 
of civilized races, and among savage hordes, 
naked as the boasts, — everywhere and in all 
ages, this Bupeistition has obtained, and 
crushed mankind, not with an iron, but 
with a golden rod. (There are Kiceptions, 
I grant, as in the caae of the North American 
Indiana, and other aavagc tribes, but it can- 
not he denied, that thia eupcrstition which 
fixes a certain value on gold, has oversjaead 
rth, in all ages, as universal as the veiy 
What religion has ruled so abtolitfely 
:igned so long, as this deep-implanted 
golden superKtitioD, — this Catholic religion 
of the yellow ore ?' 

Bntgold ia valuable in itself," interrapt- 
ed the Prelate — " it is something more tlian 
the representative of labor; in a thousand 
reapecta it surpasses all other metals. It if 
article of merchandise, a part of com- 
rce ; even were it not money, it would 
always bring more money than any other 

This is often said, and is plausible. Ad- 
mit all you assert, and the question occuis, 
Wht/ should it be sot' When you aay that 
gold is the most precious of all metala, an 
article of value in Utdf, as well as the repre- 
of labor, you assert a fact, but you 
^plain that fact. Far, far from it. 
But why should it be so ? What use has It 
been to man, that it should receive thia high 
distinction ? Iron, lead, coppef— all of thede 
million fold more useful thao gold — 
Nck— reflect a little white. Bend all your 
thought to the sulject. Track the yellow 
through all ages, and at last, yoa muit 
e to the conclusion, that the value placed 
upon goid is a superstition, as vast a> it il 
wicked, — a superstition which has crashed * 
more hearts and damned more souls, than all 
the (so called) Rtligioas superstition* tbst 
Turning t« the Prelate, ho a^d abruptly : smear the page of history with blood. Th«t 
"Did you ever attempt to unnvel the such a aupeitlition eiisti, would alone eoM 
npentition of Sold f" ' vines dm <^ th« aziiteAca of on •■bodiad 



./Google 



72 



PROM HIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



( DeTJI, who, perpatuallj at ww with God, 

does with a direct interference, derange his 
;. laws, and crush tha hopes of his children." 

~ For n moment, he shaded his eyes with 

bis hand, while the Prelate gazed upon him, 
with something of Burprise in his look. 
"Can you eatimate the evils which have 
. flowed from this superstition ? No, The 
reason falters, the imagination shudders : at 
the Tei7 thought you are bewildered, — 
dumb. But think of it as you will, — entan- 
gle youiBelf among the sophistrieg which 
attempt to expliuu, hut in reality only dark- 
en it, — view it as a political economiEt, a 
banker, a merchant, or a worker in precious 
, metals, — and you only plunge the deeper 

into the abyss of doubt and bewilderment. 
Tot caqnot explain this superstition, unless 
you mount higher, and grasp that great law 
of ^od, which says, forever, ' Ji is wicked for 
OttB MAS to dothe himself with luxury, at the 
ofpenae of the sweat and blood of anotfi^r kah, 
who is his Brother.' Grasp this truth firmly; 
wtderstand it in all its bearings, — and -you 
ctiscem the source of the Golden superstition ; 
for it had its source, in that depraved idle- 
ness which seeks luxury at the expense of 
human suffering, — which coins enjoyment for 
ft few men, on the immeasurable wretched- 
ness of entire races of mankind. The fttst 
man who sought to rob his Brother of the 
fruits of his labor, and of his place on the 
earth, was doubtless the Inventor of the 
golden superstition ; for turn and twist it as 
you will, gold ia only valuable because it 
represents labor. All its value springs from 
that cause. It represents labor already done, 
and it rcpresenU labor that is to be done, and 
therefore, — therefore only, — is it valuable. 
And it is th^ moat conveoient engine by which 
the idlers of the World can enslave the 
laboiera — therefore it has always retained its 
T^ne. Backed by the delusion which fixes 
«pon it a certain value, and makes it more 
^gxeAoas than the blood of hearts, or the sal- 
Tation of the entire human race, gold will 
ODDtiniie to be the great engine for the de- 
* ItRUtion of that race — for its moral and 
phyiical damnation — just as long as the few 
continue to live upon the wretchedness of 
tlw many. Once destroy this suporatition, — 
. taJn away from gold its certun value — make 
^ - that nlna Tague, uncwtatn, and subject U» 



as many changes as a bank note, — and you 
will have wrested the lash from the hand of 
the oppressor all over the world." 

These words made a deep impression upon 
the Prelate, an impression which he dared 
not trust himself to frame in words. Sup- 
pressing an exclamation that started to his 
lips, he asked in a calm conversational tone — 

"Will the discovery of the golden land 
have this effect ?" 

It was in a saddened tone, and with a 
downcast eye, that the Legate replied : 

"Ah, that is, indeed, a fearful question, 
A question that may ivell make on* shudder. 
One of two things must happen. From the 
rocks and sands of the golden land, the 
oppressors of the world will derive new 
moans of oppression, or from those rocks and 
sands, will come the instrument, which ia to 
lift up the masses and shake the oppressors 
to the dust. What shall bo the result ? 
Shall new and more damning chains, for 
human hearts, be forged upon the gold of 
these sands and rocks ? Or, tottering among 
these rocks and sands, shall poor humanity 
at last discover the instrument of her re- 
demption ? God alone can tell." 

The Prelate was silent. Folding his hands 
he surveyed the pallid visage of the Legate, 
with a look hard to define. 

"The first wind that blows intelligence 
from this land of gold, will convulse the 
world. A few years hence, and these sands, 
now sparkling with ore, will be white with 
human skeletons. Thousands and hundreds 
of thousands will rush to seek the glittering 
ore, and find a grave, in the mud by the 
rivers' banks ; hundreds of thousands will lie 
unburied in the depths of trackless deserts, 
or in the darkness of trackless ravines ; the 
dog and the wolf will feed well upon human 

Suppressing the emotion aroused, by a por- 
tion of the Legate's remarks, the Prelate 
asked : 

"And the thousand barren acres contain 
incredible stores of gold 1" 

" Gold sufficient to affect the destiny of 
ono-half the globe," replied the Legate : 
" gold, that employed in a good cause, wovld 
bless and elevate millions of the oppresaed, 
or devoted to purposes of evil, might owM 
the dearest rights of half the human nat^^ 



wGooi^lc 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



73 



"And it m i» your power to establish thel 
right of our Church to these lands ?" 

" It is. A word from me, aud the thing 

"Pardon me," said the Prelate, slowly, 
and measuring every word, — "som 
of your remarks escite my curiosity. You 
apeak of the oppressed, and of the oppressors. 
Now, — now, — from any lips but yours, theso 
words, and the manner in which you 
them, would sound like the dootriuea of the 
French Socialisia, What do you precisely 
mean by ' oppressed,' — and who, in your 
estimatloi], are the ' oppreasca's ?'" 

The legate rose from his seat, and fixed 
his eyes upon the Prelate's face ; 

" There are many kinds of oppressors, hut 
the roost infamous, are those who use th« 
Church of God, as the engine of their atro- 

This remark fell like a thunderbolt. 

The Prelate slowly rose from his ch^r, 
his face flushed and his chest heaving. 

" Sir !" he cried in a voice of thunder. 

" Nay — you need not raise your voice, — 
much less confront me with that frowning 
brow. You know me and know the position 
which I hold. You know that I am above 
your reach, — that, perchance, a word from 
me, uttered in the proper place, might stop 
your career, even at the threshold, I knc 
you, and know that you belong to the party, 
which, for ages, has made our church the in- 
strument of the most infernal wrongs — " 

" Sir !" again ejaculated the Prelate. 

"A party, whose noblest monument is 
made of the skeletons, the racks and thumb- 
screws of the Inquisition, and whose history 
can only be clearly read, save by the torch- 
light of St. Bartholomew — " 

" This from you, sir, — " 

"A party whose avowed atheism pro- 
duced the French Bevolution, and whose 
cloaked atheism ia even now sowing the 
Beeda of social hell-fire, in this country and 
in Europe — " 

" Hear me, sir, for I am only here to read 
you a plain lesson. Yon, and men like you, 
may possibly convert the Church once more 
into the instrument of ferocious absolutism 
tnd the engine of colossal muider, but re- 



Ue flung his coat around him, and stood 
erect, his face even more deathly pale than 
U£ual, his eyes shining with clear and intense 
light. There was a grandeur in his attitude 
and look. 

" Remember, even in the moments of your 
bloodiest triumphs, that even within the 
Church of Rome, swayed by such as you, 
there is another Church of Rome, composed 
of men, who, when the hour strikes, will 
saoriflce everything to the cause of humanity 
and God." 

These words were pronounced slowly and 
deliberately, with an emphasis which drove 
the color from the Prelate's cheek. 

" Think of it, within Rome, a higher, 
mightier Rome, — within the order of Jesuits, 
a higher and mightier order of Jesuits — and 
whenever you, and such as you, turn, you will 
lie met by men, who have sworn to use the 
Church, as the instrument of human progress, 
drive fonvard the n 



He moved to the door, but lingered for a 
moment on the threshold ; , 

[t is a great way," he said, "from tha 
turnpike to the Vatican," 

This he said, and disappeared. (The Pre- 
late had risen from the position of breaker of 
! on the public road, only to use all hi* 
eflbrts to crush and damn the masses from 
whom ha sprung.) 

And the Prelate was now left alone, to 
pick up the thunderbolt which had fallen 
at his feet. 
Half an hour a^r this scene, the Legate 
ce more ascended the steps of the Astor 
Duse, his cloak wound tightly about his 
slender form, his face, — and perchance the 
ions written there, — cast into shadow 
by his broad sombrero. He was crossing the 
hall, flaring with gas-lights, when he was 
aroused from his reverie by these words, — 
"My lord, — " 

Tiie speaker was a man of some fbrty- 

'0 years, with a hard, unmeaning face, and' 

vague gray eyes. His ungainly form, — for 

as round-shouldered, knock-kneed «nd' 

clumsily footed, — was clad in black, varied 

ily by a strip of dirty white about his buU- 

te neck. As he stood obsequiously, hat in- 

ind, his bald crovm, scanUly encircled hf0 

few bails of no particular color, was Tsvealjil^ - 



Google ' 



7« 



PEOM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



and also his low, broad forebsAd. He looked 
Tery much like ao ecclesiastic, whom habits 
of passive obediencs bare' concerted into a 
homan foMil. 

" My lord, — " 

"Pshaw, Michael, none of that 
here. Have ybu obeyed the direoti. .. 
which I gave you before I left the steamer 
to-night ? " 

"I have, my — " 'lord,' he was about to 
ifty, but he substituted ' your eicellence ! ' — 
" Your country seat, near the city, is in good 
order. Bveryfliing has been prepared in an- 
ticipation of your arrival. I have just re- 
turned from it, — Maryvale, I think you call 
it?" 

"Maryvale," replied the Legate, "Did 
you tell Felix to have my carriage ready for 
me, after midnight, at the place and the 
hour which I named ?" 

"Yes, my lord," — and Michael bowed 
low. 

"No more of that nonsense, I repeat it. — 
This is not the country for it. How did you 
dispose of Cain ? " 

"I left Cain at the country seat." 

" It is well," said the Legate, and having 
apoken further wordR to Michael, in a lower 
tone, he dismissed him, and went silently to 
^ chamber. 

And Cain of whom they spoke. We 
Bhall see Cain afi«r a whiie. 



CHAPTER TL 

At the hour of eJeven o'clock, on the 

night of December 23d, 1844, . A 

gentleman of immense wealth, who occupied 
hii owi mansion, in the upper part of New 
York, came from Ms library, and descended 
the broad staircase, which led to the first 
floor of his mansion. His slight frame was 
wrapped in a traveling cloak and a gay trav- 
eline cap shaded his features. He held a 
oarpet-bag in his hand. Arrived on the first 
floor, he entered a magnificent range of 
qpartmenls communicating with each other 
' t^ &lding-doon, and llgh'ted by an elegant 
fthuiclBlier. Around him, wherever he turn- 
ad, was everything in the form of luxury, 
^it i3m eye could desire or the power of 
Wf^tb procure. Thick carpets, massive mir- 



rors, lofty ceiling, walls broken hero and 
there with a niche in which a marble statue 
was ply:edi — these and other signs of 
wealth, met his gaze at every step. 

He was a young man of fine personal ap- 
pearance, and refined tastes. Without a 
profession, he employed his immense wealth 
in ministering to his taste for the arts. The 
only son of a man of fortune, educated to 
the habit of spending money without earn- 
ing it, he had married about two years 
before, an exceedingly beautiful woman, the 
only daughter of a wealthy and aristocratic 
family. 

And far back in a nook of this imposirg 
suite of apartments, where the light of the 
chandelier is softened by the shadow! of' 
statue and marble pillar, sits this wife, a 
' woman in the prime of early womanhood. — 
'Her shape, ac the same time tall, rounded, 
and commanding, is enveloped in a loose 
wrapper, which seems rather to f oat about 
her form, than to gird it closely. Her face is 
bathed in tears. As her husband approaches 
she rises and confronts him with a Monde 
countenance, fair blue eyes and golden hair. 
That face, beaming with young loveliness, is ■ 
shadowed with grief. 

" Must you go, indeed, my husband ? " — 
and clad in that fiowing robe, she rests her 
hands ugxin his shoulder, and looks tearfully 
into his face. 

His cloak falls and discloses his slight and 
graceful form. He removes his traveling 
cap, and his wife may freely gaio upon that 
dark-complexioned face, whose regular fea- 
tures,- remind you of an Apollo cast in 
bronze. His dark eyes flash with clear light 
as she raises one hand, and places it upon his 
forehead, and twines her fingers among the 
curls of his jet-black hair. 

Take it all in all, it is an interesting pic- 
ture, centered in that splendid room, where 
everything breathes luxury and wealth — 
the slender form of the young husband clad 
in black, contrasted with the imposing figure 
of the young wife, enveloped in drapery of 
flowing white. 

"I mast go, wife. Kiss me." — She bent 
back his head and gazing upon him long 
and earnestly, suffered her lips to join hiv-* 
" I'll be back before Christmas." 

"You ate eitre that you must go?" *)#,,.. 



,/Googlc 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



75 



exclaimed, toeing with the curls of his dark 

" You saw the letter which I received from 
Boston. My poor brother lies at the point of 
death, I must see him, Joanna, — you 
know how it pains me to be absent from jou, 
only for a day, — but I must go. I'll be 
back by Christmas morning." 

" Will you, indeed, though, Eugene ? " — 
she wound her arms about his neck — " You 
know how drearily the time passes without 
you. 0, how I shall count the hours until 
jwi wtnm!" And at every word she 
smoothed his forehead with her hand, and 
fnnohed his mouth with those lips which 
bloomed with the ripeness and purity of 
perfect womanhood. 

" I must go, Joanna, " — and convulsed at 
the thought of leaving this young wife, oven 
for a day, the husband gathered her to his : 
breast, and then seizing his cloiik and carpet- 
b^, hurried from the room. Hia steps were 
heard in the hall without, and presently the 
Bound of the closing door reached the ears 
of the young wife. 

An expression of intense sorrow passed- 
over her face, and she remained in the cen- ■ 
ter of the room, her hand clasped over lier 
noble bust, and her head bowed in an atti- 
tude of deep melancholy. 

"He is gone," she murmured, and passing 
through the spacious apartment, she travers- 
ed the hall, and ascended the broad stair- ^ 

At the head of the stairway was a large j 
and roomy apartment, warmed (like e^erv' 
room in the mansion) from an mviaible | 
source, which gave a delightful ti-mperature j 
to the atmosphere. There was a small i 
workstand in the midst of the apartment, [ 
on which stood a lighted candle A servant 
maid wai sleeping with her head upon the 
table, and one band resting upon a cradle at 
het side. In that cradle, above the verge of 
a silken coverlet, appeared the face of a 
cherub boy, fast asleep, with a rose on his 
cheek, and ringlets of auburn hair, tangled 
about his forehead, white as alabaster. 

This room the young mother entered, and 
treading on tiptoe, she approached the cra- 
dla Ud bent over it, until her lips touched 
the forehead of the sleeping boy. And 
wlieli she rose again there was * tear upon 



his cheek, — it had fallen from the blue eye 
of the mother. 

Ketiring noiselessly, she sought her own 
chamber, where a taper wan dimly burning 
before a mirror. By that faint light you 
might trace the luxurious appointment of tlu 
place, — a white bed, half shadowed in au 
alcove — avaae of alabaster filled with fra- 
grant flowers — and curbuns falling like 
flakes along the lofty windows. The 
idea of wifely purity was associated with 
every object in that chamber. 

I shall not want you to-night, Eliza; I 
will undress myself," exclaimed Joanna to • 
female servant, who stood waiting near th« 
irror. " You may retire." 
The servant retired, and the young wife 
IS alone. She extinguished the taper, and 
all was still throughout the mansion. But aha 
!tirc to her bed. Advancing in the 
darkness, she opened a dour behind the bed, 
and entered the bath-room, where she light- 
ed a lamp by the aid of a perfumed match 
which she found, despite the gloom. The 
bath-room was oral in shape, with an arched 
ceiling. The walls, the ceiling and the floor 
were of white marble. In the center was the 
bath, resembling an immense shell, sunk into~ 
the marble floor. This place, without oma, 
ment or decoration of any kind, save the pure 
white of the walls and floor, was pervaded 
by luxurious warmth. The water which 
filled the shell or hollow in the center of the 
floor, emitted a faint but pungent perfume. 

She disrobed herself and descended into 
the hath, suffering her golden hair to float 
freely about her ehonldets. 

After the lapse of a quarter of an hour, 
this beautiful woman took the light uid 
passed into the bed chamber. She cast a 
glance toward her bed, which had been oon- 
secrated by her marriage, and by the birth of 
her first and only child. Tlien advancftg 
toward a wardrobe of roseivood, which stood 
in a recess opposite the bed, she took from 
thence a dress, with which she proceeded to 
encase her form. A white robe, loos« attd. 
flowing, with a hood resembling the cowl of 
a nun. This robe was of the softest satio, 
She enveloped her form In its folds, threw 
the hood over her head, and lo<^ng in the '- 
mirror, surveyed her beautiful flakwhich, 
glowing, with waimth, wai fram4$^^)^j^. 



(D.Gooi^lc 



n 



PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



golden hair, aad in the folds of the 

She drew slippers of delicate satin, white 
u her robe, upon her nated feet. 

Then, taking from the wardrobe a heavy 
cloak, lined throughout with fur, as soft 
the satin which clad her shipe, she wound 
it about her from head to foot, and stood 
completely huned lo ita loluminoiia folds. 

Once ini>T6 she listened all was still 
throughout that mansion, the home of aristo- 
cralic wealth Thus clad in the silken robe 
And cowl, co^eied in ila turn hv the shipi 
less black cloak this young wife, whose 
limbs were gbwing with the warmth of the 
bath, whose person was invested with a deli 
cate perfume turned once more and gazed 
upon her mirriige bed, and a deep sigh 
■welled her bosom She next extinguished 
the light and pisaing from the chimber, 
descended the mirble staircase All was 
dark She entered the suite of apartments 
on the first floor which adorned with pillars, 
oommunioited with each other bv folding- 
doors. Tbe ohandelier had been PKtinguish- 
ed, and the scene was wrapt m impenetrable 
darkness. 

Standing in the darkness, — her only ap- 
parel the silken robe, and the thick, warm 
cloak which covered it, — the joung wife 
trembled like a leaf. 

She attempted to utter a word, but her 
voice failed her, 

" Joanna !" breathed a voice, speaking 

"Beverly!" answered the young wife, 
fceathing the name in a whisper. 

A faint sound like a step, whose echo is 
mnffied by thick carpets, and the hand of a 
man, clasps the band of Joanna. 

"How long have you been here?" she 
whispered, 

" I just entered," was the answer. 

"How?" 

" Sy the front door, and the key which 
yotl gave rae." 

"O, I tremble so,— I am afraid—" 

An arm encircled the cloak which covered 
her, and girded it lightly about her form. 

" Has he gone, Joanna ?■' 

" Yes, Beverly, — half an hour ago." 

" Come, then, let lu go. The carriage is 
■ mWDgattheneztcomsnandtheHbest-UBiLp 



near the front door is extinguished. All it 
dark without ; no one can see us," 

"Are you sure, Beverly — I tremble so." 

"Come, Joanna," and through the thick 
darkness he led her toward the hall, sup- 
porting her form npon hia arm, 

"0, whither are you leading me," she 
whispered in a broken voice. i 

" Can jou ask ? Dont you remember my 
note of to-day. To the tbmplb, Joanna." t 

Their steps echo faintly from the entry. 

Then the fwnt sound produced by the 
careful closing of the street door is heard. 

A pause of one or two minutes. 

Hark ! The rolling of carriage wheels. 

All is still as death throughout the man- 
sion and the street on which it fronts. 

Hours pass away, and once more the street 
door is unclosed, and carefully closed again, 
A step echoes faintly through the hall, — very 
faintly, — and yet it can be heard distinctly, 
profound is the stillness which reigns 
)ughout the mansion. It ascends the 
marble st^roase, and is presently heard cross- 
the threshold of the bed-chamber. A 
:e ensues, and the taper in front of the 
or is lighted again, and a faint my steals 
through the chamber, 

EroENE LiYiNOSTONE stands in front of 
e mirror. He flings his cloak on a chair, 
dashes his cap from his brow, and wipes the 
sweat from his forehead, — although be has 
just left the air of a winter night, his fore- 
head is bathed in moisture. His slender 
frame shakes as with an ague-chill. His 
eyes are unnaturally dilated ; the while of 
the eyeball may bo plainly traced around the 
pupil of each eye. His lips are pressed toge- 
ther, and yet thoy quiver, as if with deathly 

He does not utter a single ejaculation, 
A letter is in his right band, neatly folded 

and scented with ptuAcuK. It bears the name . 
Joanna," as a superscription. He opens it 

and reads its contents, traced in a delicate 

JOAMNA — 

Te~mghl,—<it Twelve.— Tei Temple. 
Bbvxblt. 

Having read the brief letter, th« hntbuid 
draws another from a side-pocket : " 7ImM 
may be a mistake aboat the handwritliiji,^ 
he monuun, "Iti us ootnpar« thoin.'* 



b.Gdoi^ c 



J-HOM NIGHTFALL DNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



77 



The second letter is addressed to " Eugenb 
LiviKosToSE, Esq.," and its contents, which 
the husband traces by the light of the taper, 
are as follows : 

New York, Dec. 23, 1844. 
Dear Eoobne : — Sorry to hear that you 
have such sad news from Boston. Must you 
go to-n^Jit ? Send me word and I'll try to 
go with you. Thine, ever, 
i Bevebls Babbon'. 

Long and intently, the husband compared 
Utese two letters. His countenance under- 
went many changes. But there could be no 
doubt of it — both letters were written by the 

" He wrote to me early this morning, and to 
my wife about an hour afterward, — as soon 
as he received my answer. I found the let- 
ter to her upon the floor of this chamber, 
only two hours a^o." 

He replaced both letters in his vest pocket 

Then taking the taper, he bent his steps 
toward the room at the head of the marble 
staircase. The young nurse was fast asleep 
on the couch, near the cradle. 

Eugene bent over the cradle. Resting its 
rosy cheek on its bent arm, the child was 
sleeping there, its auburn hair still tangled 
about lis forehead. He could not help press- 
ing his lips to that forehead, and a tear — 
the only tear that ho shed — fell from his 
hot eye-hall, and sparkled like a pearl upon 
the baby's cheek. 

Then Eugene retiuned to the bedcham- 
ber, and sat down beside the bed, still hold- 
ing the taper in his grasp. The light fell 
eoftly over the unruffled coverlet. 

" I remember the night when she first 
crossed yonder threshold, and slept in this 
bed." 

There were traces of womanish weakness 
npon his bronzed face, but he banished them 
in a moment, and the expression of his eye 
and lip became fixed and resolute. 

He sat for five minutes with his elbow 
on his knee, and his forehead in hia hand. 

Then rising, he opened his carpet-bag, 
and took from thence a black robe, with 
wide sleeves, and a cowl. It took but a mo- 
Hlent to assume hla robe, and draw the cowl 
, oyer his dark locka. He caught a glance at 
ttii face, thus framed in the velvet cowl, and 



started as he beheld the contrast between its 
ashy hues and the dark folds which conceal- 
ed it. 

" ' Thb Tbmpi,b ! ' " he muttered, and 
pressed his hand against his forehead, — "I 
believe 1 remember the pass word." 

He took a pair of pistols, and a long slen- 
der dagger, sheathed in silver, from the 
carpet-bag, and regarded them for a moment. 

"No, no," he eiclaimed, " these will not 
avail for a night like this." 

Gathering his cloak about him, he extiD- 
guished the taper, and crossed the threshold 
of his bed-charaber. ilis steps were heard 
on the st^rs, and soon the faint jar of the 
shut door was heard. 

And as he left the house, the child in ffle 
cradle awoke from its slumber and stretched 
forth its little head, and in its baby voice 
called the name of the young mothbb. 

w turns to Randolph and Es- 



ther. 



CHAPTER VII. 



CHiiS,CXSKSr. 



As the night set in — the night of Decem- 
ber 23d, 1844 — two persons were seated in 
the recess of a lofty window, which com- 
manded a view of Broadway. It was the 
window of a drawing-room, on the second 
floor of a four storied edifice, built of brick, 
with doors and window-frames of marble. — 
By the dim light which prevailed, It might 
be seen that the drawing-room was spacious 
and elegantly furnished. Mirrors, pictures 
and statues broke softly through the twi- 
light. 

Seated amid the silken curtfuns of the 
window, these persons sat in silence — the 
with his arms folded, and )m head 
sunk upon his breast, the woman with her , 
hands clasped over her bosom, and h^t eyee 
fixed upon the face of her companion. The 
. was very beautiful ; one of those 
re called 'queenly' by persons who 
iveraoen alive queen, and whoaieig- 
of the philosophical truth, thiA one 
beautiful woman is worth all the qiieuis in 
The man was dark-haired, and 
of a complexion singuiarly pale «nd color- 
less; there was thou^t upon his forehead, 
and something of an unpleasant -tQemi^^ 
written in hi* knit brows and oompiened bfi.. 



,/Goo«^Ic 



FROM NIGHTFALL trtTTII. MIDNIGHT. 



The BilencB which had prevailed for half 
_ ui hoar, wai broken by a whisper from the 
lips of the woman — 

" Of what are you thinking, Bandolph 

" Of the stniDge man whom we met at I 
house half way betweeti New York and 
Philadelphia. His name and his personality 
are wrajit in impenetrable mystery." 

"Had it not been for him — " 

"Ay, had it not been for him, we should 
have been lost. You would have become 
the prey of the — the master, Esther, who 
owoa you, and I, — I — woli, no matter, I 
would have been dead." 

"After the scene in the house, Bandolph, 
he came on with us, and by his directions 
WB took rooms at the City HoteL From 
moment of our arrival, only a few hours ago. 









"Until an hour ago. Then he came 
ooi room at the hotel. ' Here is a key/ BaJd 

he, ' and your home is No. , Broadway. 

Go there at once, and await patiently the 
coming of the twenty-fifth of December. — 
You will find seryantB to wait upon you, 
you will find roonoy to supply your w 
— it is in the drawer of the desk which you 
will discover in your bedroom — and most 
of all, you will there he safe from 
attempts of your peraecutor.' These " 
his words. We came at once, and find 
eetrei — the servants excepted — the sole 
tanants of this splendid mansion." 

"But don't you remember his last words, 
H we left the hotel ? ' At the hour ot six,' 
said he, this ungular unknown, 'you will be 
■waited on by a much treasured friend.' — 
Who can it be that is to eeme and see us at 
that hour?" 

" Friend," Randolph echoed Mtterly, 
" what 'friend ' have we, save this peisonage, 
whose very name is unknown to us ? Our 
father is dead. When I say that I say at once 
that we are utterly alone in the world." 

" And yet there is a career before you, 
madolph," faltered Esther, 

" A splendid career, ha, ha, Esther, yea a 
ijitendid career for the White Slave ! You 
forget, goodgiri, that we have negro blood 
in our veins. How much wealth do you 
think it would require to blot out the mem- 
017 fd the pBtt ? Suppose we are successful 
•^ tha tw«ntj-fi(th of December,— nppote 



the mysterious trustee of the Van Huyden 
estate recognizes us as the children of one of 
the Seven, — suppose that we receive a share 
of this immense wealth — well, Esther, what 
will it aviul us ? Wherever we turn, the 
whisper will ring in our oats, ' They have 
negro blood in their veins. Their mother 
was descended from the black rni^ True, 
they look whiter than the pale^of the 
Caucasian race, but — but ' — (do you hear 
it, Esther?) 'but they have negro blood irt 

He started from his chair, and his sister 
saw, even by the dim light which came 
through the half-drawn window-curtains, thai 
his chest heaved, and his face was distorted 
by a painful emotion. 

She also arose. 

" Randolph," she whispered, and laid her 
hand gently en his arm, " Bandolph, my 
brother, I say it again, como wealth or pover- 
ty, you have a career before you. In Eu- 
rope we may find a home, — " 

" Europe ! " he echoed, " And must we go 
to Europe, in order to be permitted to live ? 
No, Esther, no ! I am an American, yes," 
— and his voice, low and deep, echoed proud- 
ly through the stillness of the dimly-lighted 
room, — yes, I am a Carolinian, ay, a South 
Carolinian ; South Carolina is my home ; 
while I live, I will no as o ass rt my 
right to a place, ay, and n d h ble 
place— on my native soil 

He passed his sister arm h ugh his 
wn, and led her gently h p 

hich, soft as down, re urn d n h 
their tread. The loft 1 ng h d 

above them, in the vagu w 1 h d n 

either hand were the 1 ad m d h 
paintings and statues. Th id rr b h 
but dimly reflected th f rm flash d 
gently through the gloom 

And Esther, there 1 e aeon hy I 
will not become an exile, which I have 
r spoken to mortal ears — not even to 
yours, my sister. It was communicated to 
by my father, before I left for Europe : 
he placed proofs in my possession which do 
not admit of denial. Sister, my epistle ! — 
Here, in the dimly-lighted room, to which 

! have been guided by an unknown fctflidt 

here, surrounded by mystery, an4 Mt% 
the marks of wealth ell abwit va, —here, i)) _-'. 



,/Googlc 



PEOM KTGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



n 



the ciiaia of our fate draws near, let me 
breathe the secret io your ears." 

He paused in the center of the room. His 
sister felt his arm tremble as he drew her to 
his side. His voice betrayed, in its earnest 
yet faltering tones, an uii fathomable emotion. 
And Esther clinging to hia side, and looking 
up into iu face — which ahe could scarcely 
discern TOrongh the gloom — felt her bosom 
ewell, and her breath come painfully in gasps, 
Bs she was made, involuntarily, a sharer of 
her brother's agitation. 

" Randolph," she said, "what can be the 
Becfet, which you have kept ever from me, 
your sister?" 

"I will not leave this country, in the first 
place, because I am of its soil," he answered, 
" and because, first and last, it is no common 
right, which hinds me to my native land. 
Gome, Esther, to the window, where the 
light will help my words ; you shall know 
all— " 

He led her to the window, and drew from 
beneath his vest, a miniature, which he held 
toward the fading light. 

"Do you trace the features?" he whis- 

"I do. It is beautifully painted, and the 
likeness resembles a thousand others, that I 
have seen of the same man. But what has 
this portrait in miniature to do with us ?' 

" What has it to do with us ? Regard it 
_Sgain, and closely, my sister. Do you not 
trace a resemblance ?" 

" Resemblance to whom ?" Esther echoed. 
" Why it is the portrait of ." 

She repeated a name familiar to the civil- 
ized world. 

"It is his portrait. No one can deny it- 
But Esther, again I ask you, — " his voice 
sunk low and lower. — " Do you not trace a 
resemblance ?" 

"Resemblance to whom ?" she answered, 
her tone indicating bewildered amazement. 

"To the picture of otib Mother, which 
you have seen at Hill-Royal," waa Ilan- 

Ulterly bewildered, Esther once more ei- 
aminad the miniature ; and an idea, bo 
Miange, so wild that she deemed it hut the 
Utla fancy of a dream, began to take shape 
fchor brain. 
i^**;! UB ia the dark, I know not vbat you 



True, true, the face portrayed in 
does, somewhat, tesemUe <na , 
mother's portrait, hut — "■ 

"That miniature, Esther, is the portrwt 
of the Head of our Family. That man,—" 
again he pronounced the name, — "was the 
father of our mother. Wa are hia grand- 
children, my sister." 

Esther suffered the miniature to fall from 
her hand. She sank back into a chair. 

For a few moments, there was a death-like 
pause, unbroken by a single word. 

"The grandchildren of !" echoed 

Esther, at length. "You cannot mean it, 
Randolph ?" 

"Randolph bent his head until his lips 
well-nigh touched hia sister's ear. At the 
same moment he clasped her hard with ■ 
panful pressure. The words which he then 
uttered were utt«rcd ia a whisper, but every 
word penetrated the soul of the listener. 

" Esther, we are the grandchildren of 
that man whose name is on the lips of the 
civiliaed world. Out mother was his child. 
His blood flows in our veins. Wc are of Ml 
race ; his features may be traced in your 
countenance and in mine. Now let fliera 
cut and hack and maim us : let them lash 
us at the whipping- post, or sell us in the 
slave mart. At every blow of the lash, we 
can exclaim, 'Lash on ! lash on ! But 
remember, you are iniiicting this torture 
upon no common slaves ; for your whip at 

every blow is stained with the blood of 

. These slaves whom you lash are HIB 

grandchildren !■ " 

He paused, overcome by the violence of 
his emotion. In a moment he resumed I , 

"Audit is because I am uis grandson, 
that I will not exile myself from this land, 
which was nis birthplace as it is auna. 
Yes, I cannot exile myself, for the reiwB 
that my obandfathrb left to my handi 
the fulfillment of an awful trust— of a viaik 
which, well fulfilled, will secure the b 
ness of all the races who. people the jf 
can continent. I may become * suiciA^ittfc 

"But our mother, was the daughter of 
Colonel Rawden. 3o the rumor rwi, and M 
you stated before the Court of Ten Mil- *, 

" In th^ statement I simply followed tbt ^^ 



iie b«H>i- 



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FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



y'/' 



popular nimor, for the time for the 
truth had not ;et come. But our mother 
was not tbs child of Colonel Eawden. 
mother was indeed Rawden's slave, but 
not ona drop of Rawden'a blood flows in 
out veina. Colonel Eawden was aware of 
the truth ; well he knew that Hbbodia, 
whom he Bold to onr father, was the child 
of . 



There was a pause ; and it w 
until Esther spoke : 

" You would not like to retu 
then?" 



>t broken 



"For c 






liket< 



3 only, I would 



visit Europe." 
" And that reason ?" 

"Know, Esther, that at Florence, in the 
courae of a hurried tour through Italy, I 
met a gentleman named Bernard Lynn, His 
native country I never ascertained ; he was 
near fifty years of age ; gentlemanly in his 
eiterior, of reputed wealth, and accompanied 
by an only daughter, Eleanor Lynn, 
riorence, — it matters not how, — I saved his 
danghter's life — ay, more than life, her 
honor. All his existence was wrapt up 
her; you may, therefore, imagine the extent 
of his gratitude to the young American who 
saved the life of this idolized child." 

"Was the girl grateful, as well as the 
fcther ?" 

"I remained but a week in their company, 
and then separated, to see them no more 
forever. That week was sufficient to assure 
me that I loved her better than- my life, — 
that my passion was returned ; and could I 
Vut forget the negro blood which mir 
my veins, I might boldly claim her 
own. Her father had but one prominent 
hatred ; mild and gentlemanly on all other 
eubjects, he was ferocious at the sight oi 
mention of a negro. He regarded the Afri- 
can race as a libel upon mankind ; a link 
between the monkey and the man ; a carica- 
ture of the human race ; the work of Nature, 
in one of her tcniucky moods. Conscioua 
ttat tbero was negro blood in my veins, I 
left him abruptly. With this consciousness 
I oofM M* preBB my luit for the hand of his 
dMfghter." 

"But you would like to see her i^n 7" 

" Could I meet her as an equal, yes ! But 

never can I look upon her face again. Don't 



you see, Esther, liow at every turn of life, I 
am met by the fatal whisper, 'There is 
negro bl'xid in your veins!' " 
" She was beautiful ?" 
" One of the fairest types of the Caucasian 
race, that ever eye beheld. Tall in stature, 
her form cast in a mould of enticing loveli- 
ness, her complexion like snow, y^blushing 
with roses on the lip and cheek^ner har, 
brown in the sunlight, and dark in the shade; 
her eyes of a shade between brown and 
black, and always full of the light of all- 
ibounding youth snd hope. — Tes, she was 
beautiful, transcend en tly beautiful ! She had 
the intellect of an aftectionate but proud and 
ambitious woman." 

■ You saved her life ?" 
' I saved her honor." 
Her honor ?" 

So beautiful, so young, so gifted, she 
attracted the attention of an Itiilian noble- 
m, who sued in vain for her hand. Foiled 
in his efforts to obtain her in honorable mar- 
riage, ho determined to possess her at all 
hazards. One night, as herself and her 
father were returning to Florence, after a 
visit to Valambroaa, the caniage « as iltacked 
by a band of armed ruffians. The fithec 
was stretched insensible, by a blow upon the 
temple, from the hilt of a sword. When 
he recovered bis senses, he was alone, and 
faint with the loss of blood. His daughter 
had disappeared. He made out, at length, 
back to Flo nee and instituted ft 
search for his ch Id H s ffo ts were fruit- 
sn rested upon the rejected 
lover, hut he appea ed befo e the father, and 
father s sat fa t on established his 
At this pe od when the father 
had relinquished all hope, I assumed the 
disguise of a traveling student, armed myself 
and departed from Florence. I bent my 
steps to the Appeninea. A servant of the 
nobleman, impelled at once by a bribe, and 
by revenge for ill-treatment, had imparled 
certain intelligence to mo ; upon this infor- 
I shaped my course. In an obscure 
nook of the Appenines, sepantted from the 
road by a wilderness frequented by 
banditti, I found the daughter of Bernard 
Lynn. She was a prisoner in a miaeraU[t 
inn, which was kept by a poor knave, ia'^l^' 
pay of the robben. I entered tha m^^bl 



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FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



61 



which she was imprisoned, in time to r( 
her from the nobleman, who had reached 
the inn before me, and who was about 
carry his threats into force. Had I been 
moment later, her honor would have been 
sacrificed. A combat ensued : Eleanor s: 
me peril my life for her ; and saw the villi 
laid insAsibie at her feet She fainted 
my arms. It matters not to tell how I bore 
her back to her father, who confessed t^ai 
had done a deed, which could never 
suitably rewarded, although he might sac 
fic^ his fortune and his life, in the effort 
display his gratitude." 

" By what name did they know you ?" 

"As Randolph. Eoyalton, the son of 
gentleman of South Carolina. From this I 
am afraid the father built false impressions 
of my social position and my wealth. Afraid 
to tell Eleanor the truth, I left them without 
one word of farewell." 

At this moment, a door was opened, and 
the light of a wai candle, held in the hand 
of a servant who occupied the doorway, 
flashed over the details of the cftawing-room, 
lighting up the scene with a sudden splen- 
dor. The servant was a man of middle age 
and of a calm, sober look. He was clad in 
ft suit of gray, faced with black velvet. 

The light revealed the brother and sister 
as they stood in the center of the scene ; 
Esther, clad in the green habit which fitted 
closely to her beautiful shape, and Randolph 
attired in a black coat, vest and cravat, 
which presented a strong contrast to his pal- 
lid visage. 

The servant bowed formally upon the 
threshold, and advanced, holding a salver of 
silver in one hand and the candle in the 
other. Aa soon as he had traversed the 
space between Randolph and the door, ho 
bowed again, and extended the salver, upon 
which appeared a card, inscribed with a 

"Master, a gentleman desires to see j>ou. 
He is in his carriage at the door. He gave 
me this card for you." 

Randolph exchanged glances with Esther, 
09 much as to aay "our expected visitor," 
and then took the card, and read these 

\^"mbi eld friend dtairta to see BanM^h 
■*j^Am and hit Mter." 



Randolph started as he beheld the hand- 
writing, and the blood rushed to his cheek : 

"Show the gentleman up stairs," he said 
quietly. 

The servant disappeared, taking with him 
the light, and the room was wrapt in 
twilight once more. 

" Have you any idea who is this visitor ?" 
whispered Esther. 

" Hush ! Do not speak ! Sunounded by 
mystery as wo are, this new wonder throws 
all others completely into shade. I can 
scarcely believe it ; and yet, it was las hand- 
writing ! I cannot be mistaken." 

In vain did Esther ask, "Whose hand- 
writing 1" Trembling with anxiety and de- 
light, Randolph listened intently for the 
sound of footsteps on the stairs. 

Presently there came a sound, as of foot- 
steps ascending a stairway, covered with 
thick carpet ; and then the door opened and 
the servant stood on the threshold, light is 

"This way, sir, this way," he exclaimed 
and entered : while Randolph and Esther's 
gaze was centered on the doorway ; the 
servant In gray rapidly lighted the wax can- 
dles, which stood on the marble mantle, and 
the spacious room was flooded with radiance. 
"Ah, ha, my dear boy, have I caught you 
at last ?" cried a harsh but a cheerful voice, 
an elderly man, ivrapped in a cloak, 
ei the threshold, and approached Ran- 
dolph with rapid steps. 

dr. Lynn !" ejaculated Randolph, utterly 
astonished. _ 

Yes, your old friend, whom you so ab- 
ruptly left at Florence, without so much as n 
word of good-bye ! How are you, my dear 
fellow ? Give me a shake of your hand. 
Iss Royalton, I presume ?" 
By no means recovered from his bewilder- 
ent, Randolph managed to present Mr. 
Bernard Lynn to his sister, whom he called 
"Miss Esther Royalton." 

The visitor gave his hat and cloak to tho 
servant, and flung himself into an arm-chair. 
He was a gentleman of soma fifty years, 
dark complexion, and with masses of snow- 
hite hair. His somewhat portly form wag 
.tired in a blue frock coat, berieatj whiob 
le collar of a buff waistcoat and a black 
stock ware discenuble. ' 



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PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDKIGHT. 



"Come, come, Randolph, my boy, let 
ebat with Misa Esther, while you attend lo 
your servant, who, it I may judge by his 
telegraphic signs, has something to aay to 
you in regard to your household affairs," 

Randolph turned and was confronted 
the servant, Mr. Hicks, who bowed !ow, ; 
said in a tone which was audible through the 

"At what hour will you have din' 
served 1" and then added in a whisper, 
ufwft to speak with you alone." 

"At sevenf as I directed you, when I £ 
arrived," replied Randolph, and followed the 
servant from the drawing-room. 

Mr. Hicks led. the way, down the hroad 
staircase, to the spacious hall on the lower 
floor, which was now illuminated by a larg 
globe lamp. 

" Pardon me, Mr. Roynlfon," said Mi 
Hickl, " for troubling you about the dinner 
iamTi^- That, if you will eicuse me tor Baying 
80, was only a pretest. Your Agent, who 
arrived before you, to-day, and engaged my- 
self and the other domestics, gave me espe- 
cial directions, to prepare dinner to-night, at 
seven precisely. It was not about the hour 
of dinner, therefore, that I wished to see 
you, for we all know our duty, and you may 
rely upon it, that all the appmnimtenU of this 
mansion, are in good hands." 

"Right, Mr. Hicks, right, may I ask whe- 
ther my Agent, who was here to-day, wore 
an odd dress which he soraetimes wears, 
a,— a— " 

. "A- blue surlout, with a great many capes? 
Yes,.^. The fashion in the south, I pre- 
nine." 

" H wa) tiien my urJaiown friexid of the 
TtaJf'Way'house," thought Randolph : pres- 
ently, he said, " Why did you call ma from 
the drawing-room ?" 

Mr. Hicks bowed his formal bow, and 
pointed to a door of dark mahogany ; 

"If you will have the kindnees to enter 
'^at room, you will know why I called you." 

And Hr. Hicks bowed again, and retreated 
slonly from the scene. 

Placing his hand upon the door, Randolph 
felt his heart beat tumnltuously against his 

"YeHtarday,-a hunted slave," the thought 
roshtd^erbim, "aikI to-day, the tnacterof I 



a mansion, uid with a trun of servants to 
obey my nod ! Sol, my unknown friend in 
the Eurtout, with blue capes, was here to- 
day, acting the part of my 'Agent.' What 
new wonder awaits me, beyond this door ?" 
Hb opened the door, and ho trembled, 
nltbough he was anything but a coward. 
The room into which he entered, was about 
half as large as the drawing-room above. A 
lamp standing in the center of the carpet, 
shed a soft luiuiious luster over the walls, 
which, white as snow, were adorned with one 
mirror, aud three or four pictures, set in 
frames of black and gold. At a glanoe, in 
one of these frames, Randolph recognized the 
portrait of his father. The windows, open- 
ing on the street, were vailed with damask 
curtains, A piano stood in one corner, a 
sofa opposite, and elegant chairs of dark 
wood, were disposed around the room. It 
was at once a neat, singular, and somewhat 
luxurious apartment. 



AnH nr. tbfl 


sofa 


vns seated the figure of 


a w. 


1 


ly 


;d. Her dark attire 


was 


t \ 


trast with the scarlet 


cush 


wh 


h h 


rested, and the snow- 


whit 


II beh 


dh 




R 


d Iph 


pp d suddenly ; he was 


stric 


d mb 


b 


isation of utter bowil- 


dem 


L Th 


u k 


wn did not remove 


the 


I f m 


h f 


i; she did not even 


"•'^vu «..u 


osee 


me, Madam ?" he said, 


at length. 







She drew the vail aside — he heheld her 
face, — and the next moment she had hound- 
ed from the sofa and was resting in his 

"Eleanor I" he cried, as the vail removed, 
he heheld her face, 

" Randolph !" she exclaimed, as he pressed 
her to his breast. 



CHAPTER VIIL 

ELEANOR LYSN. 

In a few moments they were seated side 
by side on the sofa, and while she spoke, in 
a low musical voice, Randolph devoured her 
with his eyes. 

" We arrived from Europe, only the ^^f^ , 
before yesterday. ~ ' 



Father determinad ■ 
■ way to Havu^ 



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FROM NiaaTPALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



where ^o intend to spend the winter. And 
to-day bj a H range chance at our hotel, he 
encou d iir Agent — the superintendent 
of u u hern pUiittition, — an eccentric 
person h wears an old- fashioned surCout, 
w h I k w not how many capes. From 
h n father learned that you had 

just arrived from the sou 1 and a on e de- 
termined to give joii a 6u p W ame 
together, but to tell you e u h I an od 
to see you alone, and, th m e ed 
behind, while father wen p s a p - 
pare you for my prcflence 

She smiled, and Handt p . ka a man n 
a delicious dream, feared to move or speak, 
lest the vision which he beheld might vanish 
into* the air. 

Words are but poor things, with which to 
paint a beautiful woman. 

There was youth and health in every line 
of her face : her form, incased in a dark 
dress, which enveloped her bust and fitted 
around her neck, was moulded in the warm 
loveliness of womanhood, at once mature 
and virgin. Her bonnet thrown aside, her 
face was disclosed in full light. A brow, de- 
noting by its outline, a bold, yet refined 
intellect ; an eye, large, lustrous, and looking 
black by night ; a lip that had as much of 
pride as of love in its expression — such were 
the prominent characteristics of her face. 

" Why did you leave us so abruptly at 
Florence ?" she esclairaed, — "Ah, I know 
the secret — " 

"You know the secret?" echoed Randolph, 
his heart mounting to his throat. 

"One of your friends in Florence — a young 
artist named Waters, betrayed you," she 
said, and laid her gloved hand on his arm, a 
sunny smile playing over her noble counte- 
nance. " At least after your departure ha 
told your secrets to father." 

Randolph started from the sofa, as though 
a chasm had opened at his feet. 

"He betrayed me — he ! And yet you do 

" Scorn you ? Grave matter to create 
Kom ! You have a quarrel'with your father, 
and leave home on a run-a-way tour for 
Europe. There, in Europe, — we will Bay 
at Florence — you make friends, and run 
KWKJ from them, because yon ai« tinid they 
^iS^nk leu of you, whan tbeynre awue 



that yourfiither mny disinherit you. Fie! 
Eandolph, twaa a sorry thing, for you to 
think so meanly of your friends!" 

These words filled Randolph with over- 
whelming agony. 

When she first spoke, he was assured that 
the aecrtt of his life, was known to her. He 

: was aghast at the thought, but at the same 
time, overjoyed to know, that the faitil of 

. his blood, was not regarded by Eleanor aa « 

j But her concluding words revealed the 
truth. She was not aware of the fact. She 
I was utterly mistaken, as to his motive, for 
] his abrupt departure from Florence. Instead 
; of the real cause, she assigned one which 
was comparatively frivolous. 

" Shall I tell her all ?" the thought cross- 
ed his mind, as he gazed upon her, and he 
ehuddered at the idea. 

"And so you thought that our opinion of 
yon, was measured by your wealth, or by 
your want of wealth ? For shame Randolph! 
You are now the sola heir of your fathon 
but were it othenvisc, Randolph, our friend- 
ship for you would remain unchanged." 

"The sole heir of my father's estate!" 
Randolph muttered to himself, — " I dare not, 
dare not, tell her the real truth." 

But the fascination of that woman's loveli- 
ness was upon him. The sound of her 
voice vibrated through every fiber of hij 
being. When he gazed into her eyes, he 
forgot the darkness of his destiny, the taint 
of his blood, the gloom of his heart, and the 
hopes and feara of his future. He lived in 
the present moment, in the smile, the toim^ , ■ 
the glance of the woman who sat by himl,— 
her presence wna world, home, heaven W 
him — all else was blank nothingness. 

"Don't you think that I'm a very Strang* 
woman ?" she said with a smile, and a look 
of undefinabie fascination. " Remember, from 
my childhood, Randolph, I have bean de- 
prived of the care and counsel of a mother. 
Without country and without home, I have 
been hurried with ray father from place le 
piano, and seen much of the worid, and may 
be learned to battle with it. I am not much 
of a 'woman of society,' Randolph. The 
artificial life ted by womui in that eonveo- 
Ijonal world, called the ' flMhioD&ble,' never 
had mueh charm for me. Hy bixdu, mj .^ . 



m: 



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« 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. ■ 



:S* 



■ pencil, the society of a friend, the excite' 
ment of a jonmej, the freedom to speak my 
thoughts without fear of the world's frown, 
— these, Eandolph, suit me much better 
than the life of woman, aa she appears in 
the fashionable world. And whenever ] 
transgress the 'decorums' and ' proprieties, 
yoa will he pleased to remember that I art 
bat a sort of a wild woman — a very barba- 
rian in the midst of a civilized world.' 

Randolph did not say that she was i 
gel, but ho thought that she was very beau- 
tiful for a wild woman. 

She rose. 

"Come, let us join father," she said, — " and 
I am dying to see this sister of yours, friend 
Bandolph." 

T'iking her honnet in one hand, she left 
her cloak on the sofa, and led the way to thi 
door At a glance Randolph surveyed het 
tall and magnificent figure. As leaving him, 
Btlafii and bewildered, on tho sofa, she 
turned her face over her shoulder, and look- 
ed hack upon him, Randolph muttered to 
himstlf the thought of his soul, in one 
■word, "negro!" So much beauty, purity 
and truth before him, embodied in a wo- 
man's form, and between that woman and 
himself an eternal barrier ! The blood of an 
accursed race in his veins, the mark of bond, 
age stamped npon the inmost fiber of his 
eiistence — it was a bitter thought, " Tou 
are absent, Randolph," she aaid, and came 
back to him, "shall I guess your thougbla?" 
She laid her hand upon his shoulder, and 
bent down until he felt her breath upon his 
forehead. 

" You are thinking of the night in (Jie Ap- 
itminea t " she whispered. Randolph uttered 
va incoherent cry of rapture, and reached 
forth his arms, and drew her to his breast. — 
Their lips met — "Tou have not forgotten 
it?" he whispered. 

She drew back her head asshe was girdled 
by his arms, in order to gaze more freely 
upon bis face. Blushing from the throat to 
the forehead, not with shame, but with a 
pnsion as warm and as pure as ever lighted a 
woman's bosom, she answered in a whisper : 
*■ " Eandolph, I love you ! " 

"Love me I Ah, my God, could I but 
hope," he gagpe4> 

She laid her ha^ upon his month. 



"Hush, I am my father's childL Wa hap- 
pen to think alike on subjecta of importance. 
If you have not changed since the night in 
the Apennines, why — why, then Eandolph, 
you will find that I am the same, Aa for 
my father, ha always loved you." 

When a woman like Eleanor Lynn ^ves 
herself away, thus freely and without re- 
serve, you may be sure that the passion 
which she cherishes is not of an hour, a day, 
or a year, but of a lifetime, 

Eandolph could cot reply in coherent words. 
There was a wild ejaculation, a frenzied 
embrace, a kiss which joined together these 
souls, burning with the fire of a first and 
stainless love, but there was no reply in words. 

And all the while, behind the form of 



Eleanor, Eandolph saw a phantom shape, 
which stood between him and his dearest 
hope. A hideous phantom, which SMd, 
" Thou art young, and thy face is pale as the 
palest of the race who are bom to rule, but 
the blood of the negro is in thy veins." 

At length Randolph rose, and taking her 
by the hand, led her from the room. 

" You will see my sister, and love her," 
sdd Eandolph, as he crossed the threshold. 
A hand was laid gently on his arm, and 
turning he beheld Mr. Hicks, who slipped a 
letter in his hand, whispering, — 

"Pardon me, sir. This was left half an 
hour ago." 

Eandolph had no time to read a letter at 
that moment, so placing it in his coat pock- 
et, he led Eleanor up-sfcuta. ^ey entered 
the drawing-room, and were received by her 
father with a laugh, and the esclamation, — 
So, my boy, you have found this wild 
giri of mine a second time I Confess that 
have given you one of the oddest sur- 
prises you ever encountered !" 

Presently Esther and Eleanor stood face to 
face, and took each other by the hand. — 
Both noble-looking women, of contrasted 
types of loveliness, they stood before the 
father and Eandolph, who gazed upon them 
with a look of silent admiration, 

', you are Esther!" whispered the 
daughter of Bernard Lynn. 

And you are Eleanor!" returned the »is- 
ter of Eandolph. 

" We shall love each other very miul^ 
said Eleanor, — " Come, let us talk a lUm^, 



,/Googlc 



FROM NIGHTFALL UXTIL MIDNIGHT. 



They went hand in hand to a recess nca 
tho ivindow, and sat down together, Icavin; 
Randolph and Mr. Lj-nn aloue, near tk 
center of the drawing-room. 

" Do you know, my boy, that I have a no 
tioii to moke yourTiousc our home, while wi 
remain in Now York ? I hate the noise ol 
a hotel, and so using a traveler's privilege, 
of bluntness, I'll invite myself and Eleanor 
to be your guests. I have letters to the ' first 
people ' of the city, but these ' first peopli 
as they are called, are pretty much tho san 
everywhere — cut out of the same piece of 
cloth, all over the world — they tire one dread- 
fully. If you have no objection, my friend, 
we'll stay with you for a few days at least. 

Of course, Randolph replied to Mr. Lynn 
in the warmest and most courteous 
conclnding with the words, " Esther and 
myself will be too happy to have you for 
guests. Make our house your home while 
you remain in New York, and — " i 
about to add " forever ! " 

Mr. Lynn took him warmly by the 

"And in a few days, he must learn that I 
am not the legitimate son of my father, but 
his slave," the thought crossed him 
shook the hand of Eleanor's father. " This 
Aladdin's palace will crumble into a 
this gentleman who now respects 
turn aivay in derision from Randolph, the 
slave." 

It was a horrible thought. 

At this moment Mr. Hicks entered, and 
announced that dinner was ready. They left 
the room, Randolph with Eleanor 
arm, and Mr. Lynn with Esther, and bent 
their steps toward the dining-room. On the 
threshold Mr. Hicks slipped a letter in the 
hand of Esther, " It was left for you. Miss, 
half an hour ago," he said, and made one 
of his mechanical bows. Esther twik the 
letter and placed it in her bosom, and 
Mr. Hicka threw open the doocof thedinicg- 



Rsndolph could sea 
tion of wonder, as (fo; 
held this apartment. 

It was a spacious roi 
with a lofty ceiling. 
Itched. The walls « 



ce repress an ejacula- 
the first time) ho bc- 

m, oval in shape, and 
which was slightly 
overed with pah 



BM'' hangings, and fine statues of white 
I stood at equal di^tiuicee uound the 



phico. lu the center stood the table, loaded 
with viands, and adorned with an alabaster 
vase, filled with freshly-gathered fiowetu. — 
Wax candles shed a mild light over the 
scene, and the ait was imbued at once with 
a pleasant warmth and with the breath of 
flowers. The service of plate which loaded 
the table was of massive gold. Everything 
breathed luxury and wealth. 

" You planters know how fo live ! " whis- 
pered Bernard Lynn : "-By George, friend 
Randolph, you are something of a repub- 
lican, but it is after the Roman school ! " 

In accordance with Randolph's request, 
Mr. Lynn took the head of the table, with 
Esther and Eleanor on either hand. Ran- 
dolph took his seat opposite the father of 
Eleanor, and gazed around with a look of 
vague astonishment. A servant clad in gray 
livery, fringed with black velvet, stood be- 
hind each chair, and Mr. Hicke, the imper- 
turbable, retired somewhat in the backgrousdr 
presided in silence over the progress of the 
banquet. 

" We are not exactly dressed for dinner," 
laughed Mr. Lynn, — "but you will excuse 
breach of that most solemn code, pro- 
founder than Blaekatonc of Vattel, and called 
Biiquelfe." 

Randolph gazed first at his dark hair, 

which betrayed some of the traces of hazrf, 

and at the costume of Esther, which although 

it displayed her form to the best advantage, 

i not precisely suited for the dinner-table. 

'Ah, we southrons care little for etiquette," 

replied, — " only ffi-day arrived from tha 

south, Esther and I have had little tuna to 

attend to the niceties of costume. Sy-tlit- 1 

bye, friend Lynn, yourself and daughter «i^v-- 

me predicament." And then h# "' 
muttered to himself, " Still the dress is better 
than the costume of a negro slave." 

The dinner passed pleasantly, with but 
little conreraation, and that of a light and 
chatty character. The servants, stationed be- 
hind each chair, obeyed the wishes 6f the 
lests before they were framed in words; 
\d Mr. Hicks in the background, maoagsd 
their movements by signs, somewhat after,, 
the fashion of an orchestra le&der. It WMI 
near eight o'clock when Etl^er and ll«UH>r 
retired, leaving Randotph' and Mr. I^rBn 
alone at the table. 



C.lHV 



.;lc 



PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



"DiBmiBi these fo]k8,"Baid Beruard Ly: 
pointing toward Ur. Hicks and the other 
eetvants, "and let us have a chat togetl 

At a sign from Bandolph, Mr. Hicks and 
the Bervanls left the room. 

"Draw your chair near me, — there, — li 
118 look into each other's faces. By George ! 
friend Randolph, your wine cellar muet be 
worthy of a prince or a bishop ! I haTe just 
aippod your Tokay, and tasted your Cham- 
pagne, — both are auperh. But as I am a 
traveler, I drick brandy. So pass the bottle." 

As Mr. Lynn, sealed at his ease, filled a 
capacious goblet with brandy from a bottle 
labeled "1796," Eandolph surveyed a 
tivelj his face and form. 



D Lyhn was a tjill and muscuL 
mm, somewhat inclined to corpulence, H 
dark coraplexion was contrasted with the 
masaes of snow-white hair, which surrounded 
his forehead, and the eyebrows, also white, 
which gave additional luster to his dark 
•yes. His features were tegular, and there 
Were deep furrows upon his forehead and 
around his mouth. Despite the good-hu- 
mored smile which played about his lips, 
md the cheerful light which flowed from his 
eyes, there was at times, a haggard look 
Upon his face. One moment all cheerfulness 
and animation, the next instant his face 
would wear a faded look ; the corners of his 
mouth would fall ; and his eye become 
vacant and lusterless. 

He emptied the gohlet of-braudy without 
«ua taking it from hia lips, and the effect 
w»a directly seen in his glowing countenance 
ud sparkling eyes. 

"Ah! that is good Iwaody," he cried, 
imacking his lipa, and sinking back in his 
chair. " You think I am a deep drinker 1" 
he nmarked, after a moment's pause. — "Do 
not W)>iidet at it There are times in a man'3 
)iF> when he is forced to choose between the 
brandy bottle s&d the knife of the suicide." 

Ai tho word, his head sunk and his coun- 
tenauM became clouded and aulleii. 

BefWe Bandolph could, reply, ha raised 
U* head Hd exclaimed gftyly : 

" Do yoa know, my boy, that I ttare been 



a great traveler ? Three times I have 
encircled the globe. I have seen most of 
what is to be seen under the canopy of 
heaven. I have been near freezing to death 
in Greenland, and have been burned almost 
to a cinder by the broiling sun of India. 
To-day, in the saloona of Paris ; a month 
after in the midst of an Arabian desert ; and 
the third month, a wanderer among the ruina 
of ancient Mexico and Yucatan, I have 
tried all climates, lived with all sorts of 
people, and seen sights that would make the 
Arabian Nights seem but poor and tame by 
contrast And now, my boy, I'm tired." 

And the wan, haggard look came over his 
face, as he uttered the word "tired." 

" Your daughter has not accompanied you 
in these pilgrimages ?" 

"No, From childhood she was left under 
careful guardianship, in the bosom of an 
English family, who lived in Florence. 
Poor child ! I have often wondered what 
she has thought of me ! To-day I have 
been with her in Florence, and within two 
months she has received a letter from me, 
from the opposite side of the globe. But as 
I siiid before, I am tired. Were it not for 
one thing I would like to settle down in 
your country. A fine country, — a glorious 
country, — only one fault, and that very 
likely will eat you all up." 

"Before I ask the nature of the faulty 
pardon me for an impertinent question. Of 
what country are you 7 You speak of the i 
English as a foreign people ; of the Ameri- 
cana in the same manner; yet you speak the 
language without the slightest accent." 

The countenance of Mr. Lynn became 
clouded and sullen. 

"I am of no country," he said harehly. 
I ceased to have a country, about the time 
Eleanor was bom. But another time," his ' 
me became milder, " I may tell you all . 

And the fault of our country?" said ; 
Randolph, ansious to divert the thoughts of . 
his friend from some painful memory, which - 
evidently absorbed his mind, " what is it T' 

Mr. Lynn once more filled and Aavly 
drained his goblet 

" You ate the last peraoe to'whom I BM9 
ipeak of this fault,—" 

"HOWK)?' 



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FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNTQHT. 



«r 



"You are a planter. You have been 
reared under peculiar influences. Your 
mind from childhood has been impercepti- 
bly moulded into a certain form, and that 
form it is impossible la change.' You cannot 
see, as I can*; for I am a spectator, and you 
are in the center of the conflagration, which 
I observe from a distance. No, no, Ran- 
dolph, I can't speak of it to you. But you 
planters will be wakened some day — you 
irill. God help you in your awakening — 
hem!" 

Randolph's face becMne pale as death. 
"You speak, my friend, of the question 
of negro slavery. You surely don' 
sider it an eviL You — you — Aa/e the very 
mention of the race." 

Shading his eyes with his uplifted hand, 
Bernard Lynn said, with slow and measured 
distinctness : 

" Do I hate the race ? Yes, if you could 
read my heart, you would find hatred lo thi 
African race written on its every liber. The 
very name oC negro fills me Hrjth loathing.' 
He tittered an oath, and continued in i 
lower tone ; " By what horrible fatality wa 
that accursed race ever planted upon the soil 
of the New World !" 

Randolph felt his blood boil in his veins 
his face was flushed ; he breathed in gasps. 

" And then it is not sympathy for the 
negro, that makes you look with averaion 
upon the institution of American alaveiy f" 
" Sympathy for a iibel upon the race — a 
hybrid composed of the monkey and the 
man ? The idea is laughable. Were the 
negro in Africa — his own countiy — I might 
tolerate him. But his presence in any shape, 
as a dweller among people of the white 
race, is a cuise to that race, more horrible 
than the plagues of Egypt or the fires of 
Gomorrah." 

"It is, then, the infiueriix of negro thsvirg 
upon Ok viliite race, which concerns you ?" 
faltered Randolph. 

"It is Ok infixience of negro slavery upon 
the white race which concerns me," echoed 
Lynn, with bitter emphasis: "But you are 
a planter. I cannot talk to you. To 
mention the subject to one ot you, is to set 
you in a blaze. By George ! how the devils 
BDUt laugh when they see us poor mortals, 
do Mger in the pursuit of our owa niin, — so | 



merry as we play with hot coals in die midst 
of a powder magaaine !" 

"Yoii may speak to me upon this sub- 
ject," said Randolph, drawing a long breath, 
"and speak freely," 

" It wont do. You are all bUnd. There, 
for instance, is the greatest man among you ; 
his picture hangs at your back — " 

Randolph turned and beheld, for the first 
time, a portrait which hung against the wall 
behind. It was a sad, stern face, with snow- 
white hair, and a look of intellect, moulded 
by an iron Destiny. It was the likeness of , 
JoHH C. Calhoun, — Calhoun, the John 
Calvin of Political Economy. 

" I knew him when he was a young man," 
continued Lynn, "I have met and conversed 
with him. Mind, I do not Bay that we were 
intimate friends! A braver man, a truer 
heart, a finer intellect, never lived beneath 
the sun. Then he felt the evils of this hor- 
rible system, and felt that the only remedy, 
was the removal of the "entire race to Africa. 
Yes, he felt that the black man could only 
exist beside the white, lo the utter degrada- 
tion of the latter. Now, ba! hal he has 
grown into the belief; that Slavery, — in other 
words, the presence of the black race in the 
midst of Ote tahile, — is a blessing. To that 
belief he surrenders everything, intellect 
heart, soul, the hope of power, and the ap- 
probation of posterity. When Calhoun ia 
blind, how can you planters be eipected ta 

Randolph was silent. " There is in my 
veins, the blood of this accused race," ho 
muttered to himself. 

"In order to look up some of the results 
of this system," continued Bernard Lynn, 
let us look at some of the characteristics of 
the American people. The north is a tiader; 

traffics; it buys; it sells; it meets every 
question with the words, 'Will il payP 
(As a gallant southron once add to ma; 
'When the north choose a patcoc saint, a 
lew name will bo added to the ealeadar, 
Saint PicAvtjHa ' "). The South m fnuk, 
generous, hospiti^le ; there are tb4 virtue* 
of ideal chivalry among the southern people. 
And yet, the north prospers in every seng«^ 
while the south, — w/tnf it the f Mure e^tha 
South f The west, noble, generoua, and frea 
from the trails which mark a nation of JOtn 



wGoogle 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



{TaEScken, is j'uat ui>iat the south wovM be, 
were it fbeh ikou the Black Race. Thick 
of that, frieod Eaadolph I You niiiy glean a 
bit of solid truth from the disconnected re- 
marks of an old traveler," 

"But you have cot yet, instanced a single 
evit of ouE inetitution," Interrupted Ran- 

"Are you from the south, and yet, ask 
to give you instances of the evils of slavery ? 
Pshaw ! I tell you man, the evil of slavery 
COnsiEts in the presence of the black 
in the midst of the whites. That is the 
of the matter. You cannot elevate that 
save at the expense of the whiles — not 
expense of money, mark you, — hut st 
expense of the physical and mental features 
of the white race. Don't I speak ph 
enough? The two races cannot live toj 
ther and not mingle. You know it to 
impossible And do you pretend to say, that 
the mixture of black and white, can prodi 
anything but an accursed progeny, 
of the good qualities of each race, and 
their very origin, at war with both African 
and Caucasian 7 Nay, you need not hold 
your head In your hands. It is blunt truth, 
hut it ia truth." 

The bolt had struck homo. Eaadolph 
had buried his face in his hands, — " I 
one of these hybrids," he muttered in agony; 
''at war at the same time, with the race of 
my father and my mother." 

" But, how would you remedy this evil ?" 
he asked, without raising his head. 
^ "Remove the whole race to Africa," re- 
sponded Lynn. 

" How can this be done ?" 

"By one effort of southern will. Instead 
of attempting to defend the system, let the 
southern people resolve at once, that the 
presemx of the hlack race, is the greatest curse 
that can befall America. This resolution 
made, the means will soon follow. One- 
fourth the expenses of a five years' war 
would transport the negroes to Africa. One- 
twentieth part of the sum, which will be ex- 
pended in the next ten years (I say nothing 
of the past) in the quarrel of north and south, 
ftbout this matter, would do the work and do 
it WWII. And then, free from the blatk race, 
tb« south would go to work and mount to her 



"But, what will become of the race, when 
they are transported to Africa ?" 

" If they are really of the human family, 
they will show it, by the civilization of 
Africa. They will establish a Nationality 
for the Negro, and plant the <rts on sea- 
shore and desert. Apart from the white 
race, they can rise into their destiny." 

" And if nothing is done ?" interrupted 
Randolph. 

" If the south continues to defend, and the 
north to quarrel ab3ut slavery, — If instead of 
making one earnest effort to do something 
with the evil, they break down national 
good-feeling, and waste millions of money in 
mutual threats, — why, in that case, it needs 
no prophet to foretell the future of the south. 
That future will realize one of two condi- 

He paused, and after a moment, repeated 
with singular emphasis, " St. Domingo ! — SI. 
Domingo !" 

" And the other condition," S£ud Randolph. 

" The whole race will be stript of all ita 
noblo qualities, and swallowed up in a race, 
composed of black and. white, and cursing 
the very earth they tread. In the south, the 
white race will in time be o,nnihilated. That 
garden of the world, composed, I know not 
of how many states, — extending from the 
middle states to the gulf, and from the At- 
lantic to the Mississippi, — will repeat on a 
colossal scale, the horrible farce, which the 
worid has seen in the case of St Domingo " 

Bernard Ly n a„ fill d 1 g 1-1 t d 
slowly sipped th In d 1 1 1 fM 
faded from his th n, f h th 

fell,— his face bemfdd \ h d 

Randolph, s ted n 1 m h 11 
his knee, and 1 f h d pp tel b hia 
band, was hurl d th ht II fac as 
averted from th I ght th n d m b 
which convule d t ry 1 m t w 

concealed from tl bs t f B mard 

Lynn. 

Thus they cmaidfalotin. ' | 
buried in his own peculiar thoughts. 

Randolph," said Bernard Lynn, — and 
there was something so changed and singular 

his tone, that Randolph started — " draw | 
near to me, I wish to speak with you." 

Randolph looked up, and waa astonji*?^ 



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FBOM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



flashed ivild- 

Sxed and 

and quivering 

8 were swollen 

I low, ablated 



■*^< 



by the change which had 
face of the traveler. His ■ 
ly, his features were one 
rigid and the next^ tremuli 
with strong emotion ; tlie 
on his broad forehead. 

"Eandolph," he said, . 
voice, "I am a Carolinian." 

"A Carolinian ?" echoed Kandolph. 

" The name of Bernard Lynn h not my 
real name. It is an assumed name, Bandolph. 
Assumed, do you hear me 1" his eyes flash- 
ed more wildly, and he seized Eandolph's 
hand, and unconsciously wrung it with an 
almost frenzied clutch — "Assumed some 
seventeen years ago, when I forsook my 
home, ray native soil, and became a raiser- 
able wanderer on the face ot the eartL Do 
you know why I assumed that name, — do 
you know ? — " 

He paused as if suffocated by his emotions. 
After a moment he resumed in a lower, 
deeper voice, — 

" Did you ever hear the name of ? 

" It is the name of one of the first and 
oldest families of Carolina," responded Ean- 
dolph. "A aamo renowned in her history, 
but now extinct) I boliove." 

" That is my name, my real name, which 
I have forsaken forever, for the one which I 
now bear," resumed Bernard Lynn. "I am 
the last male representative of the family. 
Seventeen years ago my name disappeared 
from Carolina. I left borne — my native 
land — all the associations that make life 
,d became a miserable exile, And 

He uttered an oath, which came shirp and 
hissing through his clenched teeth 

Profoundly interested Randolph, as if 
fascinated, gazed silentlv mto the flashing 
eyes of Bernard Lynn. 

"I ivas young, — rich, — the inheritor of an 
honored name," continued Bernard Lynn, in 
hurried tones, — "and I was marj-ied, Ran- 
dolph, married to a woman of whom Eleanor 
is the living picture, — a woman as noble in 
sou!, and beautiful in form as ever trod 
God's earth. One year after our marriage, 
when Eleanor was a babe, — nearer to me, 
Ktmdolph, — I left my plantation in the eve- 
ning, and went on .a short visit to Charleston. 
^Xtikic home the next day, and where I had 



left my wife living and beautiful, I found 
only a mangled and dishonored corpse," 

His head fell upon bis breast, — he could 
not proceed. 

" This is too horrible I" ejaculated Ran- 
dolph, — "too horrible to be real." 

Bernard raised his head, and clutchiog 
Eandolph's hands — 

"The sun was setting, and his beams 
shone warmly through the western windows 
as I entered the bedchamber. Oh ! I can 
see it yet, — I can see it now, — the baba 
sleeping on the bed, while the mother il 
stretched upon the floor, lifeless and welter- 
ing in her blood. Murdered and dishonored — 
murdered and dishonored — " 

As though those words, "murdered and 
dishonored," had choaked his utterance, ha 
paused, and uttered a groan, and once mora 
his head fell on his breast. 

At this moment, even as Randolph, ab- 
sorbed by the revelation, sits silent and pale, 
gazing upon the bended head of the old 
man, — at this moment look yonder, and 
behold the form of a woman, who with 
finger on her lip, stands motionless near the 
threshold. 

Randolph is not aware of her presence — 
the old man cannot see her, for there is 
agony like death in his heart, and his head 
is bowed upon his breast ; but there she 
stands, motionless as though stricken into 
stone, by the broken words which she has 

It is Eleanor Lynn. 

On the very threshold she was arrested by 
the deep tones of her father's voice, — she 
listened, — and for the first time heard tha 
story of her mother's death. 

And now, stepping backward, her eye 
riveted on her father's form, she seeks to 
leave the room unobserved, — she reaches tha 
threshold, when her father's voice is heard 

"Ask me not for details, ask mo not," he 
cried in broken tones, as once more he raised 
his convulsed countenance to the light 
" The author of this outrage was not a man,, 
but a negro, — a demon in a demon's shape ; 
and" — he smiled, but there was W merri- 
ment in his smile, — "and now yAU-kttow 
why I left home, native land, »11 tb« awod- 
stions which make life dsu, laveDUtb yeai*' 



wGoogle 



p^ 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



igo. Now you know why I hate the 
accursed race. 

Aa he spoke, Eleanor Lyon glided from 



CHAPTER X, 

Ab midnight drew near, Randolph ■ 
Alone in his bedchamber, — a spacious cht 
fter, magnificently fumbhed, and illumined 
by a single candle, which stood upon a rose- 
wood table near the lofty bed. Seated in a 
chair, with hia cloak thrown over his 
shoulder?, and an opened letter in his hand, 
Randolph's eyes were glassy with profound 
thought. His face was very pale ; a slight 
trembling of the lip, an occasional hearing 
of the chest, alone made him appear less 
motionless than a statue. 

The letter which he held was 
which Mr. Hicks had given him, some three 
hours before, but he did not seem 
occupied with its contents. 

"It looks like a bridal chambei 
mjlttered, as his eye roved round the spacious 
apartmeol, "and this white couch like 
bridal bed,"— "-a bitter smile crossed his face. 
"Think of it — the bridal bed of Eleanor 
Lynn and — the white slave !" 

And he relapsed into his rei 
mthet, into a train of thought, which had 
occupied him for two houra at least, while 
he sat silent and motionless in hia cham- 
ber. 

Oh, dark and bitter thoughts — filling every 
vein with fire, and swelling every avenue of 
the brain with the hot pulsations of ma<! 
sess ! The image of Eleanor, the story told 
two hours 1^0 by Bernard Lynn, and the 
ttunfthat corrupted the life-blood in his 
veins, — all these mingled in his thoughts, 
•nd almost drove him mad. 

"And from this labyrinth, what way of 
Mcape ? Will Eleanor be mine, when she 
learns that I am of the accursed race of the 
wtetch who first dishonored and then out- 
raged her mother ? And the father, — ah !" 

He passed bis h^nd over his brow, aa if to 
befiish these thoughts, and then jieruaed the 
leU«r which he held in his hand, — 

"It i* e!gt>e4 I? my 'unknown friend of 
tbe balf-way-kgoM,' uid desires tne, fori 



certain reasons, to be at a particular locality, 
in the Five Points, at fen minutes past 
twelve. It is now," — he took hia gold 
watch from his pocket, — "half past eleven. 
I must be moving. A singular request, and 
a mysterious letter; but I will obey." 

On the table lay a leather belt, in which 
were inserted two bowie-knivea and a revolv- 
ing pistol. Randolph wound it about hia 
waist, and then drew a cap over his brow, 
and gathered his cloak more closely to hia 

>gHisbod tho candle, and 

stole softly from the room. As he descended 

was still throughout the 

icrvants had retired, and 

Eleanor. Esther, and the old man, no doubt, 

asleep. Randolph passed along 

the hall, and opening the front door, crossed 

threshold. 

'Now for the adventure," he ejaculated, 
and hurried down Broadway. After nearly 
hour's walk, he turned into one of 
those streets which lead from the light and 
uproar of Broadway, toward the region of 
the Tombs. 

Darkness was upon the narrow street, and 
his footsteps alone broke the dead stillness, 
he hurried along. 

As he reached a solitary lamp, which gave 
light to a portion of the street, hia ear 
laught the echo of footsteps behind ; and. 
impelled by an impulse which he could not 
himself comprehend, Randolph paused, and 
concealed his form in the shadow of a deep 
doorway. From where he stood, by th«* 
light of'the lamp (\\hich was not five paces 
distant) he could ciramind a view of any 
wayfarer who might chance to pass along 
the distrted sIreeL 

The footsteps drew nearer and presentlr 
two jersons cime in s ght They halted 
beneath the lamp Raniolph could not see 
,hLir fires but he remarked that one was „ 
ibort and thick set in form while Che Otho^ ^ 
xja tall and commanding The tall oae u 
ivore a cloak, and the other an overcoat. f. 

And Randolph heard their voices — « 

"Are wc near the hound? My "badk 
hurts like the devil, and 1 don't wish to gO 
any farther than is necessary," 

" Only a block or two, to go," cepliad A* 
other. " Judai Isotriotl Just t)^A 'ttiC 



,/Googlc' 



PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



n 



we're sure to find him there, Rojaltoii, and 
your back wont hurt a bit." 

'H>h, by ! let me but find him 

stand face to face witli him, and I'll take 
care of the rest" 

These words, accompanied by an oath, 
and uttered with the emphasis of a mortal 
hatred, were all that Randolph hoard. 

The twain proceeded on their way. 

It was not until Ihe sound of their foot, 
steps bad died away, th^t Randolph emerged 
from his hiding-place — 

"Tes, you will meet him, and stand face 
to fac with h A — th t y t 1 



H fit f h k 



i p tol — they 



I d h way. 

] Ch h e in 



th 1 ht u he 



Sh has 
h bt 1 



1 I 



Th 



h f n 



Ad 



rob fptlss ht 1 esh neck 
a d h Id bar asy f Id upon 

h p I buat d gi dl d tly to her 
waist by a sash ot bright scarlet The 
sleeves are wide, the folds loose and flowing, 

jfrond the sleeves and the hem of the skirt are 
bordered by a line of crimson. The only 
ornament which she wears is not a diamond, 
brooch or bracelet, not even i ring upon her 
delicate hand, but a single lily, freshly gath- 
ered wliirh gloami pi re jnd w hite from the 
blackness of her hair 

And what need bhe of ormment ' A 
very beautiful woman with i noble form, a 
voluptuous bust a face pile as marble, 
npenmg into >nid blojm oi the hp and 
cheek, relieved by jet-black hair ind iilii- 
mmed b\ eyes thit fiashirg from their deep 
fringes, bum with «ili with maddening 
light A very beiutiful woman who as she 
BUrveys herself m the mirror, knous that 
■ke )s beautiful and feels her pulse swell, 
h/ix bosom heave slowlv into light, her blood 

■^ponnd with the fullness of life i» every vein. 



One hand holds the light above her dark 
hair — the other the letter which, three hours 
and more ago, she received from Mr. Hicks, ■ 

"It requested rae to att re mjself m the 
dre&>«hich I wouH find in m; chamber, the 
costume of Lucretia Borgia And I have 
obejed And then to entpr the carnage, 
which at a ^uirter past tnelve will await 
me at the next corner, and hs-a me to Ihe 
Temple, I will obej 

She smiled — a smilo that disclosed the 
ivory of her teeth, the ripeness of her lips — 
lit up her eyes with now I ght, and nas re 
spoi i d to by th » 11 of her proud bosom. 

T k E th You wear the dreu 

of L t a B g a, and you are even more 
madl b t ful th n that accursed child of 
the D m P p but bare a care. You are 
yet spotl S3 a d pu But the blood is 

H rm in your veins, and perchance there ia 
ambition as well as passion in the fire which 
b ns in your eyea. Have a care ! The fu- 
tu e is yet to come, Esther, and who can tell 
what it will bring forth for you ? 

I will meet Godlike there," she said, 
and an ine};plicable smile animated her 

le placed a small poniard in the folds 
of her sash, and threw a heavy cloak, to 
which was attached a hood, over her form. 
She drew the hood over her face, and stood 
ready to depart. 

The light was extinguished. She glided 
from the room, and down the stairs, and 
parsed unobserved from the silent house. At 
comer of the next street the carriage 
wailed with the driver on the box. 

Who are you ?" she said in a low voice. 
The Temple," answered the driver, and 
descended from the box, and opened- the 
oarri^e door. 

Esther entered, the door was closed, the 
carriage whirled away. 

What will be the result of the adven- 
tures of this night ? " she thought, and her 
bosom heaved with mad agitation. 

And OS she was thus bomo to the Temple, 
there was a woman watching by the bedside 
pf an old man, in one ef the chambers of 
tE^\[!h>adway mansion, — Eleanor watching 
while her father slept. 

Her night-dress hwg i^ I«0H folds about 
her Qoble form, as she arose Btid held the dim 



wGoogle 



8a 



TBOM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



light nearer to his gray hairs. Then 
agony stamped upon his fa,ce, even a 
slept — an agony which was reflected ii 
pallid face and tremulous lips of his daugh- 
ter. 

"He sleeps!" she exclaimed in ti 
Toice ; "Little does he fancy that I 1 
the fearful history which this night fell from 
his lips. And this night, befwe he retired to 
rest, he clasped me to his bosom, and said — " 
she blushed in neck and check and brow, — 
"that it was the dearest wish of his heart, 
that I should bo united to Randolph." 

She kissed him gently on the brow, and 
crept noiselessly to her own room, and soon 
waa asleep, the image of Randolph prom- 
inent in her dreams. 

Poor Eleanor! 

Leaving Randolph, his sister, and those 
connected with their fate, our history now 
turns to other characters. 

Let us enter the house of the merchant 
prince. 

CHAPTER XL 



W THE HOrSE Of 1 

It was near eleven o'clock, on the night 
of December 23d, 1844, when Evelyn Som- 
era, Sen., sitting in his library by the light 
of the shaded candle, i as sta tied by the 
ringing of the bell. 

"The front door-bell he ejaculated, 
looking up from his labors wnt I the cindle 
shone full upon his th n features and low 
forehead. "Can it beEvelvn ' Oh I for- 
got. He returned only this evening. One 
of the servants, I suppose — been out late — 
must look to this in the morning." 

He resumed his pen, and i^in, surrounded 
by title-deeds and mortgages, bent down to 
hia labors. 

So deeply was he absorbed that he did 
not hear the opening of the front door, fol- 
lowed by a footstep in the hall. Nor did 
he hear the stealthy opening of the door of 
the library ; much loss liid he ace the burly 
figure which advanced on tiptoe to his table. 

" Be calm ! " said a gruff voice, and a 
hand WHS laid on his shoulder. 

"Hey! What? Who, — who — are — 
you ? " The merchant prince started in his 
otuur, and beheld a burly form enveloped in 



a bear-skin overcoat and full-moon face, 
spotted with carbuncles. 

" Be calm ! " said the owner of the face, in 
a hoarse voice. Th « ccas t 

alanii yourself Th tl ga w 11 h pp 

The merchant ] n as th hi 

amazed. 

Opening his sm 11 h If Id by 

heavy lids, to th f II t t t h d 

"What do you mean ? Who are you ?— 
I don't know you ? What — what — " 

" I'm Blossom, I am," returned the full- 
moon face, "Lay hui ! Keep dwJc! I'm 
Blossom, one of the secret police. Lay low !" 
" My God ! Is Evelyn in another scrape?" 
ejaculated the merchant prince ; " I will pay 
re of his misdeeds. There's no use 
of talking about it- I'll not go his bail, if 
in the Tombs. I'll — " Mr. 
Somera do^edly folded Ms arms, and sat 
bolt upright in his chair. 

With his contracted features, ipare fonn 
and formal white cravat, he looked the very 
picture of an unrelenting father. 

Come, hoHs, there's no use of that." 
Hoss ! Do you apply such words to 
" indignantly echoed the merchant 

Be calm, soothingly remarked Blossom. 

Lay low. Keep dark. Jist answer me one 

question : Has your son Evelyn a sool o' 

iras in the upper part o' this house ? " 

"What do you ask such a question for?" 

and Mr. Somers opened his eyes again. " He 

all the rooms on the third floor. In the 

body of the mansion — there are four in all." 

Yery good. Now, is Evelyn at home ?" 

asked Blossom. 

Don't come so near. The smell of bran- 
dy is offensive to me. Faugh !" 

'11 smell brimstone, if you dont 
take keer!" exclaimed the indignant Blos- 
To think o' slch ingratitude from an 
old cock like you, when I've come to keep 
that throat o' yourn from hein' cut by rob- 

Robbers!" and this time Mr. Somers 

fairly started from his seat. 

When I've come to purlect yourj'ujuijr, 
■es, you needn't wink, — yoai jagular t 
it was not for nothing that a Roman 

consul once rematked that republics ia aa- 

grateful." 



wGooi^lc 



FROM NiaHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



" Eobhers ? Bobbers !S What d'ye m 
Speak — speak '■ — " 

Blossom laid his hand, upon the 
chant's shoulder. 

"If you'll proniise to keep a secret, and 
not make a fuss, I'll tell you all. If yoi 
for raisin' a liellabaloo, I'll walk out 
loavo your jugular to take care of itself.' 

"I promise, I promise," ejaculated the 
merchant. 

"Then, while you are sittin' in that 
identical chair, there's two crackmen — b 
glars, you know, — hid up-stairs \jt your 
Bon'H room. They're a-waitiu' untij you 
put out the lights, and go to sleep, and then, 
— your cash-bos and jugular's the word ? — 
Why, I wouldn't insura your throat for all 
your fortin." 

The merchant prince was seized with a 
fit of trembling. 

"Robbers! in my house! Astounding, 
a-s-t-o-ii-n-d-i-n-g ! How did they get 



" By your son's night-key, and the front 
door. You soo I was arter these crackmen 
to-night, and found 'em in a garret of the 
Yaller Mug. You never patronize the 
Yaller Mug, do you ? " 

Mr. Somers nodded "No," with a spas- 
modic shake of the head. 

"Jist afore I pitched into 'era, I listened 
outside of the garret door, and overheard 
their plot to conceal themselves in Evelyn's 
room, until you'd all gone to bed, and then 
commence operations on your cash-box and 
jugular. One o' 'em's a convict o' eleven 
years' standin'. He's been regularly initiated 
into all the honors of Auburn and Cherry 
Hill." 

" And you arrested them ? " 

" Do you sea this coverlet about my head ? 
That^s what I got for attemptin' it. They 
escaped from the garret, by getting upon the 
roof, and jumpin' down on a shed. If my 
calculations are correct, they're up-stairs jist 
BOW, preparin' for their campaign on your 
cash-bos and jugular." — 

" Cash-bos ! I have no cash-bos. My 
cash is all in bank 1 " 

"Gammon. It won't do. Behind yer 
seat ia yer iron safe, — one o* th' Salamand- 
ers; you're got ten thousand in gold, in 



Mr. Somers changed color. 

"They intend t« blowup the lock with 
powder, after they'd fised your Jugular." 

Mr. Somers clasped hia hands, and shook 
like a leaf. 

" What's to be done, wliat's to be done ! " 
he cried in i>erfect agony, 

"There's six o' my fellows outside. I've 
got a special warrant from the authorities. 
Now, if you've a key to Evelyn's rooms, 
we'll just go up-stairs and search 'em. You 
can stand outside, while we go in. But no 
noise, — no fuss you know." 

"But they'll murder you," cried the mer- 
chant, "they'll murder me. They'll," — 

Blossom drew a six-barreled revolver from 
one pocket, and a slung-shot from the other. 

"This is my sdtier," he elevated his re- 
volver, "and this, my gentle jiersuader," he 
brandished the slung-shoL 

"Oh !" cried Mr, Somers, "property is no 

iger respected, — ah ! what times we've 

IIow many folks have jou in the 
Sfe?" 

The servants sleep in the fourth story, 

r Evejln's room. The housekeeper sleeps 

under Evelyn's room, and my room and the 

of my private secretary are just above 

where I am sitting." 

" Good. Now take the candle, and 

me," responded Blossom, " we wwA you 

a witness." 

The merchant prince made many signs of 
hesitation, — winking his heavy lids, nib- 
bing his low forehead with both hands, and 
pressing bis pointed chin between his thumb 
and forefinger, — but Blossom seized the 
candle, and made toward the door. 

You are not going to leave me in the 
dark ? " cried Mr. Somers, bounding from his 

"Not if you follow the light," responded 
Blossom ; " by-the-by, you may as well bring 
the keys to Evelyn's room." 

With a trembling hand, Mr. Somers lifted 
huge bunch of keys from the table. 

" There, open all the rooms on the second 
id fourth floors," he said, and followed' 
Blossom into the hall. 

There, shoulder to shouldtr, stood sis 
stout figures, in glazed caps and great coats 
of rough, dark-colored cloth, with a mace ot 



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FBOM NIGHTPAIX CNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



a piato! protruding from every pocket. They 
stood as silaut as blocks of stone. 

"Boys," whispered Blossom, "we'll go up 
first. Yoil follow and station yerselve 
the second landin', so as to be ready when I 
whifltle." 

A murmur of assent v/as heard, and Blos- 
som, light in hand, led the nuerchant prince 
toward the sf^rway which led upward from 
the center of the hall. At the foot of the 
Stdrway, they were co f t d tj a bc 
maid, who had ans d th bell y 
Blossom first rang : h d nd heeks 
were pale as ashes, d I 1 □ to 
railing of the staircase f pp rt 

"Och, murthor ! " h ja lat d as 
beheld the red face f Bl som a d the 
fiightened visage of h mast 

Blossom seized her rm th a t ht grip. 

"Look here, Biddy d j u kn 1 w to 
sleep?" was the inquiry of the rubicund 

" Slape ? " echoed the girt, with eyes like 

'"Cause if you don't go back into the 
kitchen, and put yourself into a sound aleop 
d'rectly ; yourself, your master and me, will 
alt be murdered in our beds. It 'ud hurt 
loy feelin's, Biddy, to see you with your 
throat cut, and sich a nice fat throat ns 

Biddy uttered a groan, and shrunk bock 
behind the stairway. - 

"Now then !" and Blossom led the way 
up-stairs, followed by the loan, angular 
form of the merchant prince, who turned his 
head over his shoulder, like a man afraid 
of ghosts. 

They arrived at the small entry at the 
head of the stairs, on the third floor; three 
doors opened into the entry ; one on the 
right, one on the left, and the third directly 
in the backgroi^id, facing the uead of the 

"Hush!" whispered Blossom, "do you 
hear any noise?" 

Advancing on tip-toe, he crouched against 
the door on the right, and listened. In an 
instant he came hack to the head of the 
stairs, where stood Mr. Vomers, shaking in 
every nerve. 

" It's a snore," s^d Blossom, " jist go and 
listen, aoA te9 if it's your son's snore." 



It required much persuasion to induce the 
merchant prince to take the step. 

" Whore are your men ? " 

Blossom pointed over the merchant's 
shoulder, to the landing beneath. There, in 
the gloom, stood the six figures, shoulder to 
shoulder, and as motionless as stone. 

"Now will you go ?" 

Mr, Somers advanced, and placed his 
head against the door on the right. After a 
brief pause, he returned to the head of the 
stairs where Blossom stood. " It is not my 
son's snore," he s^d, "that is, if I am any 
judge of snorts." 

Blossom took the light and the keys, and 
advanced to the door on the right, which he 
gently tried to open, but found it locked. 
Making a gesture of caution to the merchant 
prince, he selected the key of the door from 
the bunch, softly inserted it, and as softly 
turned it in tha lock. The door opened 
with a sound. Then stepping on tip-toe, 
he crossed the threshold, taking the light 
with him. 

Mr. Somers, left alone in the dark, felt 
bis heart march to his throat. 

"I shall be murdered, — I know I shall," 
he muttered, when the light shone on his 
frightened face again. Blossom stood in the 
doorway, beckoning to him. 

Somers advanced and crossed the t^eshold, 

"Look there," whispered BloaSom "cow 
d'ye believe me T " 

A huge man, dressed in the jacket and 
trowsers of a convict, was sleeping on the 
bed, his head thrown back, his mouth wida 
open, and one arm hanging over the bed- 
side. His chest heaved with long, deep 
respirations, and his nostrils emitted a snore 
of frightful depth. 

At this confirmation of the truth of Blos- 
m's statement, Mr. Somers' face became as 
white as his cravat. 

"Look &iere! "whispered Blossom, point- 

! to a pistol which lay upon the carpet, 
almost within reach of the brawny hand 
which hung over the bed-side. 

Good God ! " ejaculated Somers. 
Now look Oiere 1 " Blossom pointed to 
the brandy bottle on the table, and held the 
light near it. "Ew-pty ! d'ye see ? " 

Then Blossom draw from his capacious 
pocket, certain pieces of rope, each of which 



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FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



95 



\e nttend- 



waa attached to the middle of a piece of 
hickory, as bard ae iron. 

" Hold the light," and like 
ing to a sleeping babo, thii i 
som gently attached one of the aforesaid 
pieces of rope to the ankles of the sleeper, in 
such a manner, that the two pieces of hick- 
ory, — one at either end of the rope, — formed 
a knot, which a giant would have found it 
hard to break. As the ankles rested side by 
Bide, this feat was not so difiicult. 

"Now for the wiiEts," and Blossom quiet- 
ly regarded the position of the sIcepei-'B 
bands. One was doubled on bis huge chest, 
the other hung over the bedside. To 
atraighten one arm and lift the other, — to do 
this gently and without awaking the sleep- 
er, — to tie both wrists together as he had tied | 
the ankles, — this was a difficult task, but[ 
Blossom accomplished it. Once the con' 
moved, " Dont give it up so easy .'" he m 
tared and snored again. 

Blossom surveyed him with great satisi 
tion. — " There's muscle, and bone, and fists 
did you ever see sieh Sets !" 

" A perfect brute !" ejaculated Somers. 
"Sow you stay here, while I go into 
next room, and hunt for the lothor one." 
This loom, it will bo remembered, co 
municated with an adjoining apartment by 
folding-doors. Blossom took the candle and 
listened; air was silent beyond the folding- 
doors. Ho carefully opened these doors, and 
light in hand, went into the next apartment. 
A belt of light came through the aperture, 
and fell upon the tall, spare form of the mor- 
cfaant prince, who, standing in the center of 
the first apartment gazed through the aper- 
ture just mentioned, into the seamd room. 
All the movementa of Blossom were open to 
his gaze. 

He saw liim approach a bed, whose ruf- 
fled coverlet indicated that a man was sleep- 
ing there. Ha saw him bend over this bed, 
but the burly form of the police-officer hid 
the face of the sleeper from the sight of the 
merchant prince. He saw him lift the cover- 1 



Truth to t«ll, the full-moon face of Blos- 
30in, spotted with carbuncles, had somewhat 
changed its color. 

"Can't you speak? It's ETelyn who's 
sleeping yonder, — isn't it? Hadn't you 
bettor wake him quietly 7" 

"Ah my feller," and the broken voice of 
Blossom, showed that he was human after 
all — all that he hod seen in his lifetime, — 
" Ah my feller, he '11 never wake again." 

Somers uttered a cry, seized the light and 

strode madly into the next room, and turned 

the bed where the sleeper laid. The fallen 

the fised eyeballs, the hand upon the 

cheDt, stained with the blood which Uowed 

from the wound near the heart — he saw it 

II, and uttered a horrible cry, and fell like 

dead man upon the floor. 

Blossom seized the light from his hand as 

I be fell, and turning back into the first room 

blew his whistle. The room was presently 

occu]>ied by the six assistants. 

" There's been murder done here to-night," 
he siiid, gruffly: " Potts, examine that pistol 
near the bed. Unloaded, is it? Gentlemen, 
take a look at the prisoner and then follow 

He led the way into the second room, and 
they all beheld the dead body of Evelya 
Somers. 

" Two of you carry the old man down 
stairs and try and rewive him ;" two of the 
assistants lifted the insensible form of the 
merchant prince, and bore it from the room. 
" Now, gentlemen, we 'II wake the prisoner." 

Ho approached the sleeping convict, fol- 
lowed by four of the policemen, whose faces 
lanlfested unmingled horror. He struck 
the sleeping man on the shoulder, — " Waka 
up Gallus. Wake up Oallua, I say !" 

After another blow, Ninety-One unclosed 
[lis eyes, and looked around with a vague and. 
itupefied stare. It was not until he sat up in 
bed, that he realized the fact, that his wrisU 
id ankles were pinioned. His gaze wan- 
dered from the face of Blossom to the coun- 
of the other police- officers, and last 



let, and stand for a moment, as if gazing ' of all, rested upon bis corded hands, 
upon the sleeping man, and then saw him "My luck," he said, guietly,-—" curse you, 
start abruptly from the bed, and turn his step you needn't 'awakened a fellow in his sleep, 
toward the jirst room. Why couldn't you have waited till mor- 

" What's the matter with you," cried the 'nin' ?" 
Dterohant prince, "are i/au frightened?" { And he sank bock on the bejl a^auu 



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FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



Blossom seized a pitcher filled with, water, 
which. Btood upon a table, and dashed the 
coDtents in the convict's face. 

Thoroughly awake, and thoroughly 
ragad, Ninoty-One started up in the bed, and 
gave utterance to a volley of curse 

Blossom made a sign with his hand ; the 
four policemen seized the convict and bore 
him into the secoi.d room, while Blossom 
held the light over the dead man's livid face 
and bloody chest. 

"Do you see that bullet-hole 1" said Blos- 
som ; "the pistol was found a-aido of yoi 
bed, near your hand. Gallns, you '11 have i 
dance on nothin', I'm worry much afeard 
you will. But it 'III take a strong rope to 
hang you." 

" What !'* shouted Ninety-One, " you don't 
mean to say, — " he cast a horrified look 
the dead man, and then, like a fiash of light- 
ning, the whole matter became as pir 
day to him, "Oh, Thirty-One," he groaned 
between his set-teeth, " this is your dodge, — 
ia it ? Oh, Thirty-One, this is another litlli 
item in our long account" 

" What do you say 1" asked one of the 
pol m n N n f One relapsed inti 
dogn din Th y could not force 
oth d f m h m. Carrying him back 

inti th fl t m, they Mi him 
bed ad d h ankles and wri 

add t nal d Meanwhile, they could 
peruse at their leisure, that face, whose deep 
jaw, solid chin, and massive throat, covered 
with a stiff beard, manifested at onoe, im- 
mense muscular power, and an indomitable 
will. The eyes of the convict, overhung by 
his bushy brows, the cheeks disfigured by a 
hideoiis sear, the aquare forehead, with the 
pratuberance in the center, appearing amid 
masses of gray hair, — all these details, were 
observed by the spectatore, as tbey added 
new cords to the ankles and the wrists of 
*Iinety-One. 

Hia chest shook with a burst of laughter, 
"Don't give it up so easy !" he cried, "I'll 
be even with yon yet, Thirty-One." 

" S'arch all the apartments, — we must find 
hia comrade," eiclairaed Blossom, — "a pale- 
faced yoimg devil, whom I seen with him, 
lart night, in the cars." 

Hinety-Ono started, even as he lay pinion- 
ed upon the bed. — "Oh, Thirty-One," he 



groaned, " and you must bring the boy in it, 
too, must you ? Just add another figure to 
our account." 

The four rooms were thoroughly searched, 
but the comrade was not found. 

"Como, boys," aaid Blossom, "we'll go 
down-stairs and talk this matter over. Gal- 
loa," directing his conversation to Ninoty- 
One, "we'll see you again, presently." 

Ninety-One saw them croaa the threshold, 
and heard the key turn m the lock He 
was alone in the darkness, ^d Viiih the 

As Blossom, followed by the politemen, 
passed down stairs, ho was confronted on the 
second landing by the affrighted servnnls, — 
some of them but thinly did, — who assailed 
him with questions. Ii stead of answenng 
these multiplied queries. Blossom addressed 
hia conversation to a portlj dame of some 
forty years, who appeared m her night dress 
and with an enormous nightcap 

" The housekeeper, I believe, Mi am '' 
"Yes, sir,— Mrs. Tompkins," replied the 
ime, "Oh, do tell me, what does this all 

"How's the old gentleman ?" asked Blos- 

" In his room. He's reviving. Mr. Van 
Huydon, his private secretary is with him. 
lut do tell us the truth of this affair — 
'hat — what, does it all mean ?,' 

" Madam, it means murder and blood and 
old convict. Escuseme.Imust go— down- 
While the honso rang with the exclama- 
ons of his affrighted listeners, Blossom 
assed down stairs, and, with his assistants, 
entered the Library. 

The question afore the house, gentle- 
1, is as follows," — and Blossom sank into ' 
the chair of the merchant prince — " Shill 

keep the prisoner up-stairs all night, or ■' 
shill we take him to the Tombs ?" | 

Various opinions were given by the police- 
en, and the debate assumed quite s 
mated form, Blossom, in all the dignity of 
his bear-skin coat and 'Carbnncled visage, 
presiding as moderator. 

" Address the cheer," he mildly eiclaimed, 
as the debate grew warm. "Allow me to 
remark, gentlemen, that Stuffletz, there, is 
very senbible. Stuff, you think aa the oon>- 



Z 



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FROM NIGHTFALL UKTIL MIDNIGHT. 



97 



ner'3 inquest will be held np-stairs hv ariy 
daylight to-morrow morhin' it 'ud be fetter 
to keep tlie prisoner there so as to confront 
liim with the body ? That's your opinion, 
Stuff, Well, I can't speak for jou, gentle- 
men, as I don't b'long to the rcg'lar police, — 
(I'm only an extra, you know!) — but it 
seems to me, Stuff, is right. Therefore, let 
the prisoner stay tip-stairs all night ; the 
room is safe, and I'll watch him mesself. 
Beside, you don't think he's a-goin' to 
tumble himself out of a third story winder, 
or vanish in a puff o' brimstone, as the devil 
does in the new play tit the Bowery — do 

There was no one to gainsay the strong 
position thus assumed by Poke-Berry Blos- 

" And then I kin have a little private chat 
ivith him, in regard to the $71,000, — I guess 
I can," he muttered to himself. 

" What's the occasion of this confusion ?" 
said a bland voice ; and, clad in his elegant 
white coat, with his cloak drooping from his 
tight shoulder, Colonel Tarleton advanced 
from the doorway to the light. " Passing by 
I saw Mr. Somers' door open, and hear an 
uproar, — what is the matter, gentlemen ? 
My old friend, Mr. Somers, is not ill, I 

"Evelyn, his son, has been shot," bluntly 
responded Blossom — "by an old convict, 
who had hid himself in the third story, with 
the idea o' attackin' old Somers' cash-box. 
and jugular." 

Colonel Tarleton, evidently shocked, raised 
his hand to his forehead and staggered 1« a 

" Evelyn shot !" he gasped, after a long 
pause. — " Surely you dream. The particu- 
lars, the particulars — " 

Blossom recapitulated the particulars of 
the case, according to the heat of his know- 

"It is too horrible, too horrible," cried 
Tarleton, and his extreme agitation was per- 
ceptible to the policemen. " My young 
friend Evelyn murdai^d ! Ah ! — " he started 
from the chair, and fell back again with his 
head in his hands. 

"But we've got the old rag'muffin," cried 
Blossom, "safe and tight; third story, back 
room." 



'J'arleton started from the chdr and ap- 
proached blossom, — his pale face stamped 
with hatred and revenge. 

"Mr. Blossom," he said, and snatched the 
revolver fiDm the pocket of the mbicand 
gentleman. " Hah ! it's loaded in six barrels ! 
Murdered Evclj-n — in the back room you 
say — I'll have the scoundrel's life !" 

He snatched the candle from the table, 
d'd 
1 thy ' 



and rush d 


th d 


Thp 


r m 


not reco 


f th 




tl 


hoard h t 


I tl 






"Afte 1 


m ft h 


— tl 


11 be 


chief," h 


f d Bl sso 


ni d 


h 


after Ta 1 t 


f 11 d 


b tl 


P 



men. T 1 tl h t f 

sounded th 1 (h h us and m e 

drew th t- hotl m d m to 

the land p> t th h d f th t rs 
That figure attracted every eyo — a man 
attired in a white coaf, his face wild, his hair 
streaming behind him, a loaded pistol in oaa 
hand and a light in the other. 

" Ketch his coat-tails," shouted Blossom, 
and, followed by policemen and servant- 
maids, he rushed up the second stairway. 

He fomid Tarleton in the act of forcing 
the door on the lij/JU, which led into the 
room where Ninety-One was imprisoned. 

" It is locked ! Damnation 1" shouted 
Tarleton, roaring like a madman. " Will 
no one give me the key ?" 

"I'll tell you what I'll give you," was tho 
remark of Blossom. " I'll give you one 
under yer ear, if you don't keep quiet, — " 

But his threat came too late. Tarleton 
stepped back and then plunged madly 
i^ainst the door. It yielded with a crash. 
Then, with Blossom and the crowd at his 
heels, he rushed into the room, brandishing 
the pistol, as the light which he held fell 
upon his convulsed features, — 

"Where is the wretch? — show him to 
me! Where is the murderer of poor Eve- 
lyn?" 

"Blossom involuntarily turned his eyes 
toward the bed. It was empty. Ninoty-One 
was not there. His gaze traversed the room : 
a door, looking like the doorway of a clStotj 
stood wide open opposite the bed. It 
required but a moment to ascertain that tho 
door opened upon a stairway. 

'• By ! shouted Blossom, " he's gouo I 



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98 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDKIGHT. 



EU comrade has been concealed someivhere, 
and has cut bim loose." 
" Gone 1" echoed police-ofEoera and ser- 

" Gone !" ejaculated Tarleton, and fell 
back into a chdr, and his head sunk upon 
hlB breast. 

There he remaned muttering and m 
log, while the four apartments on the third 
floor were searched in every corner 
Blossom and hie gang. The search was 

"He can't be got far," cried Blossom. 
" Some o' you go down into the yard, and 
I'll B'arch this staircase." 

Thus speaking, he took the light and dis- 
appeared through the open doorway of the 
staircase, while the other police- officers 
hastily descended the m^n stairway. 

Tarleton remained at least five minutes in 
the darkness, while shouts were heard in 
the yard behind the mansion. Then, emerg- 
ing from the room, he descended to the 
second floor, where he was confronted by the 
housekeeper, who was struck h p 
the sight of his haggard face 

"I am weak — I am faint m 

lean upon your arm," said T d 

supported his weight upon h 
the good lady. — "Support m to h b d 
chamber of my dear friend S n — h 
father of poor murdered Eve 
-,^, '' This way, sir," said th h k pe 
1 kindly, " he's in there, wi h his p 
■ecretary — " 

" With his private secretary d d y 
fwntly exclaimed Tarleton. h d 

after me, good madam, I wish to talk with 
the dear old man." 

He entered the bedchamber, leaving the 
housekeeper at the door. 

CHAPTER SII. 



A SINGLE lamp stood on a table, near a 
bed which was surmounted by a canopy of 
silken curtains. The room was spacious and 
elegant ; chairs, carpet, the marble mantle, 
elaborately carved, and the ceiling ailomed 
with an elaborate painting, — all served to 
■how that the merchant prince slept in a 
"place of state." Every detail of that 
tichly-furnished apartment, said " Gold !" at) 



plainly as though a voice was speaking it all 
the while. 

Hia lean form, attired in every-day apparel, 
was stretched upon the bed, and through the 
aperture in the curtains, the lamp-light fell 
upon one side of his face. He appeared to 
be sleeping, Hia arms lay listlessly by his 
side, and his head was thrown back upon the 
pillow. His breathing was audible in the 
most distant corner of the chamber. 

"Gulian," said Tarleton, who seemed to 
recover his usual strength and spirit, as soon 
as ho entered the room, "Where are you, 
my dear ? " 

The slight form of the private aecretary 
advanced from among the curtains at the foot 
of the bed. His face, almost feminine In its 
expression, appeared in the light, with tears 
glistening on the cheeks. It was a beautiful 
face, illumined by large, clear eyes, and 
frMaed in the wavy hair, which flowed in 
rich masses to his shoulders. At sight of the 
elegant Colonel, the blue eyes of the boy 
hone with a look of terror. He started 
hack, folding his hands over the frock coat, 
hich enveloped his boyish shape. 

"Ah, my God, — you here!" waa his 
^clamation, "when will you cease to per- 

Tho Colonel smiled, patted his elegant 
hiskers, and drawing nearer to the boy, 
ho seemed to cringe away from his touch, 
he said in his blandest tone, — 

" Persecute yoii ! Well, that is clever ! — 
Talk of gratitude again in this world I I 
took you when you were a miserable found- 
ling, a wretched little baby, without father, 
mother, or name. I placed you in the quiet 
of a country town, where you received an 
education. I gave you a name, — a 
fancy name, I admit — the name which yon 
!ar — and when I visit*d you, once or 
year, you called me by the name of 
father. How I gained money to support you 
these nineteen or twenty years, and to adorn 
that fine intellect of yours, with a finished 
education, — why, you don't know, and I 
scarcely can tell, myself. But after these 
years of protection and support, I appeared 
your home in the country, and asked a 
simple favor at your hands. Ay, child, the 
you delighted to call father asked in 
return for all that he had done for JOJI, » 



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FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



favor — only one favor — and that of the 
siropieat character. Where was your grati- 
tude ? Tou rcfuaed rne ; you fled from yoi 
home in the country, and I lost sight of yc 
until to-night, when I find ray lost lamb, i 
the employment of the rich merchant. His 
private Becretary, forsooth !" 

"Hush," exclaimed Qulian, with a depre- 
catory gesture, " You will wake Mr. Somers. 
He has had one convulsion already, and it 
may prove fatal. I have sent for a doctor, 
oh, why does he not come ?" 

" You shall not avoid me in that way, my 
young friend," said Tarleton. He laid his 
hand on the arm of the boy, and bent 
face so near to him that the latter felt the 
Colonel's breath upon his forehead. " The 
money which I bestowed upon your educa- 
tion, I obtained by what the world calls /rf- 
■ ony. For you — for you — " his voice sunk 
to a deeper hine, and his eyes flashed with 
anger ; " for you I spent some yeai 
delightful retreat, which is known i 
ears by the word, — Pbnitentiarv 

" God help me," cried the boy, affrighted 
by the expression which stamped the Colo- 
nel's face. 

" Penitentiary or jail, call it what you will, 
I spent some years there for yoursake. And 
do you wish to evade me now when, I tell 
you that I reared you but for one object, and 
that object dearer to me than life ? You 
ran away from my guardianship; you attempt 
to conceal yourself from me; you attempt to 
foil the hope for which I have suffered the 
tortures of the damned these twenty years ? 
Come, my boy, you'll think better of it." 

The smile of the Colonel was altogether 
fiendish. The boy sank on his knees, and 
r^ed to the Colonel's gaze that beautiful face 
stamped with terror, and bathed in tears. 

" Oh, pardon ma — forgive me ! " he cried, 
"Do not kill me — " 

"Kill you! Pshaw!" 

" Let me live an obscure life, away from 
your observation; let me be humble, poor and 
unknown ; as you value the hope of salva- ' 
tion, do not — I beseech yon on my knees — do 
cot ask me to comply with your request ! " j 

" If you don' t get up, I may be tempted ' 
to sfrika you," was the brutal remark of the | 
Colonel. " Pitiful wretch ! Hark ye," he ' 
bnt hJA head, — "the robber who this night. 



I murdered Evelyn Somers, gained admittance 
to this house by means of a nlgiit-key. He 
hail an accomplice in the house, who snpplied 
him with the key. That accomplice, (let us 
suppose a case) was youraelf — " 

'' Me ! " cried the boy, in utter horror. 

"I can obtain evidence of the fact," con- 
tinned the Colonel, and paused. "You had 
better think twice before you enter the lista 
with me and attempt to thwart my will." 

The boy, thus kneeling, did not reply, but 
buried his face in his hands, and his flowing 
hair hid those hands with its luxurious 
waves. He shook in every nerve with ag- 
ony. He sobbed aloud. 

" Will you ho quiet ? " the Colonel seined 
him roughly by the shoulder, "or shall I 
throttle you?" 

" Yes, kill me, jienrf, kill me, oh! kill ma 
with one blow;" the boy raised his face, and 
pronounced these words, his eyes flashiug 
with hitred, as he uttered the word "fiend." 
There was something startling in the look of 
mortal hatred which had so suddenly fixed 
itself upon that beautiful face. Even the 
Colonel was startled. 

"Nay, nay, my child," ho said iii a sooth- 
ing tone, "get up, get up, that's a dear 
child — I meant no harm — " 

At this moment the conversation was in- 
Ifirrupted by a hollow voice. 

nust pay, sir. That's my way. — 



It pay 



it go." 



The business-like nature, the every-day 
character of these words, was in painful con- 
trast with the hollow accent which accom- 
panied their utterance. At the sound the 
boy sprang to his feet, and the Colonel start- 
ed OS though a pistol had exploded at his 

The merchant prince had risen into a sit- 
ting posture. His thin features, low, broad 
forehead, wide mouth, with thin lips and 
pointed chin, were thrown strongly into view 
by the white cravat which encircled his 
throat. Those features were bathed in moU- 
ture. The small eyes, at other times kiHf 
concealed by heavy lids, were now expocdeS 
in a singular stare, — a stare which made tha 
blood of the Colonel grow cold in his veiES. 

" God blesa us ! What 's the matter with 
you, good Mr. Somers ?" ha ejaculated. 

But the rich man did not head him. 



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100 



PROM NIGtITFALL UNTIL SroNIGHT. 



" I ivouliin't give a snap for vour Eeadiag 
Bailroad — bad stock — bad stock — it must 
buret. It miU liaxsi, I say. Pay, pay, pay, 
or go ! That 's tlie only way b> do busi- 
ness. D'ye siipposo I'm lii ass ? The 
note can't lie over. If you don't moot it, it 
shall be protested. 

As he uttered these incoherent words, hia 
expanding eyes still fixed, be inaortod his 
tremulous hand in his waist-coat pocket,. and 
toot from thence a golden eaqle, which he 
brought near his eyes, gazing at it long and 
eagerly. 

" He 's delirious," ejaculated Tarleton, 
" why don't you go for a doctor ? " 

"Oh, what shall I do?" cried Gulian, 
rushing to the door, "why doesn't the doc- 

But at the door he was confronted by the 
buxom housekeeper, who whispered, "Our 
doctor is out of town, but one of the ser- 
vants has found another one: he's writing 

"Quick ! Quick ! Bring him at once ; " 
ftnd Gulian, in his flight, pushed the house- 
keeper out of the room. 

Mr. Somers still remained m a sitting pos- 
ture, his eye fixed upon the golden eagle, 

" Tell Jonka to foreclose," he muttered, 
"I've nothing to do with the man's wife 
and children. It isn't in the way of busi- 
ness. The mortgage isn't paid, and we 
must sell — sell — sell, — sell," he repeated 
until his voice died away in a murmur. 

The doctor entered the room. " Where 
ifl our patient ? " he Bidd, as he advanced to 
the bedside. He was a man somewhat ad- 
T^ced in years, with bent figure and stoop- 
ing shoulders. He was clad in an old-fash- 
ioned surtouf) with nine or ten heavy capos 
hanging about his shoulders ; and, as if to 
protect him from the cold, a bright-red ker- 
chief was tied about his neck and the lower 
part of his face. He wore a black fur hat, 
with an ample brim, which effectually shaded 
bis features. 

The Colonel started at the sight of this 
■ingular figure. "Our friend of the bluo 
capes, as I'm alive!" be muttered half 
aloud. 

The doctor advanced to the bedside. — 
"You will excuse me for retaining my bat 
and tb}B ^erchief about my neck," he said i^i 



his mild voice, "I am suffering from a severe 
cold." He then directed his attention to the 
sick man, while Guliau and Tarleton watch- 
ed hia movements, with evident interest. 

The doctor did not touch the merchant; 
he stood fay the bedside, gazing upon him 

"What's the matter with our friend?" 
whispered Tarleton. 

The doctor did not answer. He remained 
motionless by the bedside, surveying the 
quivering features and fixed eyes of the af- 
flicted man. 

" This person," eiclaimed the doctor, 
after a long pause, is not suffering from a 
physical complaint, Hia mind is afflicted. 
Prom the talk of the servants in the hall, I 
learned that he has this night lost his only 
son, by the hands of a murderer. The shook 
has been too great for him. My young 
friend," he addressed Gulian, who stood at 
his hack, "it were as well to send for a cler- 
gyman." 

Gulian hurried to the door, and whispered 
to the housekeeper. Returning to the bed- 
aide, he found the doctor seated in a chair, 
with a watch in his hand, in full view of the 
delirious man. The Colonel, grasping the 
bed-curtiun, stood behind him, in an attitude 
of profound thought, yet with a faint smile 
upon his lips. 

As for the merchant prince, seated boll 
upright in the bed, he clutched the golden 
eagle, (which seemed to have magnetizea 
his gaze), and babbled in hia delirium — 

"Yoa m heir of Trinity Church?" he 
said, with a mocking smile upon his thin 
lips, " yoa one of the descendants of Anreke 
Jans Bogardus ? Pooh ! Pooh ! The Church 
m,—Jirm. She defies you. Aaron Burr 
tried that game, be ! he ! and found it best to 
— to quit — to quit. What Trinity 
Church baa got, she will hold, — bold — hold. 
She buys, — she sells — she sells — she 
buys — a great business man is Trinity 
Church 1 And with your two hundred beg- 
garly beire of Anreke Jans Bogardus, you 
will go t« law about her title. Pooh !" 

" He is going fast," whiipered the Doctor, 
"his mind is killing him. Where are his 
relatives ? " 

His relatives ! Sad, sad word ! His wife 
had been dead many ycsra, and ber relatiTM 



M- 



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FfiOM NIGHTFALL UN'I'IL MIDNIGHT. 



were at a distance ; perchnnce in a foreign 
land. Hia nearest relative was a corpse, up- 
stairs, with a, piatoi wound through his 

Evelyn Somcra, Sen., was one of tlie rich- 
est race in Nuiv York, and vet there was not 
a single relative to stand by his dying-bed. 
The death-sweat on his fevered brow, the 
whiteness of death on his quivering lips, the 
fire (if tlia grave in his expanding eyes, 
Evelyn Soraers, the marohant prince, had 
neither wife nor child nor relative to stand 
by liira in his last hour. The poor boy who 
wopt by the bed-side was, perchance, his 
only friend. y 

" Coriieliiis BennaD, the artist, (wl\o died, 
1 believe, some yeaw ago,) was his only Ala- 
tive ill New York : hb only son out of 
view." This was the answer of Colonel 
Tarleton, to the question of the Doctor. 

A 1 t) d5 g t 11 I !t up- 

glt, Id h k d h ther 

grasp th i 1 t II babbl d his 

d 1 tl h 11 w t f d th He 

t Ik d f jth H bo It d Id, 

d t d dist ss d t ts paid 
n tes and p t t d th m d magi ary 

m bj th 1 f t k and ach ed 
on gi J t mph by 1 p has f proflt- 
abl t t f I d — t ia f htf 1 ne. 

The Doctor shuddered, and as he looked 
at his watch, muttered a word of prayer. 

The Colonel turned hia face away, but 
was forced by an involuntary impulse, to 
turn again and gaze upon that livid coun- 
tenance. 

The boy Gulian — in the shadows of the 
room — sunk on liis iinoes and uttered a 
prayer, broken by EOts. 

At length the dying man seemed to re- 
cover a portion of his consciousness. Turn- 
ing his gaze from the golden coin which he 
still ciivtched in his fingers, he said in a voice 
which, in sqjiiB measure, resembled his 
every-day tone, — | 

"Send for a minister, a minister, quick ! I 
am very weak." 

The words had scarcely passed his lips, 
when a soft voic* exclaimed, "I am here, 
my dear friend Soraers, I trust that this is 
not serious. A sad, sad affliction, you have 
encountered to-night. But you must cheer i 
up, you roust, indeed." 



101 

;d the room un- 
perceived, and now stood by the bed-side. 

"Herman Bamhurst!" ejaculated Colonel 
Tarteton, 

The tall, slender figure of the clergyman, 
dressed in deep black, ivaa disclosed to the 
gaze of the dying man, who gazed intently 
at his blonde face, eOeminata in its excessive 
fairness, and then exclaimed, reaching his 

"Come, I am going. I want you to show 
me the way !" 

"Iteally, my dear friend," began Barn- 
hurst, passing his hand over his hair, which, 
straight and brown and of silken softness, 
fell smoothly behind hia ears, "you must 
bear ut>. This is not so serious as you im- 

"1 tell you I am going. I have often 
heard you preach, — once or twice in 
Trinity — I rather liked you — and now I 
want you to show me the way ! Do you 
sec there 1" !ie extended his trembling 
hflndi "there's the way I'm going. Its all 
dark. You're a minister of my church too ; 
I ivant you to sJiow me the icay ? " 

There was a terrible emphasis in the 
accent, — a terrible entreaty in the look of 

The Hev. Herman Barnhurst sank back 
in a ch^r, much afTected. 

"Has he made his will?" he whispered 
to the Doctor, ''so much property and no 
heirs : he could do so much good with it. 
Had not you better send for a lawyer ?" 

The Doctor regarded, for a moment, the 
fait complexion, curved nose, warm, full 
lips, and rounded chin of the young minis- 
ter; and then answered, in a low voice, 

" You are a minister. It is your duty not 
altogether to preach eloquent sermons, and 
ahow a pair of delicate hands from the sum- 
mit of a marble pulpit. It is your duty to 
administer comfort by the dying-bed, where 
humbug is stripped of its mark, and death is 
the only reality. Do your duty, sir. Save 









'■ Yes, save my soul," cried Sranera, who 
heard the lost words of the Doctor, "I dbn't 
want the ofSces of the church ; I dM't "want 
prayers. I , want comfort, comfort; mtio," 
He paused, and then reaching forth his 
liand, said in li low voice, half broken by a 



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108 



PROM NIGHTFALL tJHTIL MIDNIGHT. 



burst of horrible laughter, " Thcri?'s the way 
I've got to travel. Now tell me, minist 
do you really believe that there is anythi 
there ? When we die, wo die, don't w 
Sleep and rot, rot and sleep, don't we 7 " 

Herman, who waa an Atheist at heart, 
though he had never confessed the truth 
even to himself — Herman, who waa a i 
ister for the Bake of a large salary, fine 
riage, and splendid house — Herman, 
was, in fact, an intellectual voluptuary, 
voting life and soul to the gratifiaatioi 
one appetite, which had, with him, become 
a monomania — Herman, now, for the first 
moment in his life, was conscious c 
thing heymd the grave ; conscious that this 
religion of Christ, the Master, which he 
OS a trade, was something more than a trade ; 
waa a fact, a reality, at once a hope and 
judgment. 

And the Rev. Herman Bamhurat felt on 
throe of remorse, and shuddered. Vailing 
his fair face in his delicate hands, he gave 
himself up to one moment of terrible re- 
flection. 

"He is failing fast," whispered the Doc- 
tor ; " you had better say a word of hope to 
him." 

" Yes, the camel is going through the eye 
of the needle," cried Somers, with a burst 
of shrill laughter, "Minister, did you eve: 
■ee a camei go through the eye of a needle ' 
Oh 1 you fellows preach such soft and vel- 
vety sermons to us, — but you never say e 
word about the camel — never a word about 
the camel. You see us buy and sell, — rou 
*ee us hard landlords, careful business men, — 
jou see us making money day after day, 
and year after year, at the coat of human 
life and human blood, — and you never say a 
word about the camel. Never! never! Why 
we hup such fellows as yon, for our use : 
for every thousand that we make in teaiie, 
we give you a good discount, in the way of 
ealary, and so as we go along, we heep a 
ddAt and credit account with what you call 
Providence. Now rub out my sins, will 
you ? PvB paid you for it, I believe ! " 

"Poor friend! He i« delirious !'* ejaeu- 
Iat«d Hennan Bamhnrst. 

The boy Gulian, (unperceivcd by the 
doctor,) brought a golden-clasped Bible, and 
laid it on ill* miiuster'a liiieia. Then look- 



ing with a shudder at the livid face of tho 
merchant prince, he shrank back into tho 
shadows, first whispering to the minister — 
" Eead to him from this book." 

Somers, with his glassy eye, caught a 
glimpse of the book, as in its splendid bind- 
ing, it rested on the minister's knees — 

" Pooh 1 pooh ! you needn't read. Be- 
cause if that book ia true, why then I've 
made a bad investment of my life, l never 
deceived myself. I always looked upon this 
thing you call religion as a branch of trade — 
a cloak — a trap. But now I want you to 
tell me one thing, (and I've paid enough 
money to have a decent answer) ; Do you 
really believe that there is anylMng after this 
life? Speak, minister! Don't we go to 
sleep and rot, — and isn't that all 1" 

Herman did not answer. , 

But the voice of the boy Gulian, who waa 
kneeling in the shadows of tho death- 
chamber, broke through the stillness — 

" There is something beyond the grave. 
There is a God '. There is a heaven and a 
hell. There is a hope for the r p nta t and 
there is a judgment for the imp f t 

There was something almost up atural 
in the tones of the hoy's voice b ak g so 
slowly and distinctly upon the p found 
stillness. 

The spectators started at the sound , and 
for the dying man, he picked at his 
clothing and at the coverlet with his long 
fingers, now chilling fast with the cold of 
death — and muttered incoherent sounds, 
without sense or meaning of any kind. 

" His face has a horrible look !" ejaculated 
the Colonel ; who was half hidden among 
the curtains of the bed. 

" He is going fast," said the Doctor, looking 
at his watch. "In five minutes all will be 

"And you said, I believe, that he had not 
made his will ?" 

It was Herman who spoke. The sensation 
of remorse had been succeeded by his accus- 
tomed tone of feeling. His face was im- 
pressed with the profound selfishness which 
impelled his woTdi. "He bad better make 
bis will. Withoal lurirs, he can leave bi< 
fortune to the church,-^' 

For shame ! for shame 1'' cried the Doc- 



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FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



"A little too greedy, my good frieniJ," the 
Colonel, at his back, remarked. "Allow me 
to remark, that your conduct manifesls too 
much of the Levite, and loo little of the 

Herman hit his lip, and was silent. 
After this, there was no word spoken fora 

The specfators watched in Bilenca the 
struggles of the dying man. 

How ho died ! — I shudder but to writ* it ; 
and would not write it, were I not convinced 
that Blhei^n in Vte (^mrch is the grand cause 
of one half of the crimes and evils that 
afflict the world. 

The death-bed of tl he hurch- 

member, with the athb m t tting 
by the hed, was a horr hi 

I see that picture, now — 

A vast room, furnish d th 11 th nci- 
dents of wealth, lofty 1 1! ad ned 

with pictures, and carp t th t a> in 

human blood. A singl lamp th t hie 
pear the bed, breaks th gl m The 
curtains of that hed ar f t th p How 
is of down, the corerl t is potl as the 
snow ; and there a long slender frame, and a 
face with the seal of sixty years of life upon 
it, attract the gaze of silent spectators. 

The doctor — his face shaded by the wide 
rim of his hat, sits by the bed, walch in 

Behind him appears the handsome face 
of Colonel Tarlelon — the man of the world, 
whose form is shrouded in the curtains. 

A little apart, kneels the boy, Oulinn, 
nihose beautiful face is stamped with awe 
and bathed in tears. 

And near the bead of the bed, seated on 
a. chsdr, which touches the pillow upon which 
rests the head of the dying — behold the tall 
form, and aquiline face of the minister, who 
listeus to the moans of death, and subdues his 
conscience into an expression of calm serenity. 

The dying man is seized with a spasm, 
which throws his limbs into horrible contor- 
tions. He writhes, and struggles, with hands 
and feet, as though wrestling with a mur- 
derer ; he utters horrible cries. At length, 
raising himself in a etttlng posture, he pro- 
jects his livid facelKto the light; he reaches 
(ortl) his arm, and grasps the minister by the 
wiist, — the miuiiter utters an involuntaiy 



cry of p 



—for that gl 



B like the prm- 



"Not a word about the camel, — hey, min- 
ister ?" 

That i\'as the Inst word of Evelyn Somers, 
Sen,, the merchant prince. 

There, projecting from the bed-curtains 
his livid face, — there, with features distorted 
and eyes rolling, the last glance upon the 
evidences of wealth, which filled the cham- 
ber, — there, even as he clasped the miniater 
by the wrist, he gasped his last breath, and 

It wa3 with an efibrt that Herman Bam- 
hurat disengaged his wrist from the gripe of 
the dead man's hand. As he tore the hand 
away, a golden eagle fell from it, and 
sparkled in the light, as it fell. The rich 
man couldn't take it with him, to the place 
where he was going, — not even one piece of 
gold. 

The Bev. Herman Bamhuist rose and left 
the room without once looking back. 

The doctor, also, rose and str^ghtened the 
dead man's limbs, and closed his eyes. This 
done, he drew his broad-brimmed hat over 
his brow, and left the room without a 
word — yes, he spoke four words, as he left 
the place : " One out of seven I" he said. 
.■ The Colonel emerged from the curtains; 
he was ashy pale, and he tottered as he 
walked. This time his agitation was not a 
sham. Once be looked back upon the dead 
man's face, and then directed his steps to thi 

" Remember, Gulian," he whispered as he 
passed the kneeling hoy: "to-morrow 1 
will see you." 

Gulian, still on his knees in the center of 
the apartment, prayed God to be merciful to 
the dead, — to the dead son, whose corpse lay 
in the room above, and to the dead father, 
whose body was stretched before his eyes. 

Tarleton paused for a moment on the 
threshold, with his hand upon the knob of 
the door — 

" If Cornelius Bomian were alive, he 
would inherit this immense estate !" mut- 
tered the Colonel. " As it is, here ia a p^ace 
with two dead bodies in it, and a« btir to 
1 inherit the wealth of the corpse which wAj 
half an hour ago was the owner of half, a 
million dollan. But it is no time to m*A- 



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Ktt 



PROM KIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



tate. There's wor6 for me at the tem- 
ple." 

Turning from that stately manBion, ir 
which father and son lay dead, we will fol- 
low the Btopi of Bov. Herman Barnhiirst. 

CHAPTER XIII. 



As the Rev. Herman Bahnhurst passed 
from the hail-door of the palace of the mer- 
chant prince, and descended the marble steps, 
his thoughts were by no means of a pleasant 
character. The imago of Alice, for the 
ment forgotten, the thoughts of Herman 
occupied with the scene which he had just 
witnessed, — the hopeless death-bed of the 
merchant prince. 
' " The fool '." muttered Herman, drawing 
Ids cloak around him, and pulling his hat 
over his brows, "The miserable fool I To 
die without making a will, when ho has 
heirs Mid the church has done so much for 
him. Why (in his own phrase) it haa been 
capital to him, in the way of reputation ; he 
has grown rich by that reputation ; and now 
he dies, leaving the church and her micis- 
ters, — not a single copper, not a single cop- 
It was too early for Hennan to return to 
his home, — so he thought, — therefore, he 
directed his steps toward Broadway, resolv- 
ing, in spite of the late hour of the night, to 
pay a Tisit to one of his most intimate friends. 
But, as be left the palace of the merchant 
prince, a man wrapped also in a cloali, and 
with a cap over his eyes, rose from the 
shadows behind the marble steps, and walk- 
ed with an almost noiseless pace in the foot- 
rtepa of the young clergyman. 

This man had seen Herman enter the 
house of the merthMit pnnce. Standing 
himself in the darkness behind the steps, he 
bad waited patiently until Herman i^ain 
appeared. In fact, he bad followed the 
steps of the clergjman for at least three 
hours previous to the moment when he came 
to the residence of Evelyn Somcrs, Si.; fol- 
lowed him from street to street, from house 
to house, walking fast or slow, as Herman 
quickened or moderated his pace ; stopping 
whan Hennan stopped ; atid thus, for three 
Unf'h<nn,}M had dogged the Bt«pB of the 



clergyman with a patience and perseverance, 
that must certainly have been the result of 

And now, as the Rev. Herman Bamhurst 
left the house where the merchant prince 
lay dead, the man in cap and cloak, quietly 
resumed his march, like a veteran at the tap 
of the drum. 

At the moment when Herman reached a 
dark point of the street near Broadway, the 
HAN stole noiselessly to his side and tapped 
him on the shoulder. 

Herman turned with an ejaculation, — half 
fear, half wonder. The street was dark and 
deserted ; the lights of Broadway shone two 
hundred yards ahead. Herman, at a glance, 
saw that himself and the uan were the only 
persons visible. 

" It's a thief," he thought, — and then, said 
aloud, in his sweetest »oice : "What do you 
it, my friend ?" 

The twenty-fifth o/Pecemher is near," said 

MAN, in a slow and signiScant voice: " I 

have important information to communicate 

you, in relation to the Van Huyden estatt." 

Herman was, of course, interested in the 
great estate, as one of the sevsn ; but he had 

deeper interest in it, than the reader, — at 
present) can imagine. The words of the 
Man, therefore, agitated him deeply. 
Who are you 1" he asked. 
That I will tell you, when you have 
taken me to a place, where we can converse 
freely together." 

Herman hesitated. 

""Well, as you will," said the man — " It 
as much as it does me. You 
afraid to grant me an interview. Good 

Thus speaking, he carelessly turned away- 

Now Herman was afraid of the man, but 

there were other Men of whom he ws* more 

afraid. So balancing one fear against another, 

came to this conclusion, that the Man 

ht communicate something, which would 

: him from the o&er -Men, and so he 

called the etmnger hack. 

Why this concealment 1" ho asked. 

Tou will confess, after we have talked 

together, that I have good reasons for this 

concealment," was the answer of the Man. 

Come, then, with me," said Herman, "I 

will not take you to my own rooms, but t 



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PROM NIGHTFALL QNTIL MIDNiaHT. 



105 



.3 of a friend. He 



t of t. 






He led the way toward the room of the 
Rev. Dr, Bulgin, whom the profane somo- 
times called Bulgine, which, as the learned 
know, ia good Ethiopian for Steam Engine. 
This seemed to imply that the Rev, Dr. was 
a perfect Locomotive in. hia way. 

"Mj friend Bulgin," said Herman, as they 
arrived in front of a massive four story build- 
ing, on a cross street, not more than a quarter 
of a mile from the head of Broadway, 
" occupies the enljre upper floor of this house, 
as a study. There he secludes himself while 
engaged in the composition of his more ela- 
borato works, rfe has a body servant and a 
maid servant to wait upon him ; and a parlor 
down stairs, for the reception of his visitors ; 
but he has no communication with the other 
part of the house. In fact, he never sees the 
occupantt of the boarding-house beneath his 
study. He rents his rooms of the lady who 
keeps the hoarding-houso, — Mrs. Smelgin, — 
who- supplies his meals. Thus, he has the 
upper part of the house all to himself; and 
as I have a key to his rooms, we can go 
up there and talk at our ease." 

" But, is not Dr. Bulgin married ?" asked 
the MAN. 

" Ho ia. But his lady, on account of her 
health (she cannot bear the noise of the city), 
is forced to reside in the country with her 

"Ah '." s^d th m 

Herman op d tb f t d th a 

night key, and 1 d th y 1 a h U and 
up three rang f t d 1 1 h cam to a 
door. This d h 1 d th -ui ther 
key, and foil d ly th m n h t red 
Dr. Bulgin'8 t dy H th 1 1 d the 
door, aed they f d th m 1 1 ped 

in Egyptian d h 

"This ma be D E 1 t Ij b t it 

strikes me, a 1 tt! 1 b Id t d it 

much harm.' 

"Waitam m nt, sa d B h ret— I'll 
light the lamp Aal p tlj b th aid 
of matches, h 1 bted a 1 rap h h food 
on ft table of variegated marble. A globular 
ihade of an eiquisito pattern tempered the 
Aya of the lamp, Mid filled the place with 
i^ht that was eminantiy aott and luzurioiu. 



" Be seated," said Bamhurst, but the 
stranger remained standing, with hia cloak 
wound about him and his cap drawn over 
his browa. Ho was evidently examining the 
details of the study with an attentive, — may 
be-— an astonished gaie. 

Dr, Bulgin'a study was worthy of eiami- 

It was composed of the upper floor of Mrs. 
Smelgin's boarding-house, and was, there- 
fore, a vast room, its depth and breadth cor- 
responding f^ the depth and breadth of the 
house. 

It was, at least, thirty yards in length and 
twenty in breadth, and the ceiling was of 
corresponding height. Four huge windows 
faced the east, and four the west. 

Thus, vast and roomy, the apartment wa^ 
furnished in a style which might well excite 
the attentive gaze of the stranger. 

In the center of the southern wall, stood 
the bookcase, an olegant fabric of rosewood, 
surmounted by richly- carved work, and 
crowned with an alabaster bust of Leo tho' 
Tenth ; the voluptuous Pope who diank 
his wine, while poor Martin Luther was 
overturning the world. 

The shelves of this bookcase were stored 
with the choicest books of five languages j 
some glittering ia splendid binding, and 
others looking ancient and venerable in their 
faded covers. There were the most recon- 
dite works in English, French, German, 
Spanish ; and there were also the most 
popular works in as many languages. The- 
ology, metaphysics, mathematics, geometry, 
poetry, the drama, history, fact, fiction, — all 
were there, and of all manner of shapes, 
styles and ages. It was a very Noah's 
Ark of literature, into which seemed to have 
been admitted mte specimen, at least, of 
every book in the universe. 

On the right of the bookcase was a sofa 
that made you sleepy just W look at it ; it 
waa so roomy, and its red-velvet cushioning 
looked so soft and tempting. This sofa waa 
framed in rosewood, with little rosewood 
cupids wreathed around its legs. 

And on the left of tho bookcase was 
pother sofa of a richer style, and of » mors 
sleep-impelling exterior. 

Above each sofa hung a pictui^ A 
by a tiiick curtain. 



•Google 



lOS 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



Along the northern wall of the study 
were disposed a sofa as magnificent as the 
others, and a scries of marble pedestals and 
red-velvet ann-chairs. Every pedestal was 
rawwned by an alabaster ^ase or statue of 
white marble. Tliera wore Eve, Apollo, 
Canova's Venus, and the Three Graces, — 
all exquisite originals or exquisite copies, in 
snowy marhle. 

The arm-chairs were arm-chairs indeed. 
Bed-velvet cushions and high backs and 
great broad arms; they were the idea of 
happy hr^n, impregnated with belief i 
San h ' "BI ss ibe th h t ' t* 

1 P 

A d th th 11 IS h g with 

p t mass f mes hi g It the 

p d, b t tl p t 



1 d 

I fh t rv 1 b t 



th 



wth 



d m sa tall 1 d d th Ij 
rt qisttfl fll Lgl lined 

from the Old World. 

And in the intervals between the eastern 
. windows were recesaca, covered with 
ings of pale crimson. What ih concealed 
in those recesses, doth, not yet appear. Both 
eastern and western windows were curtained 
with, folds of intermingled white and damask, 
floating luxuriantly from the ceiling to tie 

The floor was covered with an Aiminster 
carpet of the richest dyes. 

Gilt mouldings ran around the ceiling, 
and in the center thereof, was a cupid, en- 
circled by a huge wreath of roses, and re- 
posing on a day-break cloud. 

The table, of variegated marble, which 
stood in the center of the study, was sur- 
rounded by three arm-chairs of the same 
style as those which lined the wall. It was 
circular in form, and upon it, appeared an 
elegant alabaster inkstand, gold pens with 
pearl handles, gilt-edged paper touched 
with perfume, a few choice books, and an 
exquisite "Venus in the Shell," done in ala- 
baster. One of these books was a modern 
flditjon of the Golden Ass of Apuleius ; and 
the other was a choice translation of Ra- 
^ais. 

' Altogether, the Bev. Dr. Bulgin'e room 
wai one of those rooms worthy of a place | 



in history; and which, may be, could tell 
strange histories, were its chairs and tables 
gifted with the power of speech. 

" And this is the study of the Eev. Dr. 
Bulgin ! " ejaculated the mah. 

"It is," rephed Herman, flinging himself 
into an arm-chair; "here he composes his 
most elaborate theological works." 

" Why is his library crowned with that 
bust of Leo the Tenth, the Atheist and 
Sensualist ? " 

" He is writing a work on the age of Lu- 
ther," replied Herman. 

" Oh ! " responded the mak. 

"And this ! " the man drew the vail and 
bore one of the pictures to the light : " and 
this ! what does it mean ?'* 

" You are inquisitive, sir," replied Her- 
man, somewhat confounded by the sudden 
disclosure of this singular picture, "why, in 
fact, Dr. Bulgin is writing a tract against im- 
moral pictures." 

"A-h!" responded the man, and picked 
from the table tlie Golden Ass of Apuleius, 
illustrated with plates, "what does this do 
here ? Are these plates to be understood in 
a theolo^cal sense?" 

"Dr. Bulgin is getting up a treatise upon 
the subject of immoral literature. He has 
that book as an example." 

And when be writes a treatise on the 
infernal regions, he 'd send there for a piece 
of the brimstone as an example ?" 

You are profane," said Herman, tartly ; 
; me hope that you will proceed to busi- 

he MAN placed his cloak on a chair, and 
his cap on the table. Then seating himself 
opposite the minister, he gazed steadily in 
his face. Herman grew red in the face, and 
felt as though he had suddenly been plunged 

" Your name is, — is," — he hesitated. 
" Don't you know me ? " said the man. 
" I,— I,— why,— I,— let me see." 
Herman shaded his eyes with his hand, 
id steadily perused the face of the 
though, in the efibrt, to recog- 
him. 

a was a young man of a muscular frame, 
clad in a single-breasted blue coat, which 
was buttoned over a broad ohesl. He wa« 
of the medium heights' Hia forehaad wA 

. 4 



wGodi^lc 



PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



broad ; his eyes clear gray ; his lips wide 
ftnd firm. ; his nose inclining to the aquline : 
hia chin round and Golid. The gencr^ ex- 
pression of Us features was that of strtught- 
forwardness and energy of character. Theie 
was the freshness and the warmth of fouth 
upon his face, and his forehcad-was stamped 
with the ideality of genius As he vi 
his brown hair in short, thick curls, 
marked the outline of his head, and threw 
his forehead distinctly into view, 

"You are, — you are, — whore did I see 
you ?" hesitated Herman. 

"I ara Arthur Dermoyne," was the reply, 
in an even, but emphatic voice. 

Then there was an embarrassing pause. 

"Where have I met you ?" said Herman, 
as if in the painful eifort to recollect. 

"At the house of Mr. Burney, in the city 
of Philadelphia," was the ansvi-or, 

"Ah! now I remember !" ejaculated 
Herman; "Poor, poor Mr. Burney! You 
have heard of the sad accident which tool; 
place last night, ah — ah — ?" 

Herman buried his face in bU hands, and 
seemed profoundly affected. 

"I saw his mangled body at the house 
half way between New York and Philadel- 
phia, only a few hours ago," the young 
man's voice was cold and stern, " and now 
I am in New York, endeavoring to find the 
scoundrel who abducted his only daughter." 

Herman Inoke'l at cupid in the ceiling 
and pretended to brush a hair from his 

" Ah, I remember, poor Mr. Burney told 
me last night, that his child had been abduc- 
ted. Yes, — " Herman looked at the hair, and 
held it between his eyes and the light, " he 
told me about it just before the accident oc- 
curred. Poor girf ! Poor girl ! Oh, bj'-the- 
bye," turning suddenly in his arm-chair, but 
without looking into the face of Dermoyne, 
"you take an interest in the Burney family. 
Are you a relative ? " 

" I have visited the house of Mr. Burney, 
ttOTa time to time, and have seen Alice, his 
only daughter. You may think me roman- 
tic, but to see that girl, so pure, so innocent, 
BO beautiful, was to love her. I will con- 
fess that had it not been for a disparity 
of fortune, and a difference in regard to re- 
ligions views, betw^ her father and myself, 



I would have been moat happy : 
made her my wife." 

The tone of the young man wai 
what agitated ; he was endeavonng 






muttered 



" Courage ! He does not Icmvi, 
Herman to himEelf, and then 
calm look, he continued, aloud : "And she 
would have made you a noble wife. By-the- 
bye, you spoke of your profession. A mer- 
chant, I suppose ?" 

"No, sir." 

"A lawyer? " 

"No, air," 

" A medical gentleman ? " 

"No, fir." 

"You are then — " 

"A shoemaker." 

"A WHAT," ejaculated Herman, jumping 
from his chair. 

" A shoemaker," repeated Arthur Der- 
moyne. "I gain my broad by the work of 
my hands, and by the hardest of all kinds 
of work. I am not only a mechanic, but a 
shoemaker." 

Herman could not repress a, burst of 

"Excuse me, but, ha, ha, ha! You are a 
shoemaker?" And you visited the house 
of the wealthy Bumey, and aspired to his 
daughter's hand?" You will excuse me, 
ha, ha, ha! — but it is so very odd." 

Dermoyue's forehead grew dark. 

"Yes, I am a shoemaker, I earn my 
bread by the work of my hands. But be- 
fore you despise me, you will hear why I 
am a shoemaker. As an orphaned child, 
without father or mother, there was no other 
career before me, than the pauperism of the 
outcast or the slavery of an apprentice. I 
chose the latter. The overseers of the poor 
bound me out to a trade. I grew up with- 
out hope, education, or hqme. In the day- 
time I worked at an occupation which is 
work without exercise, and which continued 
ten years, at ten hours a day, will destroy 
the constitution of the strongest man. From 
this hopeless apprenticeship, I pushed into the 
life of a journeyman, and knew what it lAs 
to battle with the world for myielf. How I 
worked, starved and worked, matters not, 
for WB folks are bom for that kind of thing. 
But as I sat upon my wor^-benoh, lieteuiiig 



yGoogle 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



to a boot w h cli waa read by one of my < 
brother workmp i I bLcame aware that I 
not only pojr but ignorint, that my bo<ij 
was not 6nly anvlaved, but ilw my soul. — 
Therefore I taught myself 
wnte , and for thrte jears I have devoted 
five hours of everv night to studv " 

"And are still a shoemaker '" Hermai 
smooth fice was full of quiet scorn a\ 
laughter 

"I am btlll a shoemaker — a workman 
the bench — because I einnot, m amsnen 
enter cne of the professions called learned ■ 
I cannot separate mjself from that nm 
tenths of the human fimilv, wlio Seem 
have been only born to work and die — die 
in mind, ■js well as body — in order to su 
ply the idlf tenth with superfluities. 
flir, you, who are so learned and eloquer 
conld you but read the thoughts w hich ent 
the heart of the poor shoemaker, who, sittii 
at his work-bench, in s. cramped position, 
forced sometimes to reflect upon his fate! — 
He beholds the lawyer, with a conscience 
distinct from that given to him by God ; a 
conscience that makes him believe that it Is 
right to grow rich by the tricks and frauds 
of law. He beholds the doctor, also with 
the conscience of his class, sending human 
beings to death by system, and filling grave- 
yards "by the exact rule of the schools. He 
beholds the minister, too often also with but 
the conscience of a class, preaching the thoughts 
of those who do not work, and failing to 
give utterance to the agonies of those who 
do work — who do ail the labor, and suffer 
all the misery in the world. And tl 
are respected ; honored. They a 
noblemen ! Their respectability 
by the merchant, who grows rich 
uting the products of labor. Bui 
shoemaker — nay, the workman, of what- 
ever trade — whose labor produces all the 
physical wtalVt of tlie world — who works all 
life long, and only rests when his head is in 
the cold grave, — what of him? He is a 
serf, a slave, a Pariah. On the stage no joke 
is BO piquaat as the one which is leveled at 
the 'tailor,' or the 'cobbler;' in literature, 
the attempt of an unknown to elevate him- 
self, is matt«r for a brutal laugh ; and even 
grave men like you, when addressed by a 
mm who, like myielf, confesses that he is a — 



■e tho true 
is shared 
by distrib- 



shoemaker ! you burst into laughter, a? 
though the master you profess to serve, was 
not himself, one day, a workman at the car- 
penter's bench." 

" These words are of tho French school," 
Herman gave the word "French" a with- 
ering accent, 

"Did the French school produce the New 
Testament ? '- 

Herman did not answer, but fixed his 
glance upon cupid in the ceiling. 

" But you are educated — why not devote 
yourself to one of the professions?" and 
Herman turned his eyes from cupid in the 
ceiling, to Venus in the Shell. 

Dormoyno's face gleamed with a calm se- 
riousness, a deep enthusiasm, which imparted 
a new life to every lineament. 

'■Because 1 do not wish to separate myself 
fram the largest portion of humanity. No, 
no, — had I the intellect of a Shakspeare, or 
the religion of a St. Paul, I would not wish to 
separate myself from tho greater portion of 
God's family — those who are born, who work, 
who die. No, no! I am waiting — I am 
waiting ! " 

"Waiting?" echoed Herman,' 

"Maybe the day will come, when, gifted 
with wealth, I can enter the workshops of 
Philadelphia, and say to the workmen. 
Come, brothers. Here is capital. Let us 
;o to the west. Let us find a spot of God's 
earth unpolluted by white or black slavery. 
IS build a community where every man 
shall work with his hands, and whore every 
will also have the opportunity to culti- 
vate his mind — to work with his brain. — 
There every one will have a place to work, 
and every one will receive the fruits of his 
work. And there, — oh, my God! — there 
we, without priest, or monopolist, or 
slaveholder, establish in the midst of a band 
of brothers, the worship of that Clirist who 
himself it workman, even as he is now, 
the workman's God,' " 

Arthur Dermoyne had started from his 
lair; his hands were clasped ; bis gray eyes 
ere filled with tears. 

"French ideas — French ideas," cried Rer- 
an. " Ton have been reading FrenPh 

Arthur looked at the clergyman, and said 
quietly : 



tea 



,yC00«^ ( 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



109 



"These ideas were held by the German 
race who Eett\ed in Pennsylvania, in the 
time of William Penn. Driven from Ger- 
many by the hands of Protestant priests, 
they brought with them to tho New World, 
the 'French ideas' of tho Now Testament." 

" The Germans who settled Peonsylvania 
— a stupid race," observed Herman, in calm 
derision; "Look at some of their descead- 

"The Germans of the present day — or, to 
Bpeak more distinctly, — the Pennsylvania 
Germans, descendants of the old siock, who 
came over about the time of Ponn, are a 
oonquered race ! — " 

"A conquered race ?" echoed Herman. 

" Conquered by the English language," 
continued Dermoyne. "As a mass, they are 
not well instructed either in English or in 
German, and therefore have no chance to 
develop, to its fullest extent^ the stamina 
of their race. They know but little of the 
real history of their ancestors, who first 
brought to Pennsylvania the great truth, that 
God is not a God of hatred, pleased with 
blood, but a God of love, whose great law 
ie the PiiOGSSSS of all his children, — that is, 
the entire family of man, both hbbb and 
HEBBAFTBU. And the Penusylvaiiian Ger- 
mans are the scoff and sneer of Yankee 
swindler and southern braggart ; but the day 
will come, when the descendants of that 
race will rise to their destiny, and even as 
tho farms of Pennsylvania now show their 
physical prc^jess, so will the entire Ameri- 
can continent boar witness to their inteiJed.ii.al 
power. They are of the race of Luther, of 
Goethe, and of Schiller, — hard to kill, — the 
men who can work, and the men whose 
work will make a people strong, a nation 
great and noble." 

"You are of this race?' asked Herman, 
pulling his cloak gently with his delicate 

"My father, (I am told, for he died when 
I was a child,) was a wealthy farmer, whosft 
wealth was swallowed up by an unjust law- 
suit and a fraudulent Rank. My grandfather 
was a wheelwright ; faiy great-grandfather a 
cobbler; my great-great-grand father a car- 
penter; aud his father, was a tiller of the 
field. So jou see, I am nMy descended," 
and a smile crossed the lips of Dermoyne. 



"Not a single idler or vagabond in our 
family, — all workers, like their Savior, — all 
men who eat the bread of honest labor. 
Ah ! I forgot;" he passed his hand over his 
forehead — "there was a count in our family. 
This, I confess, is a blot upon us ; but when 
you remember that ho forsook his eountship 
in Germany, to become a tiller of the fields 
in Pennsylvania — about the year 1680 — you 
will loot over the fault of his title." 

Herman burst into a fit of pleasant 
laughter. 

"You have odd ideas of nobility!" ha 
ejaculated. 

"Odd as the New Testament," said Der- 
moyne ; and as old. By-the-b3'e, this count 
in our family, was related to the Van Huy- 
den family. (You, also, are one of the 
seven? — Yes, your name is aipong the 
others.) Ah! should tha 2^h of December 
give into my hands but -a few thousand 
dollars, I will try and show the world how 
workmen, united for the common good, can 
live and work together." 

"A few thousands!" laughed Herman, 
displaying himself at full length on th« 
capacious chair; "why, in case the Seven 
receive the estate at all, they will divide 
among them some twenty, perhaps, forty 
millions of dollars!" 

"Forty millions of dollars!" Dermoyne 
was thunderstruck. He folded his arms, 
and gazed upon vacancy with fiied eyes, 
" My God ! what might not be done with 
forty millions !" — he paused and strotolied 
forth his hand, as though a vision of the 
future dawned upon him. 

"Did Mr. Burney — poor friend! — know 
that you were a — shoemaker ?" Once more 
Herman shaded bis eyes with his hand, and 
regarded the young man with a pleasuit 
smile. 

"He did not," answered Dermoyne. "I 
became acquainted with him, — it matters not 
how, — and visited his house, where, more 
than once, I have conversed with his 
daughter Alice. , No, Mr. Burne3' did me 
wrong; for while I was a shoemaker, he 
persisted, (in ignorance of my character,) in 
thinking me — a gentleman! A gentlemen — 
an idle vagabond, whose gentility is sup- 
ported by the labor of honeat men.— 
Faugh !" 



byGoogIc 



110 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



" Well, I must confess," Herman said with 
' ' a nave of the hand and it patronizing tone, 
" that froni your manner, geiitures, accent, et 
cetera, I have always taken you for an 
educated gentleman. But your principles 
are decidedly nngenteel, — allow me the 
remark." 

HermaQ began to feel much more at ease. 

"He does not dream I have any share in 
the abduction of Alice !" This thought was 
comfort and repose to his mind. 

But Arthur Dermoyne changed the tone 
of this pleasant dream by a single questi 

"Do you, — " he fixed his eyes sternly 
upon the young minister: "Do tod know 
anything of the retreat of Alice Burney ?" 

" Do 1 know anything of the retreat — of- 
Alice-^Bumey !" he echoed: "What 
question to ask a man of my cloth !" 

Dermoyne placed his hand within the 
breast of his coat, and drew forth ten gold 
pieces, which ho held in the light, in the 
palm of his hand. 

" Every coin gained by days and nights of 
work — hard work," ho said. " It has taken 
me three years to save that sum. When I 
thought of Alice as a wife, this little horde, 
(such was my fancy,) might enable ic 
furnish a good home. Do you understand 
me, sir ? You who receive five thousand 
dollars per year for preaching the gospel of 
your church, can you comprehend how 
precious is this fortune of one hundred dol- 
lars, to a poor workman, who earns his bread 
by sitting in a cramped position, fourteen 
houi* ft day, making shoes ?" 

"Well, what have I to do with this 
money ?" 

"You' comprehend that these ten gold 
pieces are as much to me, as a ten hundred 
*ould be to you ? These gold pieces will 
buy books which I earnestly desire ; they 
will help me to relieve a brother workman 
who happens to be poorer than myself ; they 
will help me to go to the far west, where 
there is land and home for all. Well, this 
fortune, I have dedicated to one purpose: 
To support me, here in New York, on bread 
and wBter, until 1 can discover the hiding- 
place of Alice Bumcy, and meet her seducer 
fao* to face. How long do you think my 
fH^i will fiinush me with bread, while I 
^vMa day and night to this purpose ?" 



The iron resolution of the young man'a 
face, made the clergyman feel afraid. 

" You will remark," he eicliumed, stretch- 
ing himself in his chair, and contemplating 
the whiteness of his nails, "that a witness 
of our conversation might infer, from the 
tenor of your discourse, that you have an 
idea — m idea — " he hesitated, "that I have 
something to do with the abduction of this 
young lady. Doubtless you do not mean to 
convey this impression, and therefore I will 
thank you to correct the tone of your 
remarks." 

Herman was quite lordly. 

" Then you know nothing of the retreat 
of Alice Burney ?" 

"The question is an insult — " 

"Nothing of her seducer ?" 

"I repeat it; the question is an insult," 
and Herman started up in his chair, with 
flashing eyes and corrugated brow. 

"Will you swear that you are ignorant of 
her retreat, and of the name of her seducer?" 
coolly continued Dermoyne. 

"Men of my cloth do not swear," an 
coolly returned Herman, 

"Allow me to congftitulato you upon 
your ignorance," replied Dermoyne, "for — 
for ; — will you have the goodness to observe 

While Herman watched him with a won- 
dering eye, the young man replaced the gold 
[S in his pocket, and rising from his 
chair, surveyed the room with an attentive 
gaze. His eye rested at length upon an iron 
candlestick, which stood upon a shelf of the 
library ; it was evidently out of place in 
that luxurious room ; and had been left 
there through the forgetfulnesa of the servant 
.vho took care of the Rev. Dr. Bulgin's 
itudy. Dermoyne took this candlestick from 
the shelf, and then returned to the light. 
"Do you see this ? It is about six inches 
>ng and one inch in diameter. "Would it 
ot take a strong man to break that in twain 
ith both hands ?" 

Herman took the candlestick ; examined 

attentively : " It would, take a Sampson," 

e said. 

"Now look at my band." Dermoyne 

extended a hand which, hardened by labor 

the palm, was not ao large as it was 

muscular and bony. 



- 'Ubii&Si., 



wGoogle 



PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



"What have I to do with your hand?" 
exckimed Hennat), in evident disg 

" Wawh me," said Dermoyno ; and, resting 
the candlestick on his right hand, he closed 
his fingers, and pressed bis thumb against it. 
After an instant be opened his hand agtun. 
The iron candlestick was bent nearly donble. 
Bermsyne had accomplished this feat with- 
out the appearance of exertion. 

"Why, you are a very Hercules !" ejacu- 
lated Herman, — " and yet, you are not above 
the medium height. You do not look like 
A Strong man." 

God has nvested me with almost super- 
h m n st en"T,h eplied Dermojne, as he 
Stood t b fo e the minister, resting one 

hand f on the t Ue ; " had it not been for 
that h d wo k ould have killed 
UpO I an 1 ft th one hand, B 
which would task the strength of almost any 
two men but to budge ; I can strike a blow, 
which, properly planted, would fell an ox ; 
I can—" 

" You needn't dilate," interrupted Herman, 
" the study of the Rev, Dr. Bulgin is not ex- 
actly the place for gymnastic experiments — " 
"Well, you'll see my drift directly," 
calmly continued Dermoyne — " I have never 
dared to use this strength, save in the way 
of work or occasional exercise. I regard it 
as a kind of trust, given U> me by Providence 
for a good purpose." 

" What purpose, pray ?" said Herman, 
opening his eyes. 

" To punish those criminals whom the law 
does not punish ; to protect those victims it 
does not protect," answered Dermoyne, stea- 
dily. " Now, for instance, wore I to encoun- 
ter the seducer of Alice Bumey, — were I to 
stand face to face with him, as I do with 
yon, — were I to place my thumb upon his 
right temple and my fingers upon his left 
tempi e, — thus — " 

" You, — you, — " gasped the minister, who 
suddenly felt the hand of Arthur Dermoyne 
upon his forehead ; the thumb pressed gently 
upon the right temple and the fingers upon 
his left — " you, — would, — what 7" 

"I would, quietly, without a word, crush 

his skull as you might crush an egg-shell," 

slowly answered Dermoyne. 

Bo took his hand away. The face of 

L' Hennaa was whit« as a sheet. He shook in 



111 

he could 



Ids velvet chair. For a 
not speak. 

" I, therefore, congratulate yon, that you 
know nothing of the matter," calmly conti- 
nued Dermoyne, not seeming to notice tha 
fright of tho minister; "for, with a villain 
like this unknown seducer before ^e, I would 
lose all control over myself, and (ere I was 
aware of it) I would have wiped him out of 
existence. This would be murder, you are 
atout to remark '. So it would. But, is not 
this seducer a murderer in a three fold sense? 
First, be has murdered the chastity of this 
poor girl ; and second, in the attempt to get 
rid of the proof of his guilt, he mag (who 
knows?) murder her body and the body of 
her unborn child," 

The room was still as the grave, as Der- 
rooyne concluded the last sentence. 

Barnburst sank back in the chair, helpless 
as a child. For a moment his self-possession 
deserted him. His guilt was stamped upon 
his face. " 

" Here you can count three murders," 
continued Dermoyne, not seeming to notice 
the dismay of the minister, — " the murder 
of a woman's purity, — the murder of her 
body — the murder of her babe. Now, I 
don't pretend to say, that it would bo right 
kill the three fold murderer, hut I 
lat, were I to meet him, and hww 
bis guilt, that my blood would boil, — my 
eyes would grow dim, — my hand would be 

.tended, and in an instant, would hold his 

angled skull, between tha thumb and fin- 

Herman's arms dropped helplessly by his 

le. ile was extended in tho capacious 

air, a vivid picture of helpless fright. 

Dermoyne, whose broad chest and bold 

features, caught on one side the glow of th« 

light, as he stood erect by the table, gazed 

upon the minister with a calm look, and 

continued — ' 

So, you see, I congratulate you, that you 
know nothing of the matter — " 

Oh, I am shocked, shocked," and Her- 
1 made out to cover his face with his 
ds, "I am shocked, at the virid, viv-id,'' 
stammered, — " vivid picture which yon 
have drawn of the crimes of this seducer," 

Dermoyne sank quietly inl» the chair on 
the opposite side of the table, aod abadej 



,/ Google 



ua 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



Witt his 



lit hand. He also v, 



hiieves 

9^ t ]aps piuse there vias profound still- 
n^i Tbe jitmp on the table shed itu luxu- 
rious l%ht over the \ aat rcKim, peopled as it 
was \ntll-*jttg« of wealth, ease and volup- 
tuousness and itpon the figures of these men, 
seHited op) osite to eich other, and each with 
his eyes shided bj his hand. , \ ' 

At length Herman recovering a portion 
of his self' possession, excliumed without 
raising his hands from his face : 

"I trust you will end this interview at 
once. You have given my nerves a severe 
shock. To-morrow, — to-morrow, — I will 
talk to you about the Van Huydea estate, 
about which, I presume, you asked this in- 
terview." 

Dermoyne raised his band to his forehead, 
— somewhat after the maimer of Herman, — 
and surveyed tbe clergyman with a keen, 
Gearchtng gaze. Gradually a smile, so faint 
as to be scarcely perceptible, stole 
features. 

Herman felt the force of that gaae and his 
smooth complexion turned from deathly 
white to scarlet, and from scarlet to deathly 
white again. 

"What nest?" ho muttered to himself, 
"does he know? Had I better call for assist- 

Dermoyne, quietly left his seat, and ad- 
vancing until he confronted Herman, placed 
a small piece of paper on the table, and held 
it firmly under his thumb, so that the words 
written upon it, were legible in the lamp- 
light. 

" Read that," he said, and his flashing eye 
was fixed on Barnhurst's faoe. 

Half wondering, half stupefied, Barnhurst 
bent fonvard and read : — 

Dec. 24, 1844. 
Madam : — Yourptr/iWrf will come (o-night, 
Hbbkak Babshxtrst 

As ho read Herman looked like a man 
who has received his death u arrant Ihe 
very effort, — and it was a mortal one, — 
which he made to control himielf onh gave 
a stronger agitation to his quivenng linea- 



of the father of Alice, — at sunset, but a few 
hours ago, and a^the house half-way betvfeen. 
New York and Philadelphia, — there among 
the ashes, and half consumed by fire, I dis- 
covered this precious document. Did you 
drop this paper from, your pocket, lay friend, 
when you sought shelter in the house, after 
the accident on the railroad, last night 1" 

Herman haS^not the power to reply. His 
eyes-were riveted by the half-burned frag- 

"What hfjgthe Eov. Herman Barnhurst, 
the clergyman, to do with Madam Resimbb, 
ihe murderess of unLora children f " continued 
Dermoyne; "and the palknt, — who is the 
patient ? Is it Alice ? This letter is dated 
the 24th, and to-morrow night, Alice will 
the threshold of that hell, where THS 
Madak rules, as the presiding Devil 1" 

m of hope shot across Herman's 
soul. "He docs not know, that Alice is al- 
ready in the care of Madam Resimor. Cour- 
age, — courage!" 

" Have you no answer ?" Dermoyne's 
eye gleamed with deadly light ; still holding 
the paper, he advanced a step nearer to the 
clergyman. 

"Yes, I have an answer!" exclaimed 
Herman, sinking back in the chair : " that 
letter is a forgery." 

Dermoyne was astonished. 
" You never wrote it ?' 
"Never, — never!" Herman raised his 
hands to Heaven, — "it is the work of some 
mortal enemy. Beside, were I guilty, is it 
reasonable to suppose, that I, a clergyman, 
would sign my own name to a letter address- 
ed to 'Madam Resimer ?" 

Dermoyne was puzzled ; he glanced from 
the letter to Barnhurst's face, and a look of 
doubt clouded his features. 
"A forgery?" ho asked. 
"An infamous forgery !" cried Barnhurst, 
resuming his dignity. " Now, that you have 
wrung my very soul, by an accusation so 
itterly infamous, so thoroughly improbable, 
et me hope that you will — " he pointed to 
the door. 

Dermoyne resumed his cap and cloak, 
first, carefully replacing the letter in his vest 

" Can you tell where I found this ?" whis- " By to-monow," he said, in a voice which 
pered Dermoyne. " Near the mangled body | nmg low and distinct through ths a{)artmen^ 



m^'.. 



wGooi^lc 



PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



113 



"by t 



, I will know the truth of 



matter ; stid if I discover that this is, 
indee(l, your letter, — if jou have, indeed, 
dishonored poor Alico, and consigned her- 
self and unborn habc, to the infernal mercies 
of Madftrf Reaimcr, why then," — he moved 
toward the door, " then there will bo one 
man the less, on the 25th of December. 
Ho opened the door, and was gon< 
bis words had ceased to echo on the air. 

His parting words rung in the very soul 
of the clergymen, as his footsteps died away 
on the stairs. 

"What an abyss have I escaped !" ejacu- 
lated Herman, "exposure, disgrace and 
death ! " He pressed his scented kerchief 
over his forehead, and wiped away the cold 
sweat which moistened it. " Fool ! he little 
knows that Alice is already tiiere. The 
Madam is a shrewd woman. Her roo 
dark, her doors secured by double holts ; her 
secrets are given to the keeping of the 
grave. This miserable idiot, this cobbler, 
cannot possibly gain admittance into her 
mansion ? No, no, this thought 
And Alice, poor child, why can't I mar^y 
her ? Her father's death will leave her 
possession of a handsome fortune, — why 
can't I marry hor ? " 

Too well he knew the only answer to this 
question. 

" We are all but mortal ; she may die !' 
and an expression of remarkable compla 
cenoy came over his face. Joining hi: 
thumbs and fingers in front of his breast, hi 
reflected deeply. "But if she survives?' 

His brow became clouded, his lips com. 
pressed ; all the vulture of his sou! was 
written on his vulture-like countenance. 

'■It she survives!" 

Wh 1 th 1 1 1 d 1 d h 1 d fig- 



Bulgin stood before him, his cloalt on his 
arm, and a cap in his hand. 

" I thought you was out of town ? " cried 
Herman. 

" So I was ; a convention of divines, 
speeches, resolutions, and bo forth, you 
know. But now I'm in town, and, — such 
an adventure, my dear boy ! I must tell 

Before Bulgin tells his adventure, we 
must look at him. A man of thirty-five 
years, with broad shoulders, heavy chest 
and unwieldy limbs ; a portly man, some 
would call him, dressed in black, of course, 
and with a white cravat about bis neck, 
which was short and fat. Draggled masses 
of brownish hair stray, in uneven ends, 
about Bulgin's face and ears; that face is 
round and shiny, — its hue, a greasy florid, — 
its brow, broad and low ; its eyes large, 
moist and oyster-like. In a word, the upper 
part of Bulgin's head indicates the man of 
intellect ; the face, the eyes, mouth, nose 
and all, tell the story of a nature thor- 
oughly animal, — bestial, would be a truer 

That head and face were but loo true in 
their indications. 

Bulgin was, in intellect, something of agod; 
in real life; in the gratification of appetite; in 
habits t th d by tl gr tb of years, 
st It m n a harsh word, 

Ij th t ts Bulgin's 



H 



N t 



1 



yet a lordly 



i (h 
d f 11 



1 



th 



f the 



P P 



d bet his 

t t th th q t I h ?" 

To hiui, it was a question of life and death. 

But his meditations were interrupted by a. 
burst of baSteroUE laughter. 

"Wh/ Bamhurst! you we grave as an 
owl. What'H the matter, my 'dear ?" 

Herman looked up with a start, and a 
half-muttered ejaculation. The Rev. Dr. | 



dlj t h 

of a grassy field, — of couise, we mean noth- 
ing of the kind, — but a beast on two legs, 
ifted with a strong intellect and an immor- 
tal soul, and devoting intellect and soul to 
the full gratification of his beastly nature, 
.thai, a good-humored beast. He 
enjoyed a joke. His laugh was jovial ; re- 
nding you of goblets of wine and sup- 
pers of terrapin. His manner was off-hand, 
free and easy — out of the pulpit, of course ; 
the pulpit, no one so demure, so zealous 
and pathetic as the Bev. Dr, Bulgin. 

He regarded his ministerial office as a 
piece of convenient clock-work, invented 
years ago, tor the purpose of supply- 
ing the masses with something to believe; and 
like himself, with a g(>od salary, a fijie 



,/Got7 



PROM NIGHTFALL UKTIL MIDNIGHT. 



house, pleutlj to eat and drink, Sair social 
position, and free opportunity tor tiie gratifi- 
cation of every appetite. 

Hu creed was a pirt of this cloolc work. 
It was hiB 111 ng Therefore everything 
thftt he wrote or uttered in regard to relig- 
ion IV as true to h a creed true eloquent, 
and breathing tl e loltiest enthusiasm To 
douht Ills creed nas to doult hs !i\ing. 
Therefore the Eei Dr Bul^in did not 
doubt hiB creed but took it as he found it, 
and advocated it v. th all ihe enerj,* of his 
intellectual nature 

As to any post ble afjreciation of the 
Bible or of that Savior who emerg ng from 
the shop of a carpenter came to tpeak 
words of hoje to all DianV t d aid in 
espec al to that port < n v i o hear all the 
slavery ind do ill thi, work of the «orid, 
the Rev. Dr. Bulgin never troubled himself 
with thoughts like these ; he was above and 
beyond them ; the Bible and the Si 
were, in his estimation, convenient parts of 
that convenient clock-work which afforded 
him the pleasant sura of iive thousand dol- 
lars per year. 

To look at the Rev. Dr. Bulgin ; to see 
Ilim stand there, with his sensual form and 
swinish face, you would not think that he 
was the author of one of the most spiritual 
works in the world, entitled "Our Commu- 
nion with the Spirit." 

To know the Eov. Dr, Bulgin, — to know 
him when, bis stage drapery laid aside, he 
appeared the thing ha was, — you could, by 
no moans, imagine that he was the author 
of an excellent work on " Private Prayer." 
And yet he was no hypocrite ; not, at 
least, in the common sense of the word. 
He was aa intellectual animal whose utmost 
hopes were hounded by the horizon of this 
world. Beyond this world there was noth- 
isa. Ha was an Atheist. Not an Atheist 
publishing a paper advocating Atheistic prin- 
ciples, but ui Atheist in the pulpit, pro fess- 
iDg tKJ preach the Gospel of Jesus Chnat. 
You may shudder it the thought, but tba 
Reverend Doctor Bulgin was such a man. 
And just such men, in churches of all 
kind^ — Protestants and Catholics, Orthodox 
and Heterodoi, — have these eighteen hun- 
dred years been preaching a clock-work 



Word of the Master — a Word which says, in 
one breath, temporal and spiritual prayers — s 
Word which enjoins the establishment of 
the kingdom of God, on earth, in the physi- 
cal and intellectual welfare of the greatest 
portion of mankind. i 

Too well these Atheists know that were 
that Word once boldly uttered, their high 
pulpits and magnificent livings would van- 
ish like cobwebs before the sweeper's broom. 

How much evil have such Atheists ac- 
complished in the course of eighteen hun- 

It will do no harm to think upon this 
subject, just a little. 

Herman, my boy, I must tell you of my 
last adventure "d B l^^ d pp' g uto 
which D m J h d 1 t !y u- 
pied; "it will k m th w t " 

He smacked h 1 p d 1 pp d h hands; 
the lips were mlj A th hand f t and 
dumpy. 



. the 1 



^ J 



A jth g 



f the 



f th 



thood Th L w 
: Ily M ilwd st3 1 h y 
h f 11 d<Tity d 



wrong in your h 

" That does t 

Herman. " Tn I 

ishop, and th 
Church fellows bo 
■s of tl 
of th p 
Church people t 

would rob the h 

turn the priest t th It t th t f 
the conventicle, — " 

troubled with bishops, nor 
apostolic successions," interrupted Bulgin : 
High and Low Church don't trouble us. — 
Our deacons want a minister ; they caU him 
and pay him. Now, if our church admitted 
bishop, I think that — " be put his 
thumbs in the ann-holes of his vest, and 
eyed his heavy limbs with great com- 
placency, "that your humble servant would 

Bishop?" cried Herman, with a laugh. 
Ay, and a capital bishop, too, if all be 

true that these Low Church fellows say of 

the Bishop of your church. 

of feeling, eh, my boy ? " 
This was a home thrust. 

ing his intimacy with BulgiDJ3| 
regard him as a real priest of " 



Gospel, leaving UQsaid, uncared for, the true [hut only us the called teacher of b 




Goog e 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



115 



tioa . Therefore, he felt the allusion to his 
bisbop the more heavily. 

"You were Bpeaking of an adventure?" 
suggeited Herman, anxious to change the 
subject : " What about it ? " 

Bulgia flung back his head, and burst 



IT of li 



ghter. 



" I'm laughing at my adventure, not at 
yoo,_my dear Herman. Just imagine my 
case. I have a patient on my hands, (vho is 
rich, crippled with a dozen diseases, and 
troubled in liis mind on some doctrinal point. 
In the morning I visit the old gontieman, 
and after heating afresh the list of his dis- 
eases, I sootfie him on the doctrinal point. — 
Soothe him, and quote the I'athers, and Bro 
him up with a word or two about the Popo. 
And in the afternoon—" he closed one eye, 
and looked at Herman in such a manner, 
that the latter could not avoid a burst ot 
laughter, "in the afternoon, while the old man 
is asleep, I visit his wife,— young and hand- 
some, and such a love of a woman — and 
soothe her mind on another doctrinal point. 
Sometimes my lessons are prolonged imtil 
evening, and — ha, hal — I have my hands 
full, 1 assure you." 

" you called there to-night, on yout way 
home?" asked Herman, with a smile. 

" Just t« see if the old gentleman was 
■ better, and, — but wait a moment," he rose 
from his chair, and hurried into the shadows 
of the room, turned one of the recesses, be- 
tween the western windows. There he 
remained, until Herman grew impatient. 

" What are you doing," he exclaimed, 
and as he spoke, Buloin returned toward 
the light, "what is th and hs eyes 

opened with a wonde n sta 

"I'm a cardinal; tl t all Th dress 
of Leo the Tenth, bef e h b me Pope. 
Don't jou think 1 toot the hara t ? 

He was attired in a be f s arlet Ivet, 
which covered bis unwieldy form from the 
neck to the feet, and enveloped his arms in 
ita voluminous sleeves. His florid face ap- 
peared iKueath the broad rim of a red hat, 
and upon his broadchest hung agolden chain, 
to which was appended a hugq golden cross. 
The cflBlnme was of the richest texture, and 
gave something of a lordly appoarajvce to the 
[(ulky form of the reverend doctor. 

"I'm a Cardinal," sud Bulgia with a 



wink; "There is a nice party of us, who 
meet to-night, between twelve and one, to . 
confer upon grave matters. Every one wsara 
a mask and costume. Will you go with me ? 
There is the robe of a Jesuit yonder, which 
will lit you to a hair." 

Herman's eyes flashed, and he started 
from his chair. 

" The wife of your old paiient," — he be- 
gan. 

" Goes as the cardinal's hiece, you know 1 
wo didn't know the costume of a cardinal's 
niece, and so I told her to wear a dress-coat 
and pantaloons. Will you go ? !' ■ 

Herman's face glowed with the full force 

of his MONOMANIA. 

" For wine and feasting, I care not," he 
cried, "but a scene where beautiful wo- 
men — " he paused, and fixed his eyes on 
vacancy, while that singular monomania, 
shone from his humid eyes, and fired his 
cheeks with a vivid glow. Where are we to 
go?" he asked. 

" To the Temple," said the Rev. Dr. Bul- 
gin, with his finger on his light ; " You re- 
member the night when we were there?" 

"Remember?" echoed the Rev, Herman 
Barnhurst, with an accent of inexpressible 
rapture: "Can I ever forget?" He strode 
hastily toward the recess. " Where is the 
Jesuit robe ?" 

But as he touched the curtain of the re- 
cess, he was palsied by a sudden thought. 

"Ah, this cobbler, this Dermoyne ! He 
will go to Madame Besimer's with my note 
in his hand, and pretend to come in my 
name. He will, at least, induce her to open 
the doors, and then force his way into her 
house. If he enters there, I am losL" 

Turning to Bulgin, he flung his cloak 
around him, and took up bis cap. "No, sir, I 
cannot go with you. Excuse me — I am in 
a great hurry." 

He hurried to the door, and disappeared 
ere Bulgin could answer him with a word. 

"Dermoyne has a half an hour's start of 
me," muttered Herman, as he dis^peared, 
"I must be quick, or I am lost." 

"That is cool!" sohloqnized Bulgin; 
" some difficulty about a woman, I suppose : 
our young friend must be cautious : expomrk 
in these mattera Is fatal." 

Without bestowing' another word upon Ui 



byGoot^Ic 



116 



PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



fnend, the Bev. Dr. Bulgin, attired ir 
,, cardinal's hat aod robe, sank iu the 
chair, and put his feet upoo the table, xa& 
flung back his head, thus presenting 01 
the finest pictures of eooiesiastical ease, that 
ever gratified the eyes of mortal mao. 

He Buffered himself lo be '^educed into the 
mazes of an enchanting re\erie 

' Ah, that'a mj lieal of a man," h 
suffered his eve to rest ufon the head 
Leo the Tenth ' Without a pirticle of 
iigion to trouble him, he took cire of th 
spiritual destinies of the world, and at th 
same time enjoyed hia palace, where th 
nine was of the choicest, and the women f 
the joungebt and most beautiful He no 
gentleman. While poor Martin Luther was 
. fcving himself a great deal of trouble about 
aia worthless world, Leo had a world of his 
<lwii, within the Vatican, a world of wit, of 
wmo and beiuty That's my ideal of 
ecclesiastic Religion its machinery, and its 
terrors for the masses, — for ourselves," he 
glanced iround his splendid room, "some 
thing 111 e tfii*, and five thousand a year." 
And the good man shook with laughter. 
" I must he going," — he rose to his feet — 
"It's after twelve now, and before one, 1 
must be at the Temple." 

And while Carnhurat, Bulgin and Der- 
moyne go forth on their respective ways, let 
us — although the Temple is Tery near — 
gaze upon a scene, by no moans lighted by 
festal lamps, or perfumed with voluptuous 
flowers. Lot ua descend into the subterra- 
nean world, sunken somewhere in the vicin- 
ity of Five Points and the Tombs. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

It is NOW the hour of twelve, midnight, 
on the 23d of December, 1844. 

We are in the region of the Five Points, 
near the Tombs, whose sullen walla look 
still mote ominous and gloomy in the wintery 
Bt^light. 

lEnler the narow door of the frame-house, 
which seems toppling to the ground. You 
Kear the sound of the violin, and by the 
light of tallow candlSL inserted in tin sconces 
which u« affixed to tbs blackened waits, 



you discover some twenty persons, black, 
white and chocolate -colored, of all ages and 
both sexes, dancing and drinking together. 
It is an oi^ie — an orgie of crime, drunken- 
ness and 13^. 

Pa5S into the next room. By a single 
lioht placed on a table jou discover the 
f tu f th f g mbl rs — 

g mbl rs f th g tl m Ij t mp w^ 
1 h mbers prol g th g 

it ! 1 1 th m 



I 1^ 
b ok 
mbl n 



th h 
f 1 
h h t 



Ump 11 d d f 1- 



h f tbea^ishky and 
wh ky th t ly wh ky m h le 

m fact, it IS poison of the vilest sort — whia. 
ky classically called "red-eye." 

Open a scarcely distinguishable door, 
the back of the rufBan who sits at the head 
of the table. Descend a narrow stairway, 
or rather ladder, which lands you in the 
darkness, some twenty feet below the level 
of the street. Then, in the darkness, 
your way along the passage which turn 
the right and left, and from left to I 
again, until your senses are utterly bewilder- 
ed. At length, after groping your way in the 
darkness, over an uneven floor, and between 
narrow walls; after groping your way you 
know not how far, you descend a second 
ladder, ten feet or more, and find yourself 
confronted by a door. Tou are at least two 
stories under ground, and all is dark around 
you — the sound of voices strike* jwir ear ; 
but do not be afr»d. Find the latch of the 
door and push it open. A strange scene 
confronts you. 

The Black Senate ! 

A room or cell, some twenty feet square, 
warmed by a small coal stove, which, heat- 
l to a red heat, stands in the center, its pipe 
inserted in the low ceiling, and leading you 
know not where. Around the stove, by t|)e 
light of three tallow candles placed upon a 
packing-bos, are grouped some twenty or 
thirty persons, who listen attentively to the 
lords of the gentleman who is seated by 
the packing- box. 

This gentleman is almost a giaat ; his 
chest is broad ; his limbs brawsy ; and his 
face, black as the "ace of spades," Is la 
Strong contrast with his white teeth, wUte 



,/Googlc 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



IIT 



i, and white wool. ] 
lOBC, tliiolt lips, and 
to ear. His almost 
sleek suit of blue 
cravat of spotless 



ejebiV^, white eyebr 
He is B. negro, with Hi 
mouth reaching from 
giant frame is clad i 
cloth, and he wears 
whiteiises. 

.liis auditors are not go fortunate in the 
way of dress. Of all colors, from jet black 
to ■ ehocfflate-hrown, they are clad in all 
sorfa of costumes, only iilike in raggodiicas 
and squalor. 

This is the Black Senate, which has met 
for hnsinesE to-night, in this den, two stories 
nndet ground. Its deliberations, in point of 
decorum, may well compare with some other 
sonatcB, — one in especial, where 'Liar!' 
is occasionally called, fisticuffs exchanged, 
knives and pistols drawn ; and it embraces 
representatives from all parts of the Union. 
Whether, litcn another senate, it has its 
dramatic characters, — its low clown, melo- 
dramatic ruffians, genteel comedian, and 
high tragedy hero, remains to be seen. 

The very black gentleman, by the packing- 
boi — book in one hand and paper and pencil 
before him — is the speaker of the house. It 
is our old acquaintance "Eotai. Bill," 
lately from South Carolina. 

" The genelman frum Varginny hub de 
floor," said the speaker, with true parlia- 
' mentary politettCBS. 

The gentleman from Virginia was a sis- 
foot mulatto, dressed in a ragged coat and 
trowsers of iron gray. As he rose there was 
an evide^ lensation ; white teeth were 
shown, and " Go in nigga !" uttered encou- 
ragingly by more than one of the colored 



" Dis nigga rise to de point ob ordah. 
Dis nigga am taught a great many tings by 
philosopy. One day, in de 'baccy field, dis 
nigga SB3'S to hisself, says he, 'Dat are pig 
b'longs to massa, so does dis nigga. Dis 
nifga kill dat pig un eat 'um — dat be 
stijBin'? Lordy Hoses — no! It only be 
puttin' one ting dat Vlongs fo massa into 
anoder ting dat aiao b'longs to massa : — dat's 
philoaopy— " 

"S'pose de nigga be caught?" ine^rupted 
a colored gentleman, lighting his pipl lit the 
red-hot »toTM- 

"i)a( wouldn't be philosopy," responded 
the gentleman from Virginia. " It aint phi- 



losopy to bo caught. On do contrary it am 
dam foolishness." 

A murmur of assent pervaded the place. 

" Sob, reaaonin' from de pig, dis iiijfija wor 
taught by philosopy to tink a great deal— to 
tink berry much; — and sob, one day de 
nigga got a kind o' abacn' minded, and 
walked off, and forffot to fome faii. — Dis 
nigga actooaly did." 

"Dat luw philosopy!" sidd a voice. 

"An' as de nigga is in bad healtli, he em 
on bis way to Canada, whar de climate am 
good for nigga's pulmonaries. An' fur tear 
de iii^a mought liurt puople's feeliu', ho 
trabels by night ; an' fur fear he mought be 
ased questi'n which 'ud trubtle him to 
ansaw, ho carries dese sartifirats — " 

He showed his certificates — a revolving 
pistol and a knife And dih one of tha 
colored congressmen produced certificates of 
a similar character from their rags, 

■' Lor*, pbiloBopy am a dam good ting !" 

"Don't swoah, nigga ! — behabe yesself !" 

"Itoad us nudder won ob dem good chap'er 
from do Bible, Mistaw Spealiaw," cried a 
dark gentleman, addressing old Royal. — 
'■ 'Ehud, I luib a message from Oiid to dee ! ' 
Yah-liah-hah !" 

" Yah-hah-a-w-hat !" chorused the ma- 
jority of the congress, showing their teeth 
and sliaUiiig their woolly heads together. 

" Jis tell us som'tliin' more about yer ole 
massa, dat you' lick last night," cried a 

"Dat am an ole story," said old Royal, 
with dignity. " Suffis it to say, dat about 
five o'clock last obenin', I toolt massa Harry 
from do house whar he'd been licked, de 
night afore, and tuk him in a carriage and 
put 'im aboard de cars at Princeton. I gib 
him some brandy likewise. His back was 

Here one of the gentlemen broke in with 
a parody of a well-known song — 



i\yU 






He began, in rich Ethiopian baas. 

"Silence nigga!" said old Royal, sternly, 
yet, showing his white teeth in a broad grin. 
"He am in New York at the present timt, 
at de Astor House, I 'spec' j au' da Blood- 
houn' am with him — " 

"De kidnapper 1" 



■.3t.J 






US 



PBOM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



" De nigger-catoher !" 
Cries Itko these resounded from twenty 
throats; and by the way in which knives 
and pistols were produced and brandished, 
it was evident that there was a cordial feel- 
ing — almost too cordial — entertained by the 
congress, toward our old friend, Bloodhound. 
" To business," said old Eoyal, surveying 
the motley crowd. "I tab come to visit jou 
to-night by d'reotion oh smnehody dat ymi 
don't knom. It am oh de last importance dat 
you all get yesselves out o' dis town to 
Canada as quick as de Lord 'ill let you. 
Darfore 1 bab provided j'ou wid dem 
revolvers," — he pointed to the pistols, "and 
dei'fore I am here, to send you on jer ways, 
for de kidnappers am about." 

"Oh, dam de kidnippers '" i.ias the em- 
phatic remark of a dirk gentleman , and it 
was chorused by the oongreos unanimously. 
"It am berry easj to saj 'dim de kid- 
cappers,' — berry easy to say dam — dam 's a 
berry short word ; but s'pose de kidnapper 
habyou, and tie you, and take jou down 
south — eh, niggi ? w'at den *" 

But before the gentlemen could reply to 
this pointed question of old Royal's, 
OumBtance took place which put an 
new face upon the state of affairs. 

The door was burst open, and two persons 
tumbled into the room, hecia over head. 
Descending the stairs in the darkness, 
persons had missed their footing, and fell. 
The door gave way before their 
weight, and they rolled into the roc 
Style mote forcible than graceful. 

When these persons recovered themselves 
and rose to their feet, they found themselves 
encircled by some thirty uplifted knives, — 
every knife grasped by the hand of a brawny 
negro. And the cry which greeted them 
was by no means pleasant to hear; — 
"Death t<i the kidnappers !" 
"We're fooled. It's a trap," cried one of 
the persons — our old friend Bloodhound. 

"Trap or no trap, I'll cut the heart of the 
damned niggor that comes near me " cried 
the other person who i ts none other than 
our fnend Harrv Rjjalton of Hill Royal, 
^uth Carolina. 

The t^Ic had fallen from his shoulders, 
the cap trom bis broH He stood erect, his 
tall bam clad in black with a gold chain on 



the breast, dilating in every muscle. ■ Hia 
face, with ita large eyes and busby whiskers — 
a face by no means unhandsome, aa regards 
mere animal beauty — was convulsed with 
rage. And even as he started to his feet, he 
drew arevolver from his belt, and stood at bay, 
the very picture of ferocity and desperation. 
While his right hand grasped the revolven 
his \e!t hand flourished a bowie-knife. 
Harry Boyaltoii wns dangerous. 

By his side was the short, stout figure of 
the Bloodhound, cnciised to his chin in a 
rough overcoat, and, with his stiff, gray hairs 
stra^Iing from beneath his seal-skin cap 
over his prominent cheek-bones. His small 
gray eyes, twinkling under his bushy browa, 
glanced around with a look half desperation, 
half fear. 

And around the twain crowded the ne- 
groes, every hand grasping a knife; every 
face distorted with hatred ; and old Royal, 
in his sleek blue dress and white cravat, 
prominent in that group of black visages 
and ragged forms. 

" Tliey've got us ! Judas Iscar-i-ot ! It's 
a trap, my boy. We'll have to cut ourselves 

"Back, you dogs !" shouted Earry, with 
the attitude and look of command. " The 
first one that lays a finger on me I'll blow 

There was a pauso of a moment, era 
the confiict began. Thirty uplifted kniTes, 
awaited only a look, i gesture, from old 
Royal. 

That gentleman, grinning until his white 
teeth were visible almost from ear to ear, 
said calmly — "Dis am a revivin' time, wid 
of grace ! Some nigga shut dat 
door and make 'um fast," 

His words were instantly obeyed ; one of 
the thirty closed the door and bolted it. 

Now, massa Harry," said old Royal, 
grinning and showing the whites of his eyes, 
am a fav'oble opportunity fur savin' 
poor lost soul. How you back feel, ole 
' Want a leetle more o* de same sort, 
p'raps ? S'pose you draw dat trigger ? Jis 
Lor a massa, why dere's enough niggas 
here Ifl eat you up widout pepper or salt." 

Harry laid his finger on the trigger and 
fired, at the same moment stepping suddenly 
backward, with the intention i^ ptantji^ : 



,/Googlc 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



119 



himaelf against the wall. But he fot^ot fhe 
negroes behind him. As he fired, his heela 
were tripped up; his ball passed oi 
Royal's head. Harry was leveled 
floor, and In au instant old Boyal's giant-hke 
gripe was on hia throat. And by his side, 
wriggling in the grasp of a huge negro, black 
as ink, and strong as Hercules, our friend 
Bloodhound, tubbed his face against the 

Over and araHud these central figi 
gathered the remainder of th« band, filling 
the den with their shouts — 

"Death to the dam kidnappers !" 

" Yah-hah 1 Cut their dam throats !" 

Cries liiie those, interspersed with frightful 
howls, filled the place. 

The Bloodhound moaned pilJfuily ; and 
Harry, with the suffocating gripe of old 
Royal on his throat, and hia back yet raw 
from the lashes of the previous night, could 
not repress a groan of agony. 

It was a critical momenL 

" Do you know, massa Harry," — and old 
Boyal bent his face down until Harry felt 
his breath upon his cheek — "Do you know, 
massa Harry, da,t you are not berry far from 
glory ? Kingdom-coma am right afore, o!o 
boy — and you am booked — bah! yah! — wid 
a through ticket." 

Old Koyal, (who had laid down his pistol,) 
took a knife from one of the negroes, ani3, 
tightening hia grip« and pressing Jiis knee 
more firmly on Harrys breast, he passed the 
glittering blade before bis eyes. 

"Oh!" groaned Soyallon. The groan 
was wrung from faim by intolerable agony. 

"Let me up — a-h !" criM Bloodhound, 
in a smothered voice, as his mce was pressed 
against the hard boards. 

"Death to the dam kidnappers !" 

Old Boyalton clenched the knife with 
his left hand, and placed its point against 
Hwry's breast ! 

" You am bound for glory, maasa — " and : 
a negro held a candle aver Harry's face, as 
old Royal spoke. 

At this cKtical mot|ig|ta^ven as BU^'s ' 
life hung on a thread, JFvbllDii knocking 
wa* beard at the door,. Mfif lftiw resounded 
thwugh iU panel*— *** ^^ 

"Old Hoyal, old Royal, I sayj Let m« in, 
quklcl qntekl" 



" Open the door, niggo. Ifs masia EanT'a 
brack bruddcr. Let um in, so he can see his 
btudder bound for glory !" 

The door was opened, and Rsndoiph, pale 
as death, came rushing to the light. Wrap- 
ped in the cloak, which concealed hia pistols 
and knives, and which hung about his tall 
form in heavy folds, he advanced with a 
footstep at once trembling and eager. 

His pale face was stamped with hatred ; 
his blue eyes shone with vengeance, as he 
at a glance beheld the pitiful condition of 
his brother. 

" Soh, brother of mine, we have met 
again !" he cried, in a voice which was 
hoarse and deep with the thirst of veil- 
geince. 

" Why, he's whitaw dan his while brud- 
der !" cried the negro who held the light. 

"Release him," cried Randolph — "Be- 
lease him, I say ! Tie that fellow there ;" 
he touched Bloodhound with hia foot ; 
close the door. You'll see a fight worth 
seeing; a fight between the master and 
slave, between brother and brother. Do you 
hear me, Eoyal ? Let him get up, — " 

" But masaa 'Dolph !" hesitated old Royal. 

" Up, I say !" and Randolph flung his cop 
and cloak to the fioor, and draw two bowie- 
knives from hia belt "Up, I say I You 
heard my history from old Hoyal ?" he 
glanced around lunong the negroes. 

Yali-hah ! an' ob de lashes dat you gib 
dia dam kidnapper 1" said the negro who 
held the candle. 

Then stand by and see um settle our last 
account," cried Randolph. " Let him get 
up, old Hoyal." 

Old Royal released hia hold, and Harry 
slowly arose to bis feet, and atood face to 
face with his brother. 

Good evening, brother," s^d Buidolph. 
" We have met agdti, and fsi the laat time. 
One «f. us will not leav« thia placa alive. 
Take your choice of knivet, brotbar. I wilt 
fight you with my left hand ; I aw«>r it by 
my mother's name 1" 

Harry looked luound wiUi * oMiCuMd 

"It ia easy for you to talk," be aaid, 
brushing bi« bandovwkiafbreheadaadejre^ 
as if in efRirf to oollect hia acaH«i«d aeaaoL 
" Even if I kill yoti, tfaeae Bicno in}I kllli^k 



LiOOt^lc 



ISO 



PROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



Thejr will not \tt me leave the door alive, 
even if I master you," 

"Old Eoyal, you know my history; and 
you know how this man has treated 
my sister — LIb own flesh and blood. Now 
swear to me, that in case he is the victor ii 
the contest that is about to talte place, yoi 
mill let him go from this place free and un 
harmed t" 

" I — I — swear it massa 'Dolph ; I swear ii 
hj de Lord !" 

"And you?" Randolph turned to thi 
negroes. 

"We does jist as old Eoyal says," cried 
the one who held the caudle ; and the rest 
muttered their assenL 

"Take your choice of knives, brother, 
B»id lUndoIph, as his eyes shone with 
deadly light, and hia face, already pale, grew 
perfectly colorless ; " The handles are toward 
you 1 take your choice. Remember I am to 
fight you with my left hand. You are weak, 
brother, from the wounds on your back. 
With my left hand I will fight and kill 
you." 

Harry Eoyaltou took one of the knivi 
tliey were ivory handled, silver mouc 
and their blades were long, sharp and gli 
li^— and at the same time surveyed his 
Isirther from head to foot. 

" I can kill him," he thought, and smiled; 
and then said aloud, " I am ready." 

The negroes fonned a circle ; old Eoyal 
held the light, and the brothers stood in the 
center, silently surveying each other, ere the 
fata! contest began. Every eye remarked 
the contrast between their faces. Harry's 
face flushed with long-pent-up rage, and 
Bandolph's, pallid as a corpse, yet with an 
ominous light in his eyes. Both tall and 
well formed ; both clad in black, which 
showed to advantage, their broad chests and 
muscular arms ; there was, despite the color 
of their eyes and hair, some trace of a family 
ItVeness in their faces. 
. ' " Come, brother, begin," said Randolph, in 
a low voice, which was heard distinctly 
timnigh the profound stillness. "Reroemher 
that I am your slave, and that when I hare 
killed you, I, with sister Either, alio 
your rivrs, will inherit one sevMith of the 
Van Hnydes estfite, — remember how you 
Iwn lai^ ttd bfwodod ns,-— remember the 



[ dying words of our father — and then defend 
ryourself; for I must kill yon, brother. 

Raising the knife with his loft hand, he 
drew his form to its full height, and stood 
on his defense. 

You might have heard a pm drop in that 
crowded cellar. 

"You damned slave 1" shouted Harry, 
and at the same time, rushed forward, 
clutching his knife in his nght hand. Hia 
face was inflamed with ri^e, his eye steady, 
his hand firm, and the pomt of his knife 
was aimed at his brotbefs hearL 

The intention was deadly, but the knife 
never harmed Randolph's heart. Even as 
Harry rushed forward, his knees bent under 
him, and he fell flat on his face, and the 
knife dropped from his nerveless fingers. 
Overcome by the violence of his emotions, 
which whirled all the blood in his body, in 
a torrent to his head, he had sunk lifeless on 
the floor, even as he sprang forward to plunge 
his knife into his brother's heart. 

Randolph, wlio had^prepared himself to 
meet his brother's blow, was thundeistruck 
by this unexpected incident. 

"De Lord hab touck him," cried old 
Royal; "he am dead." 

Dead ! At that word, revenge, vengeance, 
the memory of his wrongs, and of his 
brother's baseness, all glided from Ran- 
dolph's heart, like snow before the flame. ' 

he tried to combat this sudden 
change of feeling. Dead ! The word struck 
him to the soul. He dropped his knife, and 
iking on one knee, he placed upon the 
other the he^ of his lifeless brother. 
Harry's eyes wWe closed, as if in death ; his 
lips hung apart, his face was colorless. 

De Lord hab touck him," again cried old 
Royal ; and hie remark was welcomed by a ' 
burst of laughter from the thirty negroes, 
which broke upon the breathless stillness, 
like the yell of so many dsTibi 

deaa ; he has only fainted. 
!'; cried Randolph. But he 



;rl^^ V 






}t agoin* t 



Royal, 



" Not ft drop I not a dam Ak^W' 



> him one 



coQ^Ui&^i|hed tongue," Ui J trid j 
shoTOg TuT teethf' r-PWhat iay, ; 



1 



b, Google 



FROM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIBNIGHT. 



Beaciiing forth his hand, Eaiidolph seiied 
liis cap and clonk, and tfaeji started to hii 
feet, with the insensible fonn of Harry in 
his arms. Without a worii, )ic moved to the 

"MasHa 'Dolph, masaa 'Dolph!" shouted 
old Royal. " By de Lord, you don't take 
Mm from dis place ;" and he endeavored to 
place himself between Randolph and the 

Randolph saw. the dctenninatioit which 
was written on his face, and saw the looks 
and heard the yells of the thirty negroes ; 
and then, without a word, felled old Royal 
to the floor. One blow of hia right hand, 
planted on the negro's breast, struck him 
down like an ox under the butcher's ax. 
When old Royal, mad with rage, rose to his 
feet again, Randolph had disappeared — dis- 
appeared with his brother, whom ho bore in 
his amis to upper air, 

" Let's after um," shouted the foremost of 
the negroes. 

Old Royal stepped to the door, (which 
Randolph had closed after him,) but stopped 
abruptly on the threshold, as if arrested by 
a sudden thought' 

" Dis nigga meet you 'gin, massa 'Dolph," 
he muttered, and then, pointing to some- 
thing which was folded up in one comer, he 
said, " Bar's game fur you niggas !" 

He pointed to the form of poor Blood- 
hound, who, tied and gagged, lay helpless 
and groaning on the floor. 

It was, perhaps, the most remarkable hour 
in Bloodliound's life. His hands and feet 
tightly bound, a coarse handkerchief wound 
over his mouth, and lied behind his ceck, 
■he was deprived of the power of speech or 
motion. But the power of vision remained. 
His small gray eyes twinkled fearfully, as he 
beheld the faces of the thirty negroes — faces 
that were convulsed with rage, resembling 
not so much the visages of men as of devils. 
And he could also hear. He heard the yell 
from thirty throats, a yell which was cho- 
rused with certain woBds, mingling his own 
name with an empbftUc desire for his blood — 
bis life. ,;;■>;■ " 

BloodhoQD^Jjir'ts an old man; his hair was 
gray with ffi^j(Kiwa of, siity years, spent in 
the practice of all thrf virtues ; but Blood- 
hound felt a peculiar sensation gather about 



s heart, at this most remarkable momsut 
of hia life. 

forrad do pris'ner," said old Royal, 
bis seat by the packing-bos. " Put 
m feet. Take de kaukercher from 
him jaw." 

He was obeyed. Bloodhound stood erect 
the center of the group, his hands and 
feet tied, but his tongue free. The light, 
uplifted in the hand of a brawny aegro, fell 
fully upon his corded face, with its gray 
hair, bushy eyebrows, and wide mouth. 
Bloodlioucd's hands shook, — not'with cold, 
for the place was sufibcatingly warm, — and 
Bloodhound trembled in every atom of his 
short thick-set body. Glancing before him, 
then to the right and left, and then back- 
ward over each shoulder, he saw black faces 
■ywhere, and black hands grasping sharp 
knives, confronted him at every turn. 

You am a berry handaulDi man," s^d old 
Royal, encouragingly. " Jist look at um, 
niggas. Do you know de pris'ner?" 

The replies to this query came so fast and 
thick, that we are unable to put them all 
upon paper. 

He stole me fader !" 
He took me mother from FUdelfy aai 
sold her down south." 

"Ho kidnapped my little boy." 
"Dam kidnapper ! ho stole my wife !" 
"I knows him, I does — he does work for 
man dat sells niggas in Ba1%Bh," 
"Don't you know how he t^ de yaller 
1 away from Fildelfy, making b'lieve dat 
ir o^vn fader was a-dyin', and sent for her? " 
Suhw wfh ntod 

Roya qu n I a;i e d n hat 
Blood dwasinum Ad ahuh, 
his h h d g wn gra n he p e of 

all th d d a h m mu h 

pleasu e fi d h h is k wn for 
he f h ho was c h hai d of the 
wicked 

"D n h rt la n gg rs, d n hutme! 
I was n a a y t upon m w rd I 



I < 



Utburt 



" Oh ! wo won't go fur to hurt massa, will 
we nigga« ?" replied old Royal. 

" C cos not. Don't tink of slch a ting I 
Tah-hahl" . 



Hosed b/GoOgIc 



12S 



FKOM NIGHTFALL UNTIL MIDNIGHT. 



"Ton see I've got a child at home," fal- 
tered Bloodhound, "thiit is to Bay, two or 
three of 'em. Tou -would'nt go to hurt the 
fiktbec of a family, would you 7" 

"Does you know massa, dat you mos' 
make dis nigga cry," cried old Royal, with 
an Infernal grin. "Niggaa, 'acure dis tear! 
Be aA de fader ob a family, dis good man 

■ Old Boyal wiped away a tew, — that is, 
an imaginary tear, — and then surveyed the 
faces of his colored brethren, with a look 
tlutt turned Bloodhound's heart to ice. He 
felt that he was lost. 

"Don'l, don't, d-o-n-'-t!" he shrieked, in 
agony of fear, "d-o-n-'-t I" 

"'Why, who's a-touchin' you? Dar am 
not a single, solitary, blessed soul, layin' a 
fingaw on you." 

As old Boyal epoke, he made a sign with 
the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. 
It was obeyed by a huge negro who stood 
behind Bloodhound, — he struck the wretch- 
ed roan on the back of the head, with the 
Stock of a revolver, — struck hira with all 
the fwce of his brawny arm, — and the 
hard, dull sound of the blow, was heard 
distinctly, even above the fiendish shouts of 
the negroes. 

"Ohl don't, d-o-n-'-t !" shrieked Blood- 
hound, u the blood spurted over his hair 
and forehead, and oven into his eyes ; 
"doii*lv d-o-n-'-t!" 

Another blow.— ftom behind, — brought 



him to his knees. And then the thirty, or 
as many as could get qear him, closed round 
him, shouting and yelling and striking. 
Every face was distorted with rage ; every 
hand grasped a knife. Old Eoyal, who 
calmly surveyed the scene, saw the backs 
and faces of the negroes ; saw the knives 
glittering, as thoy rose and fell ; but Blood- 
hound was not to be seen. But his cries 
were heard, as he madly grappled with the 
knives which stabbed him, — for his bonds 
had been cut by ono of the band, — and 
these cries, thick and husky, as though hia 
utterance was choked by blood, would have 
moved a heart of stone. But every shriek 
only seemed to ^ve new Ere to the rage of 
the negroes ; and gathering closer round the 
miserable man, they lifted their knives, 
dripping with his blood, and struck and 
struck and struck again, until his cries were 
stilled. As he uttered the last cry, he 
sprang madly into light, for a moment, 
shook his bloody hands above his head, and 
then fell to rise no more. 

You would not have liked to have seen 
the miserable thing which was stretched on 
the floor, in the center of that horribla cir- 
cle, a miserable, mangled, shapeless thing, 
which, only a moment ago, was a living 

"Now gonelmen," said old Royal, calmly, 
"de business bein' done, dis meetin' stand 
adjourn till furder ordaw. Niggas, I link 
you'd bcttaw cut stick." « 






NEW YORK. 



UPPER-TEN AND LOWER MILLION. 



PART THIRD. 



"THROUGH THE SILENT CITY.' 



YoNCER, in the still winter night, tiib : 
PLB stands, all dark and sullen without, but 
teight with festal lights within. Stand here 
in the dark, and yon will see the guests of 
the temple come, — now one hy one, — now 
two by two, — sometimes in parties of four, — 
and all are carefully cloaked and lunskcd. 
They come noiselessly along the dark street ; 
they glide stealthily \ip the steps, and be- 
neath the arch of the gloomy door. A gentle 
knock, — the door is slightly opened, — a pass- 
word is wTiispered, — and one hy one, and two 
by two, and sometimes in parties of four, the 
guests of THE TEMPLE glide over its threshold, 
and pass like shadows from the sight. 

Shall we also eater ? Not yet. We will 
wait until the revel is at its height, and 
until the masks begin to fall. 

Meanwhile, we will follow the adventures 
of Arthur Dbrmotne. 

About half-past twelve o'clock, Arthur 
Dermojne stood in the street, in front otjjie 
house of Maoau Resimss Wrapj ed inTiia 
cloak and with his cap drawn over his eyes, 
he stood in the shadoun aad gazed fixedly 
upon the mansion opposite It stood m the 
tnidst of a crowded street, j ined with 
houses on either side and j et it stood alone. 
Black and sullen with its closed shutters 
and somber e:cter or it seemed to bear upon 
Ita face the stanip of the infernal crimes 
which had been committed within its walls. 
lioSl} mamtODB lined the street but their 
wealthy occupants little knew the real 
character of the woman (woman* — fiend' 
i better name) who tSniuted the 
Inf houM. 



With great di£Gcu!ty, — it matters not 
how, — Arthur had discovered the haunt of 
this murderess. Her name was one of those 
names which creep through society like the 
vague panic which foretells the pestilence ; 
there were few who did not know that such 
a person existed, and few whose hearts did 
shrink in loathing, from the very mention of 
her name. But her haunt, centered in an 
aristocratic quarter, was comparatively nn- 
known ; only her customers and some of the 
publishers of newspapers, with whom she 
advertised, were aware that the sullen hotwe 
which stood in a fashionable Street, waa the 
den of Madau Resiuer. 

That such a creature should exist, and 
grow rich in the city of New York, in the 
middle of the nineteenth century, hy the 
pursuit of a traffic which, in iLs incrediUa 
infamy, has no nkrae in language, may wall 
excite the horror of every man and woman 
with a human heart within their bosom. 

We read of the female xx''^"B''i and 
shudder ; but console ourselves with the 
thought, "These things happened in the 
dark ages, long ago^ when knowledge was 
buried, and the human heart wbb utterly 
depraved." 

We read in the d^ly papers the announce- 
ment of a wretch that, for a certain price, 
she will kill the unborn child, — an announce- 
ment made in plain terms, and paid for ae 
an advertisement, — and we are dumb. It ia 
the nineteenth century : will not future ages, 
raking the advertisement of this infamous 
woman from some dark comer, ^eu the 
awful secrets of the nineteenth century from 
that one inflHtel blot? 

We see ^^briage drawn hf blooded 
•teeds, whirAut* through Broadway {ita onlj 

m) ' 



IM 



THROUGH THE SILENT CITY. 



occupant a, handsomely 'attired femnle. And 
ivo say to ourselves, " There goes the mur- 
deress of mother and of the unborn child — 
there goes tho wretch who thrives by the 
fllaughter of lost womanhood ; who owns a 
splendid carriage, a fine mansion, and a 
magnificent fortune, in the verj Tortes of a 
depraved social world — there goes the in- 
strument of the very vilest crime known 
in the tuinals of Hell." 

These words none ot us dare say aloud ; 
we only think of them ; and we shudder as 
we see them written on paper, — they are bo 
horribly true. 

And as we oak — Why is such a creature 
needed in the world ? Why does she find 
emploifmatif Why do a hundred such as 
her, thrive and grow rich in the large c\\ 
we are forced to accept one of these 



1. A bad social state, based upon 
wealth and enormous poverty, — a soeial state 
which gives to the few the very extrava- 
gancies of luxury, and deprives the countless 
many of the barest righls and comforts of 
life, — finds its natural result in the existence 
of this Madam Kesimer. 

Or,— ■ 

2. Human nature 13 thoroughly depraved, 
A certain portion of the race are bom to be 
damned in this world, as well as in the nest. 
Such creatures as Madam Resimer, are but 
the prtiper instruments of that damnation. 

Upon my soul, good friend, who read this 
book, these answers are worthy of some mo- 
menta of attentive thought 

Arthur Dermoyne stood in the gloom <^ 
that winter midnight, — a midnight awful 
and profound, and only deepened in ita 
solemnity, by the dear, cold light of the win- 
tery stars. A thousand thoughts flitted over 
^ brain, as he gazed upon the fatal house. 
Waa Alice already a tenant of that loathsome 
den ? Again and again, he rejected the 
thought, but still, it came back upon him, 
tiai crept like ice through his veins. If she 
was, indeed, within these walls, what might 
be her fate ere the morrow's dawn ? Arthur 
could notrepreas a. cry of anguish. A vague 
picture of. a lost woman, put to death in the 
dark, by the gripe of a fiend in h»iman shape, 
teemed to pass before hin\%e a shadow 
from Uw ether world. 



He surveyed the house. A streef^lamp, 
which stood some paces from it, shed a faint 
gleam over its walls, and served to show, 
that from cellar to garret, it waa closed like 

The wealthy tenants of the houses on 
either hand, had evidently retired to their 
beds. Not a gleam ot light shone from their 
many windows. 

The street was profoundly still ; a solitary 
footstep was heard in the distance ; above 
the roof was the midnight sky and the win- 
Arthur crossed the street. 
" I remember what the policemen fold 
me, who showed me the way to this place. 
Three cellar windows protected by sheets 
iron bars ; they are before me. Beyond these 
windows a. cellar filled with rubbish; then 
a basement room, where one ot the Madam's 
bullies is in waiting, day and night, ready to 
do her bidding." 

The Madam was provided with two bul- 
lies, whom she had raked from the subterra- 
nean regions of New York. They were mea 
of immense muscular strength, with the print 
of their depraved nature upon their brutal 
faces. One was six feet two inches in height; 
he was known among his familiaw by the 
succinct name of "Dibk." He used a dirk- 
knife in his encounters. The other, short, 
bony, with broad chest and low legs, was 
known as " Slung- Shot." His favorite wea- 
pon was a leaden ball attached to a cord by 
net-work, with a loop for his wrist. One 
blow with this " Slung-Shot," rightly admin- 
istered, on the temple, would kill the strong- 

■ft'hese were the Madam's watch-dogs. 
They formed the police of the mansion. 
One slept while the other watched, and when 
any little difficulty occurred, they settled the 

it wiilumt noise. Whether thej knew 
all the secrets of the Madam's minuon, or 
only regaided it as one of the manv haunts 
of vulgar infamy, which infest New York, 
does not yet appear. 

" Slung-Shot or Ditk, is now on the watch, 
in the basement room, nest the cellar Sup- 
pose I manage to force the bB> -(^t ""^ "^ 
these windows,— I enter 4i« bu«|IHot room, 

, confconted by one of *» iullies. If 
I escape the 0teffiA the ■ttu)g^ ' 



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THBOUGH THE SILENT CITT. 



be handed over to the police, and sent 
the Penitentiary on a charge of burglary. In 
the latter case, I will remain in the Tombs 
while the 2!)th of December passes, and 
thus escape all hope of participation in the 
settlement of the Van Huyden estate." 

It did not take long for Dermoyne to come 
to a determination. 

" True, after all, Barnhurst may be inno- 
cent, and Madam Reairaer may have nothing 
to do with the affair. But I cannot remain 
any longer in this state of harrowing sus- 
pense. I will to work, — and at once." 

lurveyed the street, and 
I at his gaze was keen 
and anxious. No one was in sight; all was 
breathlessly still. 

Arthur drew from beneath his clolik an 
iron bar, with which he had provided him- 
self. It was a square bar, about two inches 
in thickness, and as many feet in length. 
Next, fixing his gaze on the central window 
of the cellar, he aateitalned that it was. pro- 
tested by three tipnght bars, separated from 
each other, by a space of six inches. These 
bare, scarcely more than an inch in thickness, 
were inserted into solid piejjes of granite, 
which formed the top and base of the window- 
frame. Could he disjilaoe them from their 
sockets, by means of the bar which he carried? 
Again, he glances up and down the street. 
Not a soul in sight. He cast an upward 
glance, over the wail of the house, — still 
closed in every shutter, and sullen as a vault. 
He crouched beside the window and began 
to USE hia iron bar. It required all the force 
of his almost supernatural strength, to bend 
the central bar, but presently it was accom- 
plished. It yielded and was forced from its 
sockets. Then, resting the iron bar which 
be grasped, against the wall on the left, he 
forced the second bar from ila socket, and in 
a few minutes, in a similar manner, the third 
yielded to the force of his powerful sinews. 
The three fell into the cellar, and produced 
a crashing sound as they came into contact 
with son^p loose boards. 

Arthur Aid not hesitate a moment. Grasp- 
ing tho ifoijiar, and folding bis cloak about 
his left (p^i'S* CrPpt through the window 
Biid desc^M(s|ipM^he cellar. All was thick 



d»rkne^ 



thtw> lldt a faint ray came from 
wkich opened iato- the basement 



Trampling over heaps of rubbish and 
i loose piles of boards, Arthur made his way 
toward the door, and did not pause a single 
moment, but fiinging his weight against its 
rough boards, he forced the st^lo ivhich 
secured it, and burst it open with a crash. 

Then his features were fixed, his eyes 
flashed, he clutched the iron bar, and ad- 
vancing one step into the basement room, 
stood ready for tha worsL 

A candle, burning fast t«ward its socket, 
stood on a pine table, and ming its uncertain 
light over a small room, with cracked ceil- , 
ing and rough walls, smeared with whito- 
wash. A coal fire smouldered in a narrow 
grate. 

Slung-Shot was there, — not on the watch 

precisely, — but with hia brawny arms resting 

the table, and his head bent ou his arms. 

was fast asleep, and snoring vigorously, 

empty brandy bottle which stood near 

the light, explained tho cause of his sleej* 

Arthur glanced at the door, which opened on 

itdrway, and then — "Can I cross the 

and open the door without waking this 

wretch ?" was his thought. 

Slung-Shol, although by no means tall, 
was evidently a fellow of muscle, as his 
broad shouldeis, (inclosed in a red flannel ^ ^i 
shirt) and his half-bared arms, served to --. 
show. His face was buried against the table, 
and Arthur could only see the back of his 
head ; his hair closely cut, his long ears, and 
tho greasy locks which draggled in front of 
each ear, wero disclosed in the flickering 
light. 

Arthur, after a moment of hesitation, ad- 

■anced, — the boa. .".s creaked under his tread, 

— still the ruffian did not move, but snored 

I, in a deep, sonorous bass. Arthur placed 

s hand on the latch of the door — 

The ruffian then moved. He raised hie 

sleepy head, and Arthur beheld that brutal 

face, with its low forehead, broken nose and 

projecting under-jaw, 

3-a-y," he cried, in that peculiar dialect, 
which, accompanied by an elongation of the 
lower-jaw, forms the jfntaj of a class-of ruf- 
fians which infests the large cities, "what 
de thunder you 'bout?" 

Arthur grasped hU iron bar, but stood 
jtAmless as attHie, awaiting the assault of 
the ruffian. 



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126 



THBOffGH THE SILENT CITY, 



"Dot joo Dirk?" continued Slucg-Shot, 
rolling his ejea with a drunken stare ; " why 
(ie thunder don't you let a feller sleep ? — " 
And then coma a round of oaths, uttered 
that peculiar dialect, with the lower-jaw 
elongated and the bead shaking briskly, 
from nde to side. After which Slung-ShoC 
sank to steep again. He had mistaken A: 
thur for his comrnde, 

Arthur lifted the latch, and in a momet 
was asoonding the narrow staircase, which 
led to the hall on the first floor. At the 
V head of the stair was a door, which he 
opened and found himself on acai'petcd floor, 
but in utter darkness. 

He could hear the heating of hia heart, as 
pausing in the thick darkness, he hent his 
head and listened. 

Not a sound waa heard throughout the 



What should be his next step ? Enter 
•he parlor on the first Hoor or ascend the 
stairway ? 

"If Alioe ia concealed within these walls, 
she must bo in one of the rooms up-stairs," 
be thought, and felt his way toward the 
staircase. Presently, hia hand encountered 
tlie banisters, and he began cautiously 
Ascend to the second floor. Arrived at the 
head of the stairs, he stopped again and list- 
ened : not a sound was heard. Tom as he 
was by suspense, the cold sweat started upon 
his forehead : he folded his cloak carefully 
around his left arm, and grasping the iron 
bar with his right hand, he listened once 
more. The house was as soundless, as 
though a human voice or footstep had never 
been heard within its walls. 

At this moment Arthur was assailed uy a 
terrible doubt — 

"What if it should bo all a dream? — 
Bamhurst maybe innocent, and as for Alice, 
■he may be at this moment, a hundred miles 
away ! Nay, this house may be the resi- 
dence of a peaceful family, and have noth- 
ing to do with Madam Kesimer or her 

He was shaken by the doubt Turning in 
the darkness, he began to descend the stairs — 

"Ha ! The rufiSan In the cellar confirms 
the Btorj of the policeman who led me here, 
and who stated that this -was the house of 
Hadam Ite«m«;" this thought Qashed 



over him and arrested hia stops. "I'll not 
retreat until my suspicions are confirmed or 
put to rest." 

He turned agsun, and feeling his way up 
the stairs, and along the hall of the second 
floor, he began to ascend the second stair- 
way. At the top he paused and listened — 
ail was silent — not a whisper, nor the echo 
of a sound. Then stretching forth his hand 
he discovered that at a short distance be- 
yond the stairway, another staircase led up- 
ward to the fourth floor. He also came to 
the conclusion, that from near the top of the 
stairway, even where he stood, a long and 
passive led into some remote part of 



the m 
fault. 



For f 



Should he ascend the thiiii stair- 
way to the fourth floor, or should he traverse 
the long and narrow passage? 

"I will ascend to the fourth floor," he 
thought, when he was arrested by a sound. 
I.OW, very faint, ambiguous in ila charac- 
r, it seemed to proceed from the extremity 
of the passage, which Ifranched from the 
head of the second stwrcase. Was it a 
faint cry for help — a moan of anguish — or 
the echo of voices, miifiied by thick cowls ? 
He had no chance to determine. 
For at the very moment when this sound 
reached his ears, it was drowned by another 
sound. The hell rang through the house, 
peal after peal, and died away in a dismal 
lo. There was a pause; it rang again, and 
J time more violently, as though an angry 
frenzied hand grasped the beil-rope. — 
Another pause, and a light flashed in the 
face of Dermoyne. It came from the ex- 
tremity of the passage at the head of the 
held in the hand of a woman, 
wing wrapper, who advanced 
along the passage with rapid strides. — 
Standing at the head of the second stairwey, 
Dermoyne surveyed her as she approached, 
and at a glance, as she came rapidly toward 
m, beheld her portly form and florid face. 
That face wore a look of unmistakable 
chagrin. 

be lost — in a moment she 
will be here," thought Dermoyne— "can it 
be Madam Besimer ? ' ^ V 

He advanced and sbronandjrigf^lf 'u the 
darkness of the third stainil^ Kear anj 
nearer grew U^ Mund of footat^^ljp^ 

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THROUGH THE SILENT CITT. 



127 



"If flhe looks tbia way, fts she descends 
the staira, I am discovered," wid Dermovne 
could distinctly he^ the boating of bia 

The next moment the ruBtUng of her 
dress was heard ; her heavy strides resound- 
ed as she advanced ; and then emerging 
from the passage, she reached the top of thi 
second stairway. Her dress brushed Der- 
moyne, as he crouched on the first steps of 
the uppemiost stairs ; her face was visible ir 
profile for a single instant 

" Curae this light, how it fiares, and curs< 
that bell— will it never cease ringing? A\ 

And without once looking behind her, she 
hurriedly descended the second stairs. Der- 
moyne watched her lall form, with its loose 
gown, flowing all about her bulky outlines, 
until she turned the angle of the stairs and 
dieappearod. 

CHAPTER II. 

" Now IB my time," muttered Dermoyno to 
himself, and at once lie entered the passage, 
which branched from the head of the stairs, 
and led to the eastern wing of the mansion. 
How his heart bent, how his blood bounded 
in his veins, aM he drew neat the open door 
at the extremity of the passage! 

On the threshold he paused — his form 
fhrotided by the darkness, but the light from 
within the room shining upon his forehead 
— he paused and took a single glance at tha 
scene which ivas disclosed to his vision. 

Never till his dying hour shall he forget 
that scene. 

A small apartment, with windows shut 
and sealed like the doors of a sepulohor. — 
On a small table, amid vials and surgical in- 
struments, stands a light, whose rays tremble 
over the bed, which occupied the greater 
part of the room. Above the bed, from the 
darkly-papered walla, smiles a picture of the 
Virgin Muy, while beneath, by the folds of 
the coverlMr, you may trace the outlines of 
a human foKiL, 

Beside.lMtwa stocdB a slender man dress- 
ed in bSami'*^!^.* heavy pair of gold spec- 
taelea oa iniShm^eA nose It u Corkina, 
tita blAtiar spirit of the Madton Corkins, . 



whose slander frame, iucased m black, re- 
minds you of the raven, while hi» face with 
top. knot, gold spectacle^ ferrat-like eyes, and 
pointed beard, reminds you of the owl. 

"Bad!" mutters Corkins, "bad!" and 
he gazes upon the occupant of the bed, 
knotting his fingers together like a man who 
is e>:ceedbgly perplexed. 

The bed and its occupant ? Ask ua not 
to picture the full horror of the sight which 
Artliur saw (from his place of concealment), 
as Corkins gently drew the coverlet aaida. 

" Alice ! " he did not pronounce the word 
with his lips, but bis heart uttered it — it wai 
echoed in the depths of his soul. 

He saw the pale face, and the sunny hair, 
which felt in a Sood upon her bared shoul- 
ders. He saw the arms outspread, with the 
flngcia trembling and working as with tha 
impulse of a spasm. He saw the eyes which 
opened with a dead stare, and fined vaguely 
upon the ceiling, had no look of life In 
their leaden glance. He saw the lips, which 
were colorless and almost covered with 
white foam. And aa the sufferer moved her 
head, and flung it back upon the pillow, 
he saw her throat — no longer white aud 
beautiful — but with swollen veins, writbii^ 
with torture, and starting from tha discolor- 
ed skin. 

Never, never until his last hour can Ar. 
thur forget that sight. 

And poor Alice, writhing thus betweea 

life and death, talked to herself in a voice 

husky and faint, and said certain words that 

ade Arthur's blood gather in a flood about 

his heart : 

an, you will not desert me!" sbo 

s«d, and then while the foam was on her 

ps, she babbled of her father and home^ 

fitting all the while in every netve and 

Arthur entered the room. Corkins turned 
and beheld him, and uttered a cry of fright. 
For at that moment Arthur's face was not a 
pleasant face for any miua to look upon, much 
less Corkins. And the iron bar which Ar- 
thur held in his clenched hand, taken inl« 
connection with iholookon his face, reminded 
Corking of stories which he had read-— stwies 

hich told of living men, bruised suddenly to 
death by snch a hand and such an irou b»r. 
Corkins, therefore, uttered a crj' of fright, anl . 



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THROUGH THE SILENT CITT. 



in his terror slioak his gold spectacles from 
hU parrot nose. 

' "DowD," said Arthur, in a. low voice, "on 
your knees," — he pointed to s, nook of the 
toom, between the foot of the bed and the 
wall. " Stay there with your face to 

Corkins obeyed. T mbl n to the o 
he aank on his knee a d turn d 1 is 
ftway from the door nd turn d t ad the 
wall, there was such a p rsu'is 1 quence 

in Arthur's look. 

Then Arthur, still lutch n„ th on bar, 
drew near the head of the bed d g d 
upon Alice. 

Stretching forth her arms, d p 
and closing her little hands ; 11 b k 

her head, her eyes fixed upo th 
point of the ceiling, no mat h h 

writhed — babbling with foaming lips about 
herfether and her home, — it was one of the 
Biiddest sights that ever man beheld. 

Arthur could not stand it. He turned his 
face away, and there was a choking sensation 
in his throat, and a painful heaving of his 
chest His eyeballs were hot and tearless. — 
He would have given his life to shed a sin- 

gunu. 

But that moment of intolerable anguish 
was interrupted by the sound of footsteps 
resounding from the lower part of the man- 
sion. Madam Besimer was returning to the 
room of Alice. 

Arthur at once shrank into the comer 
where Corkins knelt, and touched the crea- 
ture with his toot by way of warning. Then 
placing himself against the wall in such a 
manner that he could not be seen until the 
Madam entered the room, he awaited her 

Her footsteps are on the stairs, and pres- 
ently they are iieard in the passage. Arthur, 
standing bolt upright against the .wall, with 
the trembling Corkins at his feet, heard 
the rustling of her dress, as she came brush- 
ing along, with her heavy stride. Then he 
heard her voice — she was speaking to some 
one who accompanied her. 

"There are two," he muttered, and bent 
hS head to listen. He could diatinguish her 

"What a ftjolish fancy!" this was the 
VoiM of the Uadam, " to think that toy 



one could gain admittance to my house 
against my will. Why, my dear, the idea 
makes me laugh." 

" Yes, but he's such a desperate ruffian," 
answered a second voice. 

It was the voice of Rev. Herman Barn- 

CHAPTER III. 

HEUMAN, ABTHUB, ALICB. 

" Oh ! my God, I thank thee," 
Arthur, and clutched the iron 
rouched closer W the wall. 

And ere a moment passed, the Madam 

tered the room, followed by Bamhurst. 
'Jb held the light, and he advanced toward 
tl bed. 

It looks rather bad," cried Barnhurat, as 
he ciuoht sio-ht of the face of Alice 

"Why 1 re has C k g n d 

the M d m d t b ptlj h ht 

for C k d tt d b k At th 

same t t B mh rst raised h y f m 



muttered 
bar and 



the f f Al 



6 th 















I f 11 b k 
b 11 t h d p 

Th y h d t th 
Derm y h m t les as 

agai t 1h 11 b I th d 
folded d h h d k 
Thu Ih h h 1 d ped 
he raised his eyes a d I tly 
both, and with the same glance. 

Not a. word was spoken. The Madam, 
unable to support herself sank on the foot 
of the bed, and Bamhurst, staggered to hia 
feet agMn, looked turound the room with a 
visage stamped with guilt and terror. 

Arthur quietly advanced a step, and closed 
the door of the room. Then he locked It 
and put the key in his pocket. 

" What do you mean ?" cried the Madam 
the color rosbing into her face. 

"No noise," whispered Arthur, "unless 
indeed," — and he smiled in a way which she 
underetood, — "unless, indeed, you mean to, 
alarm the neighborhood, and bring the police 
into the room. Would you like to have the 
police examine your, house t" 

The Madam bit her red iift tat did not 
answer. Arthur passed her,'«Bi«pftoaol)«d 
the Bev. HemuD^Bftmhunt. ■'■ V 



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THROUGH THE SILENT CITY. 



"Nay, don't be atnud; I will not hurt yi 
he whiapcred, aa the clergyman stretched 
forth his hunds and retreated toward the wall. 
"Conic, tuke wuriige, uian, — look there '." 

He pointed to the face of Alice- 
Herman, ashy pale, and shaking in every 
iimb, followed the movement of Arthur' 
hand, but did not utter a word. 

"A 'man of your cloth' to bo 'sus 
pected ' — ch, my friend?" and Arthut 
laughed, "A minister of THE Church, 
to be suspected of seduction and of murder ? 
Is it not a lying tongue that dare charge you, 
Eeverend sir, with such crimes ? 

Hero, poor Alice, writhing in the bed, 
spoke .1 faint word about father, and home. 

Barnliurst, cringing against the wall, his 
, smooth complexion changed to a livid pale- 
ness, muttered an incoherent word about 
" reparation." 

"Oh, you shall make reparation, 
fear ; you shall make reparation," whispered 
Dermoyno, his eyes fairly blazing with light. 
"And you visited her father's house a! 
minister of God. She heard you preach 
the church, and you talked to her in 1 
home. What words you said, I know ni 
but some forty-eight hours ago you took her 
from her home ; but a, few hours have 
passed since then. The father lies a mangled 
corpse aomewhero between this house and 
Philadelphia ; and Alice, the daughter, is 
before you. Are you not proud of your 
work, my reverend friend ?'' 

Herman's eye glanced from thi 
face of Dermoyne, and then to the iron bar 
which he held in his clenched hand, — 

" You will not — kill — me ?" he gasped. 

Arthur was silent. The veina upon Ins 
forehead were swollen ; his teeth were 
locked ; his eyes, deep sunken under his 
down-drawn brows, emitted a steady and 
sinister light. He was tfiinking. 

" Kill you ?" he said, in a measured voice, 
which seemed torn, word by word, through 
bia clenched teeth, from his heart. "Oh, if 
I could believe your creed — that eternal 
vengeance is the o7ily future punishment for 
earthly crimes — why, I would kill you, 
before you could utter another word. Do 
you beliovB that creed? No — wretch ! you 
I do not. Youiave but preached it as a part 
. of GM moohinery which maeufactures your 



salary. But now, wretch 1 as you stand by 
the death-bed of your victim, with the face 
of her avenger before you, now search yOur 
hcMt, and answer me— Do you cot begin t» 
feel that there is a Qon ?" 

It was pitiful to see the poor wretch cringe 
against the wall, supporting himself with his 
hands, which he placed behind his back, 
while his head slowly sunk, and his eyes 
were riveted to the face of Dermoyne. 

" You will not kill me," he faltered ; and, 
with his left band, tugged at his white 
cravat, for there wna a choking sensation at 
his throat. 

As for the Madam, who stood at the back 
of Dermoyne, she began to recover some 
portion of her self-possession, as a hope 
flashed upon her mind : " The handle of the 
bell is behind Bamhursi," she muttered to 
himself; "if he would only touch it, it 
would resound in the basement, and call 
Slung-Shot to our aid." 

And with flashing eyes, the Madam gazed 
over Decmoyne's shoulder, watching every 
movement of the clergyman, and hoping 
that even in his fright he might touch tho 
handle of the bell That bell communi- 
cated with the basement room one move- 
ment of the handle and Slui g Sh t would 
be summoned to the scene 

However, as Barnl urst cj nged against the 
wall, his hands stnyel all aro nd tho 
handle of the bell, but did not touch it. 

At this crisis, however, the Madam form- 
ing suddenly a bold resolution, stmde across 
toor and placed her bulky form between 
Dermoyne and tho clergyman. 

" What do yoa want liere, any how ?" she 

d, tossing her head and placing her arms 
a-kimbo. " You aro neither the brother nor 
the husband of this girl. Suppoain' you 
I, what have you to complain of ? Haven't 
I treated her like my own child ? Yes, I've 
been a mother to her — and Iktt is a fact." 

Dermoyne, for a moment, paused to ad- 
mire the cool impudence which stamped tha 
florid visage of the madam. Her chin pro- 
jected, her nose upturned, and .tw nether 
lip protruded, alie stood there in hsr flowing 
rapper, ivith a hand on eaoh aide of her 

" Look there," he said cf/gfiHtS^'i^ pointed 
to the bed, where the poor i^nrat )b:etche4 



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THEOU&H THE SILENT CITY. 



in her agony; her handa quivering and her 
lips vhit« with foam: "When that poor 
child entered your house, she was in 
enjoymeQt of good health. What ss ahe 
now ? Shall I go forth from this place and 
bring a physician to testify as to the n; 
of your motherly treatment ? 

Tho Madam retreated from the gaze of the 
young man, and felt the force of his worda. 

Too well she knew what verdict a physi- 
cian would pass upon, her treatment of the 
young girl. 

" The bell-handle is behind you," she 
whispered, as she passed the cringing Bi 
hurat. He did not seem to heed her ; hut 
the moment that »he passed him 
resumed her former place, he fixed his 
stupefied gaze once more upon the visage 
of Uermoyne. 

As for Dermoyiie, for a moment he stood 
buried in profound thought. Tho clergy: 
trembled closer to the wall as ho remarked 
the livid paleness of Arthur's face, — the 
peculiar light in Arthur's eyes. 

Dermoyne, after a moment, advanced and 
extended his hand — " Come," be said, and 
sought to grasp Barnhurst s hands But shud 
der I g and half dead with fn^ht, Herman 
cm idled away from the extended hand — 
cr uched -a 1 cringed away as though ha 
would bury himself m the \ery wail 

Ctme again repeat<,d Dermoyne hia 
TO te changed and huakv C(me ' Ha 
griped the hand of the clergyman and 
dr^gci him to the beUiU Ob look 
upon that sigbt ! be groaned as the tortured 
girl writhed before them — "Look upon that 
light, and tel! me, what fiend of hell ever, 
even in thought, planned a deed like this ?' 

" Don't kill mo, d n t, d n t fait d 
Herman. 

" This is a strange n e t n nt nued 

Dermoyne, with a lo k that made H m s 
blood run cold ; "here we a e to eth ^ 
and I and Alice ! I that lo d he bette 
than life, and would have been glad to have 
called her by the »aored name of n ife You 
tbat without loving h« or canng for her 
save as the instrument of your brutal appetite 
have made her what she is, — have male her 
what she ia^ and brought her here to die m 
a dark coniT, something worse than the 
.^eath of « dog. And Alice pocn A'i< , 



who saw you first in the pulpit, and then 
listened to you and yielded to you in the 
home, — her father's home, — Alice lies be- 
fore you now. Hark ! " 

The poor girl stretched forth her hands, 
and with the foam still white upon hei 
livid lips, she said, in her wandering way-^r 

"Oh! Herman, dear Herman! it was not 
father that was hurt, was it ? Oh ! are you 
sure, are you sure ?" And then came wan- 
dering worda about father, Herman, home, 
and — her lost condition. There waa some- 
thing too, about returning to father and ask- 
ing his forgiveness when the danger waa 

" And you desire her death." In bis 
agony, as he uttered these words, Arthur 
clutched Herman with a gripe that forced a 
groan from his lips. " You who have 
brought her to Otis, — he pointed to tha 
bed, — while I desire her to live; 1, that by 
her death will become the sole inheritor of 
her father's fortune." 

This was a revetatiou that astounded Her- 
man, half dead as he was, with terror. 

"The sole inheritor of her father's for- 
tune ! " he echoed. 

At this crisis, the Madam darted forward, 
^.rthur saw her hattd extended toward the 
handle of the bell. 

'Oh! ring by al! means," he exclaimed, 

ng, my dear Madam ; summon your bu!- 

i ; we will have as much noise as possi- 
ble, — perchance, a fight I And then the 
police will come and examine the Ettle 
mysteries of your mansion. Will you not 
ring ? " 

The Madam's band dropped to her side, 

and she slunk back to her former position, 

florid face impressed with an expression 

hich was cot, altogether, one of serenity 

jo.''- 

' You wondered, to-night, why Mr. Bor- 

y permitted the poor shoemaker to visit 
a house. Let me enlighten you a tittle. 
Not many years ago an unknown mechanic 
calltd upon the rich merchant, m hia library 
and proied to the merchant a satisfaction, 
that he — the poor mechanic — had in his 
ision certain papers whioh established 
the fact that the immeftte wtalth of Mr 
Bumey had been obtained l^ • grou fraud, 
a fraud which, m a conil of lav, would 



Coo<^Ie 



THROUGH THE SILENT CITY. 



m 



discloge itself in the two-fold shape oijpfrjury 
and forgery. The father of tho mtohanic 
was the victim ; Burney, the criminal ; the 
victim had died poor and brolten- hearted ; 
but in the handa of the criminal, the 
property ao illy-gntten, had Bwelled-into an 
immcDSB fortune. It was the son ot the 
victim wlio, having lived through a friend- 
less orphanage, now came to Mr. Duniey 
and proved that at any moment he might 
involve the rich merchant in disgrace and 

"Impossible!" ejaculated Barnhurst. 

"The merchant made large offers to the 
mechanic to obtain hia silence, — believing in 
the true mercantile way, that every roan has 
his price, he offered a good round sum, and 
doubled it the next moment, — but in vain. 
The image of his broken-hearted father was 
before the mechanic, — he could not banish 
it, — he had but one purpose, and that was, 
lo bring the rich man to utter ruin. This ' 
purpose was strong in his heart, when scorn- 
ing all the offers of the merchant, he rose 
from his seat and moved toward the door. 
But at the door his purpose was charged. 
There he was confronted by the face of a 
happy, siniosB girl, — a girl with all the 
beauty of ^ happy, sinless heart, written 
upon her young face. At the sight, the 
mechanic relented. Maddened by the thirst 
for a full and bitter revenge, he could de- 
stroy the father, but he had not the heart 
to destroy the father of that sinless girl. 
For, — do you hoar me, — it ivas Alice, — it 
was Alice,— Alice." 

The long-restrained agony burst forth at 
last. With her name upon hia lips, he 
paused, — he buried his face in his hands. 

" Alice, Alice, who lies before you now I " 
He raised hia face again ; it waa distorted by 
Bgony ; it was bathed in tears. 

The clergyman fell on his kneea. 

"Don't harm me," he faltered, "I will 
make reparation." 

"Up! up', don't knee) to me," shrieked 
Dermoyne, and he dragged the miserable 
culprit to his feet. "There's no manner of 
kneelirg or praying between heaven and 
hell, that can hslp you, if that poor giri 
dies. I spared ket father for her sake, (and 
jtd make 1117 UIcAm perpetnal, he made a 
' which he oatne* me m bl« sole heir, 
i 



in case of his daughter's death) ; I spared 
her father for her sake, and can you think 
that I will spare you, — you who httVfl, 
brought her to a shame and death like 
this?" 

He pointed to the bed, and once more the 
poor girl, writhing in ptun, uttered, in a low, 
pleading voice, "Herman, Herman, do Dot, 
oh ! do not desert me ! " 

Dermoyne, at a rapid glance, surveyed 
the culprit cringing against the wall, — the 
florid Madam, who stood apart, her faco 
manifesting undeniable chagrin, — and then 
hia gaze rested upon Corkina, who, kneeling 
in the comer, seemed to have been suddenJy 
stricken dumb. And as he took that rapid 
glance, his eyes flashed, his face grew paler, 
hia bosom heaved, and a world ot thought 
ruslied through hia brain ; and, in a mo- 
ment, he had decided upon his course. 

He drew near to the Madam r she could 
not meet the look which he fixed upon her 

"To-morrow morning, at ten o'clock, I 
will return to this house," he said, in a low 
voice; "I hold you responsible for the life 
of this poor girl. Nay, do not speak ; not 
a word from your accursed lips. Remem- 
ber ! — he drew a step neamer, — to-morrow 
morning, at ten o'clock, and — I hold you 
responsible for the life of Alice Burney." 

The Madam quailed before his glance; 
for once, her florid face grew pale. "But 
how wilt you obtain entrance into my 
house?" she thought; and a faint iniila 
crossed her 



CHAPTER IV. 



Debuothe flung his cloak over hia amt, 
drew his cap over his forehead, and grasped 
the iron bar with his right hand. 

"Come with me," he B«d, in a low voica, 
to Barnhurst. He drew the key from hi« 
pocket, and led the way to the door. Al 
though fascinated by hia look, Herman fol- 
lowed him, — followed him trembling and 
with terror stamped on every lint of hit 
fac«. 

"At ten o'clock, to-moiTow morning, re- 
member! "said DermoyiMi twi^l hli bee 
over hii ihoulder. He tnmtdlba k«r is 



byC00«^Ic 



THEOUan THE SILENT CITY. 



the look, and stood upon the threshold. 
"Coroo with me," he said, quieflj, to Barn- 
hurst. "Nay, take the light and walk be- 
fota me." 

Hennan, with a quivering hand, seized e 
lighted lamp and led the way fironi the 
room, along the passage. He dared not 
turn his head. He heard Dcrmovne's 
steps at his back, and shook with fright. 
"Does he intend to murder me ?" and then 
he thought of the iron bar ; of the strong 
hand of Dermoyne ; and of his own de- 
fonseless head. 

"Herman, don't, don't desert me," mnt- 
tered Alice, in her delirium, as they crossed 
the threshold. 

Dermoyne turned and saw tho fixed eyes, 
the sunny hair, the lips white with foam ; 
flaw tho writhing form and the hands clasped 
madly over the half-bared bosom ; and then 
he looked no more. 

Along the passage, Herman led the way 
and down the stairs, Dermoyne folloi 
frilently at his heels. Thus they descended 
to the second floor. 

" The Madam has a room where she keeps 
her papers and arranges her moat important 
affairs. Conduct me there." 

And Herman, scarce knowing what he 
did, led the way to the small room in the 
rear of the second floor, — the small room in 
■which we first beheld the Madam. He en- 
tered, followed by Dermoyne, who carefully 
closed the door, and then, at a glance, sur 
veyed the place. It looked the same as 
■when we first beheld the Madam. Th 
shaded lamp stood on the desk, describin 
brief circle of light around it, while the r t 
of the place was Tailed in twilight. On th 
desk was the seal and the pearl-handled pe 
and beside it, was the capacious ann-ch 

"Come here," said Arthur, still in th t 
low voice, but with the face iinnatnrally 
pale, and the eyes flashing with steady a d 
ominous light ; and he led the way to th 
desk. Bamhurst obeyed him without 

"To-morrow, at ten o'clock, we will 
turn to this mansion," sud Dermoyne, fii g 
his eyes upon the affrighted TJsage of Bam- 
hurst. "We will return together, and if 
Alice yat .liyw, we will go away together ; 
Inift" he laid fals right hand upon the fore- 



head of the wretch, — or rather placed hia 
thumb upon the right temple, and hia 
fingers on the left, — " but, if Alice is dead, 
I will kill you at her bedside." 

There was a determination in his (one, — 
in his look, — nay, in the very pressure of 
the hand which touched Barnhurst'a fore- 
head ; which gave a force to his brief words, 
that no pen can depict. 

Barnhurst fell on his knees, ani^ his head 
sank on his breast. He had no power to 
frame a word. He appeared conscious that 
he was in the hands of his fate, 

"Get up, get up, mJ/ friend ! " and Arth^ur 
raised him from his knees and placed him 
in a chair. (Now well we know that it 
would have been more in accordance with 
the rules provided for novel writers, for 
Arthur to have said, "Arise! villain!" but 
as he simply said, "Get up, my friend!" 
applying a singular emphasis to the italicized 
words : we feel bound to record hia words 
just as he spoke them). 

"I have a few words to say to you," said 
Arthur ; " there's no use of your shuddering 
when I speak to you, and of crying when 
I tou h J u You must listen to me and 
listen w h all j our senses abo t you. Why, 
you e e o lacous e on h to blaspheme 
God, hen j ou u>ed h s el ^ on as the in- 
strument of that poo g Is ru 1 : don't be 

"\\ hen ou 1 ave this jlace my friend, I 
w II th J I 11 p t tramt 



po 






«th 



I 11 1 1 ht f 1 1 th 

If d th f Al B y as d 

\ ■<, h y pi t Ik w th 

hra tlas Ip tdkh 

t J bt yh I wll g vilh 

y W II be tog th d b d 

1 1 th 1 f th d th f Al 
L — t th 1 t g th 1 k tw 

1 — d d rst, d my r d? 

UtUw ass dfthft fAl 

I w 11 be y ladmo D j p 

h d 

H rm dd comp h d Th f II f 
of Arthur s determmation crowded upon him, 
impressing every fiber of his soul. 

"No, — no,— -this cannot be," he falUred, — 
" If you must wreak your tengeanof Ofl me. 



M^ 



J* 



..Google 



THROUGH THE SILENT CITT. 



kill mc at once. But, to be thus occompa* 
nied, I will not coEsent — " 

" Kill jou ?" and there was a sad smile 
Dernioyno's face ; " do j-oii suppose that the 
mere act of physical dcaCb can atone for the 
moral and physical death of poor Alice ? 
You commit a wrong, that ia murder in a 
sense, that the basest phyeicnl murder can 
never equal ; and you think the sacrifice of 
your life will atone for that wrong ? Faugh I 
If Alice dies, I will kill you, — bo assured ot 
that — I will crush the miserable life which 
now beats within yoi» brain, — bul^ first, I 
will make you die B thousand deaths — I will 
kill you in soul as well as in body — for every 
throb which you have made her suffer, you 
ahall render an exact, a fearful account — yes, 
hefore I kill jour miiierable body, I will kill 
JOU in leputation, m all that makes life dear, 
in everj thmg that jou hold sacred, or that 
those with whom you me coiiuectcU by all 
or any tics, hold sacred. To do this, I must 
huiw all about you, and to know all about you, 
I must go with you and bo your shadow." 

"Oh, this is iufcnittl !" groaned Barnhurst, 
dropping his hands helplessly on his knees, 
while his head sank back against the chair, 
" Have you no mercy t" 

"A preacher appeared ns a demi-god, to 
the eyes of a sinless girl, — clad in tliu light 
of religion, he appeared to her as something 
more than mortal — aware of this fact, he 
passed from the pulpit where she hoard him 
prwch to her father's homo, and there dishon- 
ored her. Whoa her dishonor was complolo, 
and a second life throbbed within her, bo far 
fl»m thinking of hiding her shame under the 
mantle of an lionomble maniage, he calmly 
plotted the murder of his victim and her un- 
born child. And this preacher now crouches 
before liis executioner, and falters, " Have 
you no mercy ?' " 

"Bat I could not marry her," groaned 
Barnhurst, " it was impossible ! impossible 

"Why?" 

Barnhurst buried Jiis face in bis hands, but 
did not answer. 

" You killed her to save yonr repulalton 
whispered Arthur, "and now I have your 
Ufe ftnd reputation in my grasp. In the 
name of Alice, I will use my power. Come 
, Let us be going. ' I am ready to attend you 

He took the hat and cloak of the clerg) 



man, I'luni a c^i^r, (where Barnhurst had left 
tliem Ijefore he ascended to the chamber of 
Alice) and exclaimed with a low bow — 
" Your hat ajid cloak, sir. I am ready." 
Barnhurst rose, trembling and livid, — he 
^ilaced the hat upon his sleeked hair, and 
wound the cloak about hia angular form. 
For a moment his coward nature seemed 
stirred, by the extremity of his despair, into 
something like courage, His eyes (the dark 
jiupils of which you will remember e&verad 
each eyeball) finished madly from his bloidt 
visage, and he gazed from side to side, as if 
in search of some deatlly weapon. At that 
moment be was prepared for combat and for 

Dormoyne caught his eye ; never lunatic 
cowered at the sight of his keeper, as Barn- 
hurst before Dermoyne. 

" It wont do. You haven't the ' pluck,' " 
snecEcd Arthur, — "if it wfis a weak girl, 
knowing what you might do ; 



butai 






"I am ready," was all that Barnhurst 
could reply. 

"One moment) dear friend, and I'll be 
with you," as he spoke, Dermoyno advanced 
toward the Madam's Desk. "/ must have a 
PLEDGE be/ore I go." 

Before the preacher had time to analyze 
the meaning of these words, Dermoyne, with 
one blow of the iron bar, had forced the lock 
of the Madam's desk. He raised the Hd and 
the light fell upon packages of letters, neatly 
folded, and upon a large book, square in shape 
and bound in red morocco. 

" The red book !" the words were forced 
from Barnhuist's lips, as he saw Arthur raise 
the volume to the light and rapidly examine 
its contents. The bed book! Well he 
knew the character of that singular volume 1 

"Yes, this will do," said Arthur, as he 
placed the book under his cloak. " I wanted 
» plelgc — hit IS to SM a s,ure /lold upon 
be Madam and her fnendi Ai d I ha\e 

lie took the clergyman bj the orm and 
the> ei t forth together from tl o private 
chamber — the holy place — of the Madam 
^ent forth together anl d scendmg the 
stt r> paas d 1 the darkness along the hall 
The kei i ns m the lock of the front door 
Arthur turned t, and in a moment^ they 



fl 



Google 



lUifw 



THEouaH He silent citt. 



passa^ tt^ether over the threshold of thai 
mannoji of crime, and Btood in the light of 
the vimtery stars. 

" Who," whispered Arthur, aa side by side, 
ftnd arm in arm, they went down the dark 
street, " who to see us walk so lovingly toge- 
ther, would imagine the real nature of those 
relatione which bind us together ?" 

He felt Baruburst shudder as he heid him 
to his side — 

" The red hook !" ejaculated the clergy- 
man, Oiiii accent hard to define, whether of 
fear, or wonder, or of horror. 

And by the light of the midnight sti 
thfey went down the dark street together. 



CHAPTEB V. 

" WHAT BHALIi WB DO WITH HEB ? 

Scarcely had the echo of the front 
ceased to resound through the mansion, when 
the Madam entered the holy place from 
which Arthur and Herman had just departed. 
Hor step was vigorous and firm, as she 
crossed the threshold ; her face flashed with 
mingled rage and triumph. 

"He will return to-morrow at ten o'clock !" 
she cried, and hurst into a fit of laughter, 
which shook her voluminous bust, — "there's 
two ways of tellin' that Etor3-, my duck." 
(The Madam, as in all her vivacious mo- 
, j;Renf3, grew metaphorical.) " Catch a wea- 
. |«I asleep ! Poo! who with your tin 
I guess I haven't been at>out in the world 
all this while, to be out-generaled by a snip 
of a boy like that !' 

Louder laughed the Madam, until her 
bust sliook Bgain — and in the midst of her 
calm enjoyment she saw — the desk and thi 
broken lock. Her laugliter stopped abrupt- 
ly. She darted forward, like a tigress rush, 
ing on her prey. She seised the lamp and 
ruaed the !id, and saw the contents of the 
desk, — packages of letters, mysterious instru- 
ments and singular vials, all, — all, — save 
the red book. 

' The Madam could not believe her eyes. 
Rapidly she eearched the desk, displacing its 
contents and researching every nook and 
comer, fcut her efforts were fruitless. There 
were packagM of letters, mysterious vials, 
and ^trumenta as mysterious, but, 



For the firat time in her life, the Madam 
experienced a sensation of fear, — uumingled 
few, — and for the first time saw ruin open 
like a chasm at her very feet. She grew 
pale, sank helplessly in her arm-chair, and 
sat there like a statue, — rather like an image 
of imperfectly finished was- work, — her vis- 
;e blank as a sheet of paper. 
" Gone, — gone," the words escaped from 
her lips, " ruined, undone !" 

This state of "unmasterlj inactivity" 
continued, however, but for a few momenta. 
11 at once she bounded from her chair, and 
a blasphemous oath escaped — more strictly 
speaking — shot from her lips. She crossed 
the floor, with a heavy stride, gave the bell- 
rope a violent pull, and then, hurrying to the 
door screamed " Corkins ! Corkina !" with all 






ght. 



Why don't they come ! Fools, assea!" 
and again, she attacked the bell-rape, and 
again, huried to the door, — "Corkins, Cork- 
i, I say 1 Halloo !" 

In a few moments Corkins appeared, his 
spectacles awry and his right-hand laid affec- 
tionately upon his "goatee," 
The matte 



"Don't stand th stann t i 
ick-pig !" was th 1 



hke s 



jiy 



nd book wai not there. 



Madam, — " dow t 

quick ! Tell SI g m h ' N t a 

word. Go I say 

She pushed Corkms out of the room. 
Then pacing up and down the small apart- 
ment, she awaited his return with an anxiety 
and suspense, very much like madness, ut- 
tering blasphemous oaths at every step she 

Footsteps were heard, and at length, Cor- 
kins, dressed in sober black, appeared once 
more, leading Slung-Shot by the hand. Th« 
ruffian stumbled into the room, his bnttol 
visage, low forehead, broken nose and elon- 
gated jaw, bearing traces of a recent de- 
bauch. Folding his brawny arms overhia red 
flannel shirt, he gazed sleepily at the Madam, 
politely remarking at the same time — 
What de thunder's de muss, — s-a-y 1" 
Are you sober?" and the Madam gave 
ng a violent shake; "are yon awake?" 
Old woman," responded Sluttg, "you 
better purceed to tasness, aod'pmi w none 
lo' yer jaw. What de yar ir-a-D-t ? a-e-yl" 



,:eabyG00gIc 



THROUGH THE SILENT CITY. 



136 



'■Don' I 



The Madiim seized him b; the arm. 

" Two men have just left this house, 
wears a cap, — the other, a hat. The 
with the cap and cloak is the shortest of the 
two ; and the one with a cap 
his cloak a book, bound in 
which he has just stolen from yondt 
D'ye hear ? I want you tfl track him and 
get back that book at any price ; 
you have to — " 

" Fech him np wid dis ? " and the rufGaa 
drew a "slung-sbot" from the sleeve of 
right arm. 

" Yea, yes ; anyhow, or by any meai 
continued the Madam ; " only bring back the 
book before morning, and a hundred dollars 
are yours. D'ye heai' ? " 

" A shortish chap with a cap an' cloak," 
esclairaed Slung; "there's a good 
shortish chaps with caps in this 'en 

" I have it ! I have it ! " cried the K 
and then she conveyed her 
Slung in a slow and measured 
you think you'd know him i 
claimed, when her instructions were complete. 

"Could pick 'im out among a thousand." 
And , the rufBan closed one eye, and in- 
Creased the boundless ugliness of his face, 
by an indescribable grimace. 

"Go then, — no time's to be lost, — a hun- 
dred dollars, you mind ; " and she urged him 
to the door. He clutched the slung-shot 
and disappeared. 

Corkins approached and looked the Madam 
in the face. 

"The red book gone?" he asked, every 
line of his vis^o displaying astonishment 

"Gone," echoed the Madam, "to be sure 
it is." Our only hope is in that ruffian. 
One well-planted blow with a slung.ahot, 
will Kill the strongest man. 

"The red book gone!" Corkins fairly 
trembled with affright. Staggering like a 
drunken man, he managed to deposit him- 
self in a chiur. He took the gold spectacles i 
from his nose, and wiped them, in an absent] 
way. " Bad," he muttered. Then passing 
his hand from his "goatee" to his top-knot, j 
1 top-knot to "goatee," agwn hej 
The red book gone I what wUlj 
. become ^ lu ? " I 



"If it is cot recovered before morning, we • 
are done for," cried the Madam; "that's 
all." But this is no time for foolin' ? 
Come, sir ! stir your stumps !" 

She took the light and led the way up- 
stairs, followed by Corkins, who shook in 
every fiber ; murmuring, at every step, 
"Gone ! gone The red book gone 

Entering the jaasige wh h led to the 
chamber of Al ce the Madam paused at the 
door of that chamber ai d pointed to the 
door of the closet wh ch (jou ■» U remem- 
ber) was bune 1 under the stairway that led 
to the fourth story. 

A faint moan was heard ; it came from 
the chamber of Alice. The Madam did not 
heed that moan, but opening the closet door, 
crossed its threshold, followed by Corkins. 
The light disclosed the details of that small 
and gloomy place ; and glittered brightly 
upon a mahogany chest or bos which rested 
on the floor. A mahogany box, with sur- 
face polished like a mirror, and a shape that 
told at sight of death and the grave. It 
was a coffin ; and the co£6n of that name< 
less girl wTio had been removed tram (he 
bed, in the adjoining chamber, in order to 
make hiom for Alice. 

W hat, — w hat — is — to — be — done — with 
ei 1 " said Corkins, as he touched the 
coffin with his foot. 

Here, for one moment, while Corkins and 
the Madam stand beside the coffin, in tba 
lonely closet of the accursed mansion ; ben, 
□ment, turn your gaze away. Look 
far through the night, and let your gaze rest 
upon the fireside light of yonder New Eng- 
land home. It is a quiet fireside, in the city 
of Hartford ; and a father and a mother are 
sitting there, bewailing the singular absence 
of their only daughter, a beautiful girl, the 
i and the light of their home ; ahe 
jgely disappeared a week ago, and ainoe 
then, they have heard no signs cor tidings 
of her fate. 

And now they are sitting by their desolate 
fireside ; the father choking down his )(ba]r 
in silent prayer ; the mother giving free Vent 
to bet anguish in a flood of tesrs. And the 
eyes of father and mother turn to the- 
daughter's place by the fireside ; it ii vacai^ 
and forever. For while they bewail -her 
ohMnce, — while thay hope for her ntoiB bf 



•Google 



s^ Mi 



THBOUGH THE SILENT CITY. 



laoRiiTig tiglit, — their daughl«r reeU in the 
coSn, here, at the feet of MLidam Beeinier. 
Weep, fond mother ; choke down your 
agony with silent prayer, hrave father : but 
tears Dor prayers can never hring your 
daughter bock agdn. To-iiight, Bhe rests 
the coffin, at the feet of Madam Rcsimer ; 
to-motrow night — Look youder ! A learned 
doctor ia lecturing for the inEtruction of his 
WMidecta, &nd his "suhject" lies on the tahle 
before him. That "subject," (Oh! do you 
Bee it, father and mother of the distant New 
England home,) that " subject " is your only 
daughter. 

Verily, the tragedies of actual, every-day 
life, fU« more improbable than the maddest 
creations of romance. 

do with her?" again ei- 
the coffin with his 



" What shall 1 
clumed Ct^rkios, 
foot, 

The Madam was troubled. "The red 
book ! " she muttered, in an absent way, "tlie 
red book I" Her mind was evidently wan- 
dering. " It must be regained at any price." 

"But — this — body," interrupted Corkins, 
tapping the cofiin with his foot. 

"Oh ! Ma !" esclaimed the Madam, and 
a pleasant smile stole 

" Oh 1 as to tliis I we can easily dispose of 
it. I tell you, Corkics, we will — ' 

But she did not tell Corkins. For, from 
th4 adjoining room, came a cry, so rin; 
lag with the emphasis of mortal agony, thi 
4tM the Madam was struck with terro 
U i&e heard it. 

Iff^tkont a word, she led Corkins into the 
chunker of Alice. 

CHAPTER VI. 

A^^T from these scenes of darkness and 
of srilDe, let us, for a moment, turn aside 
and dwell, for a little while, on the fireside 
ray of a quiet home. Yes, leaving Arthur 
md Herman to pursue their way, let us in- 
d«^ in a quiet episode : 

it is a neat two.«toried dwelling, standing 
Vpwt from the street, (omewhere in the 
■ nf^ier region of the Empire City, Through 
the drawn window- curtdas, a softened light 
tMmblet fcrth upon the darhnesa. Gase 
^magk th« curtaiiw, and behold tiie OMiie 



which is disclosed by the mingled light of 
the open £re, and of the lamp whose beams 
are softened by a clouded shade. 

A young mother sitting beside a cradle, 
with her baby on her breast; and a flaxen- 
haired boy, some three years old, crouching 
on the stool at her feet. A very beautiful 
eight, — save iu the eyes of old bachelors, for 
whom this work is not written, and who are 
affectionately requested to skip this chap- 
very beautiful sight, save in the eyes 
of that class of worn-out profligates, who 
having had a mother or sister, and 
having spent their lives in degrading the 
holiest impulse of our nature, into a bestial 
^petite, come, at last, to look ujion woman 
e animal ) come, at last, to sneer 
with their colorless lips. and lack-luster eyes, 
the very idea of a holy chastity, as em- 
bodied in the form of a pure woman. Of all 
the miserable devils, who crawl upon this 
earth, the most miserable is that lower duvil, 
hose heart is foul with pollution at the 
very mention of woman. Take my word for 
it^ (and if you look about the world, you'll 
find it so,) the man who has not, Bomewhere 
about his heart, a high, a holy ideal of 
woman, — an idea! hallowing every part of 
her being, as mother, sister, wife, — is a vile 
sort of man, anyhow jou choose to look at 
him ; a very vile man, rotten at the heart, 
and diffusing moral death wherever he goes. 
Avoid such a man, — not as you would the 
devil, for the devil is a king to him, — but as 
you would avoid the last extreme of de- 
pravity, loathsome, not only for its wretch- 
idness, but for its utter baseness. It's a 
;ood rule to go by, — never trust that man 
i-ho has a low idea of woman, — trust him 
not with purse, with confidence, in the street 
■ over jour threshold, — trust him not : his 
ifluence is poison ; and the atmosphere 
hich he carries with him, is that of hell. 
It is a quiet room, neatly furnished ; a 
lamp, with a clouded shade, stands on the 
table ; a piano stands in one comer ; the 
portrait of the absent father bangs ou the 
wall ; a w ood fire bums briskly on the 
hearth. A very quiet roMD, full of the 
atmosphere of home. 

The mother is one of thoee women whose 
short. «tature, roittd devalopioent of form 
and limi^ olear complexion and abounding 



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THROUGH THB SILENT CTTY. 



joyousneas of look, seem more lovable 
the ej-ea of a certain portion of tile masi 
line race, tliao all the stately beauties In the 
world. Certainly, alie was a pretty woman. 
Her eyes of dear, deep blue, her lips of 
cherry red, harmooiied with the hue of her 
face, her neck and shoulders, — a hue resem- 
bling alabaster, slightly reddened by a glimpse 
of sunshine. Her hair rich and flowing, was 
neatly disposed aixiut the round outlines 

of her joung face And in color, sh, 

here's the frouMe I see the curl of your 
lip and the laugh m jour ejes And in 
color, her hair was not black, nor Rolden, 
nor brown, nor even auburn Her aair was 
red You may laugh if it suits j ou, but her 
fed-hair became her ; and this woman with 
the red-hair, was oae of the prettiest, one 
of the most lovable women in the world. 
(Why is it that a certain class of authors, 
very poverty stricken in the way of ideas, 
tdways introduce a red-haired woman in the 
character of a vixen, — always expect you ki 
laugh at the very mention of red-hiur — in 
fact, invest the capita! of what little wit they 
have, in lamentably fanny allusiotis to red- 
heads, red-hair, and so forth ? Or if they 
fall in love with a sweet woman, with bright 
red-hair, why do these authors, when they 
make sonnets to the object of their choice, 
persist in calling red-hair hy the ambiguous 
name of aubwmt) 

And thus, in her quiet home, with her 
baby on her breast and her boy at her knee, 
sat the beautiful woman, with red hair. Sat 
there, the very picture of a good mother and a 
holy wife, lulling her babe to sleep with a verse 
from some old-fashioned hymn. Somehow 
this mother, centered thus in her quiet home 
— the blessing of motherhood around and 
about her like a baptism, — seems more worthy 
of reverence and love, than the entire first 
circle of the opera, blazing with bright dia- 
monds and brighter eyes, on a gala night. 

The hoy resting one hand on his mother's 
knoE, and looking all the while into her face, 
asks in his childish tones, " When will father 
■ come home ?" 

"Soon, love, very soon," the mother an- 
swers, and resuntes the VBrse of the old 

Kow, 4b)Gni't it stnka you that the 
huibftnd of such a wife, and the father of 



such children must be altogether a good 

We will see him after awhile, and judg» 
for ourselves. 

Meanwhile, sit alone with your children, 
and watch for his coming, — you, simpla 
hearted woman, that know no higher learn- 
ing, than the rich intuitions of a mother*! 
love. Your chastity la like a vail of ligh^ 
making holy the room in which you watch, 
with your boy at your knee, and yoar bsbf 
ou your bosom. 



CHAPTER TIL 



It was a strange march which Arthur and 
Bamhurst, arm in arm, look through the ■ 
streets of the Empire City. 

"I am ready to attend you wherever you 
go," whispered Arthur, as- leaving the den 
of Madam Besimer, they went down tba 
dark street. 

"But, where shall I go?" was the ques- 
tion that troubled Barnhurst. " Home ?" 
He shuddered at the thought. Any place 
hut home ! " Can I possibly get rid of him?" 
Doubtful, exceedingly doubtful ; " his ann 
is too strong, and he has me iii his power in 
every way. But that engagement which I 
have, to meet a person at the hour of foul 
o'clock, at a peculiar place, — how shall I 
dispose of it ? Shall I fail to keep i^ qf 
shall I make this man a witness of it t" -nt. 

Bamhurst was troubled. He knew not 
what to do. And so arm in arm, tiey 
walked along in silence through a multitude 
of streets, — streets dark as grave- vaults, and ' 
laid out in old times, mth a profound con- 
tempt of right angles— streets walled in with 
huge warehouses, above whose lofty roofs, 
you caught but a glimpse of the midnight 

And BO passing along, they came at langtk 
upon the Battery, and caught the keen blast 
upon their cheeks, as they wandered among 
the leafless trees. They heard the roar of 
the waters, and saw the glorious bay, — dim 
and vast, — surging sullenly under the lm>ad 
sky, dark with midnight, and yet, glittwiog 
with countless staia. A star-light viem o$ 
Manhattan bay, from tha Btdteiy— it waa « 
ai^t worth seeing. Uannaji and i&^rtkii^. 



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THBOU&H THE SILENT CITY. 



■tending there alone, looted forth 
They cuuld not see each other's faces, but 
Arthur felt the inressant horror which agi- 
tated Banihursla arm and Barnhurst heard 
the groan which seemed wrung from Ar- 
thur's very heart. 

For a long time there was silence. Flash 
an, old midnight, in your solemn drapery 
with stars,— flash on, — you sparkled thus 
grandly ten thousand years ago, as you will 
ten thousand years hence, — whai 
for the agony of these two men, 
with widely diflTerent feelings, stand awed 
by your sullen splendor ! 

"If you've seen enough of this, I guess 
we'd better go," said Arthur, mildly, 
ready to follow you wherever you go. 

Barnhurst silently moved away from the 
waters, and as they went among the leafless 
trees, Dermoyne looked hack toward the 
■ounding waves— looked back ysarningly as 
though unwilling to leave the sight of them, 
something there was so tempting in that 
sight. One plunge and all is over! 

They came upon Broadway. It was be- 
tween two and three o'clock in the morning. 
I know of nothing in the world so productive 
of thought, as a walk along Broadway about 
three o'clock in the morning. The haunts 
of trafEc are closed : the great artery of tho 
dty is silent as death ; the mad c 
life which whirled along it incessantly a few 
hours ago, has disappeared ; or if there 
life upon its broad flag-stones, it is life of 
peculiar character, far different from the life 
of the day. And there it spreads before you, 
tader the midnight stars, its vast extent 
defined by two lines of light, which, in the 
far distance melt into one vague mass of 
laightness. New York is the Empire City 
of the continent and Broadway is the Empire 
Stieet of the world. 

If you don't believe it, just walk the 
length of Broadway on a sunny day, when 
it is mad with life and motion, — and then 
walk it, at night, and see the kind of life 
which oreeira over its flag-stones under the 
light of the stars. 

. Thej^took their silent much up Broadway. 
-WhaJ** this? A huge pile, surrounded 
l^mi^htly scaffolding — a huge Gothic pile, 
*ltfii>se foundation is among graves, and whose 
vnMkbed ipire already seems to touch tha 



Etars? Trinity Church — Trinity Church, 
fronting Wall street, as though to watch its 
worshipers, who seour Wall street, six days 
in the week in search of prey, and on the 
seventh, come to Trinity to say a rich man's 
prayer, from a prayer-book bound in gold. 

And this, what's this ? This creature in 
woman's attire, who glides along the pave- 
ment, now accosting the passer-by in lan- 
guage that sounds on woman's lips, like the 
of Hell, — and now, throwing her vail 
aside, clasps her hands and looks shuddar- 
igly around, as though conscious, that for 
her, not one heart in all the world, cared one 
throb ! What's this ? That is a woman, 
friend. A father used to hold her on his 
knees, just after the evening prayer was said 
— a mother used to bend over her as she 
slept, and kiss her smiling face, and breathe 
a mother's blessing over her sinless dariin". 
But, what is she now ' What does she 
alone, out in the cold, dark night? 
* • She IS a tenant of one of the 
houses owned by Trinity Church. She ia 
out in the cold, dark night, — the poor blasted 
thing you see her,— seeking, out of the hire 
of her pollution, to swell the revenues of 
Trinity Church ! 

She came toward Arthur and Barnhurst, 
even as they passed before the portals of the 
unfinished church. 

She laid her hand on Arthur's arm, aihi 
said to him, words that need not be written. 
Arthur looked long and steadily into her 
face. It had been very beautiful once, but 
now there was fever in the flaming eyes, and 
death in the blue circles beneath them. She 
had fallen to the lowest deep. 

" Look there !" whispered Arthur to Barn- 
hurst, "she was as happy once as Alice, and 
as pure, — that is, as happy and as pure aa 
Alice before you knew her. What is she 



Barnhurst did not reply. 
Arthur took a silver dollar from his pocket 
nd gave it to the girl. "Go home," he 
said, "and God pity you!" 

ilome !" she echoed, and took the dollar 
with an incredulous look, and then uttering 
a strange mad laugh, she went to spend the 
dollar, — one-half of it for rum and the other 
h&if to pay the rent which she owed to Tri- 
nity Church. 



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TBBOUGH THE SILENT CITY. 



19t- 



(Here it occurs to us, to propose three 
cheera to good old Trinity Church, — and 
three more to the Patent Gospel which in- 
fluences the actions of its venerable corpo- 
ration. Hip — hip — hurrah! Hur — , but 
somehow the cheering dies away, when one 
thinks for a, minute of the vast contrast be- 
tween the Gospel of Trinity Church and the 
Gospel of the New Testament. I somehow 
think we wont cheer any more.) 

Up Broadway they resumed their march, 
Herman and Arthur, arm in arm, and silent 
as the grave. To see them Walk so lovingly 
together, you would have thought them the 
best friends in the world. 

What's yonder light, flashing from the 
window of the fourth, story ? The I'^ht of 
a gambling hell, my friend. That 1 git 
shines npon piles of gold ai I upon faces 
haggard with the tortures of the dimned 

And these half naked forms crouch ng i 
the doorway of yonder unfinished ed tice — 
huddling together in their ra^ and va ly 
endeavoring to keep out the winter's cold. 
Children, — friendless, orphaned children. 
All day long they roam the streets in search 
of bread, and at night they sleep together in 
this luxurious style. 

But We have arrived at the Aslor and the 
Park stretches before us, the wind moaning 
among its leafless trees, and its lights glim- 
mering in a sort of mournful radiance through 
the gloom. The Park, whose walks by day 
and night have been the theater of more 
tn^edies of real life, — more harrowing ago- 
ny, hopeless misery, starving despair, — than 
you could chronicle in the compass of a 
thousand volumes. Could these flagstones 
apeak, how many histories might they tell — 
histories of those, who, mad with the last 
anguish of despair, have paced these walks 
at dead of night, hesitating betwen crime 
and suicide, between the knife of the assas- 
sin and the last plunge of the self murderer ! 

But at this moment shouts of drunken 
mirth are heard, opposite the Astor. Soma 
twenty gay young gentlemen, attired in opera 
uniform, — black dress-coat, white vest, white 
kid gloves, — and fragrant at once of cham- 
pagne and cologne, have formed a circle 
around the ancient pump, which stands near 
the Park gate. These gay young gentlemen, 
tStet two houi9' painful endurance of that 



refinement of torture, known as the Italian 
Opera, have been making a tour of philoso- 
phical observation through the town ; they 
have carried on a brisk crusade against the 
watchmen ; have drank much champagne 
at a "crack" hotel ; have tarried awhile in 
the aristocratic resort of Mr. Peter William», 
which, as you doubtless know, gives tone 
and character to (he classic region of tlu 
Five Points ; and now encircling the pumft 
they listen to the eloquent remarks of one 
of their number, who is interrupted now and 
then by rounds of enthusiastic applause. 
Very much inebriated, he is seated astride 
of the pump, which his vivid imagination 
transforms into a blooded racer — 

" Gentlemen," he says, blandly and with 
a pardonable thickness ot utterance, "if my 
remarks should seem confused, attribute It 
to my position ; I am not accustomed to 
public speaking on horseback. But, as Con- 

wh ch I bwe to my constituents, to give mj 
views on — on — on the great Dill for the 
Protection of — " 

"Huckleberries!" suggested a voice. 

" Thank the gentleman from Ann-street," 
continued the speaker, in true parliamentary 
style, as he swayed to and fro, on top of 
the pump ; " ot the great Bill for the Pro- 
tection of Huckleberries!" Now, gentle- 
men," he continued, suddenly forgetting bia 
huckleberries, "you know they beat Henry 
Clay this time by their infernal cry of Tezu 
and Oregon ; you know it I" 

There was a frightful chorus, "Wa do 1 
we do!" 

" You know how bad we felt when wa 
crossed Cayuga bridge, — Polk on top, and 
Clay under, — but, gentlemen, I have a cry 
for 1848 that will knock their daylight? out 
of 'em. They shouted Texas and Oregon, 
and licked us; but in 1848 we'll ^ve 'em 
fits with Clay and — Japan I " 

"Clay and Japaw!" was the chorus of 
the twenty young gentlemen. 

"There's a piatform for you, gentlemen 1 
Clay and Japan ! We'll give 'em annexa- 
tion up to their eyes. Consider, gentiem^ 
the advantages of Japan ! Separated froSa 
the continent by a trifling slip of watei^ 
known as the Pacific ocean. Japan may in 
considered in the light of a near neighbor. 



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THEOTTGH THE SILENT CITY. 



Aod lien «hat a d did ous campaign «-e <^n i mo.t hell. Into Ch.th.m street they walked. 
make. *ith Japan on our banner! Nobody and np tha Bowery, and once more acros^ 
Broadway, where the delicate outlines 



kooni anything about her, 
»» we please «'itliout the most remote danger 
of being found out. Is n't there something 
heart stirring in the very word, Ja-pan ? 
And then, gentlemen, we'll have 'em ; for 
Japan aitit committed to any of the leading 
questions of the day, and we can mike all 
aorta o' pledges to everybody, and 

The orator, in his exdtement, swayed too 
much to one side, and fell languidly from 
the pump into the arms of his enthusiastic 
fnends; and, with three cheers for "Clay 
«nd Japan," the parly of twenty young gen- 
tiemen went, in a staggering column, to a 
ighboring restauranl, where — it is Te- 
more put them, not 
anneiing Japan, but 
Arthur and Barn- 
scona from the steps 



' — -~.jj -T.^k.v, ^it^ ucinjuLB utuun€ 
of Grace Church, with its fairy-like sculptur 
work, were dimly visible in the night, 
ward the North Eivor, and through n 



alleys, wher h i 
togethe th last t m f n 
talked d tl t b d t 

splendid man s, d k th t 
ment t ro f bn ht th 

1 dru k 
beyond h blu h f h t 



I d d 
3 thy 



Itv 






h h th 



took in th It ht th u^h th 

Empire C t 

id at every step Arthur gathered the 

Red Book closer to his dde. 
And behind them, in all their march, even 

from the moment when they left the Battery, 

I'o figures followed closely in their wake 

iseen by Arthur or by Barnhurst,— -two 
;ures, tracking every step of their way 
ith all a bloodhound's stealth and zeal. 



flumable — a few bottl__ 
only into the humor of 
all Asia in the bargain, 
hurst had observed this 
of the Astor. 

"Do you know this is very absurd ?" said 
Bamburst, pettishly— " this walking about 
town all night ?" 

"Do you think so?" responded Dermoyne. 
"Then why don't you go home ?" 

Home ! Barnhurst shuddered at the 
thought. Home! Anything, anything but 
that! 

There was something, too, in the singtilar 
gayety of Arthur's tone, which struck him 
with more terror than the most boisterous 
thrsat. Underneath this gayety, like floods 
of burning lava beneath a morning mist 
there rolled and awdled a tide of unfathom- 
able emotion 

Let us va!k on sa d Bamh rat fa th 
And they walked on arm n arm — the false 
detgvman th he ery terror of death n 
lu« heart — the poor mecha c » th a face 
immovably calm but w th tl e fire of an 
itrevocable resiluton in h g eyes Thei 
waiked on np Broad vav and nto the 
Ptgion where a la tne sulle Tombs and 
through the maze of streets where v ce and 

*m»lor drunken ess a d onme hold the r "You cannot— cannot —" he beiran 
^tesqueVvd all n> long Thr gh the " Not a word," steml^ interrupted Der. 
r>ve Fonts the. walked confronted at moyne. "Go in and keep yourappointment 
every step by a desperate or abandonei like a man of your word" 
imteh the r ear, filled w.th the ces of Bamhurat led the way, ai.d they pa»ed 
W«phemy starvaton and m rth „ th under heavy piles of scaffolding LioT^ 
tlMt »■. very much like the joy of nether |dark churth. Dark indeed, rnnd unenlivwiri 



CHAPTER Vlir. 

At length— it was near the hoar of four— 
they came to the head of Wall street onoB 
, id paused in front of the portals of 
unfinished Trinity. 

" Here you must leave me," cried Barn- 

rst, in a tone of desperation, " I have an 

appointment in this church at the hour of 

four. Leave me, — at least for a Httla 

'hiie— " 

But Arthur held fast the false clergvman'a 

"I will never leave you." he said. "Keep 
your appointment, I will witness it. It will 
bo very interesting to know what business it 
is, that can bring you to this unfinished 
church at the hour of four Jn the morning." 
Barnhurst set his teeth together in silent 



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THBOUOH THE SILENT CITY, 



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by a single ray of I'ght All ar utid 
silent Its the gn\e Ihe prof und slil 
was u 11 F^lculsited. to atnke the heart 
awe a 1 Artl ir ind Birnhursi as thej 
gropp 1 the r wij alui g d d not utter 

Here, noir the th rd p liar, I am to mc 
him," whispered Uamhurst. 

"Give me lour left hand, then; I will 
conceal myself behind the pillar, and hold 
you firmly, while you converse with your 

Herman, in the thick darkness, planod 
limself against the pillar, aod Dermoync, 
flrmly grasping his left hand, crept behind It. 

Thus they stood for many minutes, await- 
ing tlie approach of Herman's friend. In 
the dark and stillness those moments seemed 
BO many ages. 

A bell, striking the hour of four, r 
floanded over the city. 

At length a step ivas heard, and then 
faint cough, — 

"Are you hero ?" said a voice ; and Dc 
moyno, from his place of concealmer 
beheld a dimly-defined figure approach the 
third piIUi 

"I am," answered Barnhurst 

"Who are you'" said the voice of-the 

"I am Hermin Bambutst." — His voice 
was low but di!>lmct 

"How shall I know that jou are the 
Bamhurfat whom I aeek'" abkeJ the un- 

There was a pause Barnburst seemed to 
beiitata 

"•T/ie A'ight of the Tendi of Noiemier, 
1842,' " ho said, and his \oice trembled 

"Hight, you are the man," said the 
unknown. "Did you receive a letter last 
evening 1" 

"I did," — and Bamhurst's voice was very 

" How was that letter signed, and to what 
did it refer ?" 

Again Barnhurst hesitated. Arthur felt 
the hand which ho held grow hot and cold 
by turns. 

" It was signed by ' Tbb Three,' " he 
replied in a faltering voice — "and referred to 
an event which it assumes took place on the 
night of the tenth of Navemb«r, 1812." 



'AssiiTiies '.' " echoed the unknown, with 
a faint laugh. " Tou think it an (ujKmjrffon, 
do you ? Well, I like that. And the letter 
requested you to meet one of the 'Three,' 
It this place, at the hour of foup thia 
morning ; and it concluded by elating that 
jou would hear something of great ioterest 
to yourself in regard to the events of (hat 

" It did," faintly responded Bamhurst, " I 
am here, and — " 

"Wo will have a little private conversa- 
tion together. First of all, you must know 
that I am oi\e of three persons who take a 
great interest in your affairs, and desire to save 
you from a great deal of trouble. We watch 
over you with fraternal anxiety, and do all 
we can to keep you out of harm. And on 
the part of the Throe, (whose names jfcu 
ivill know in good time, in case you prove 
reasonable,) I am deputed to give you a 
little good counsel." 
Good counsel ?" 

Good counsel, was the word. Now, in 
order to understand this good counsel, you 
will understand that the Three are in 
assession of all the facts coonected with the 
iuj^rkable event of the night of tite teatii of 
NmKTaiet, 1842. Facts, certified by proof— 
you comprehend ?" 

Herman gave a start; but did not reply, 
" You will, therefore, listen to the goo4 
counsel ivith patience, I doubt not To coma 
the point, then : — You know that the 
mense property of Trinity Church, com- 
prising, at a rough guess, one eighth of tl|B 
est city on the American continent, hat 
been threatened at various periods by a series 
of conspiracies, who have given ibe cobfo- 
TiON much frouble, and who, more than 
ce, have ceirly accomplished its ruin ?■* 
"1 do," answered Herman; "and theis 
conspiracies have all sprung from a band of 
pomons, widely dispersed through the United 
States, and calling themselves the heirs of 
Anreke Jans Bogardus." 

Right," continued the unk*wn. "An- 
reke Jans, said to be the natural daughter of 
t king of Holland, lived on this island about 
,wo hundred years ago. At her death she 
bequeathed to her children a certain farm- 
farm which at (he present time forma tfa« 
very heart of New York, and constitu,tn a 



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THROUGH THE SILENT CITY. 



It part of the weatth of Tiinlt; Churbh, 
*«# for it ii worth countless mHlions of dollars. 
ISffff you are well aware that it is alleged by 
tte descendants of Anreke Jans, that this 
fonn waa juggled out of the hands of 
of their ancestora by a gross fraud — a fraud 
worthy of that curse which Scripture pro- 
nounces upon the man who removes hii 
neighbor's land-mark — and that Trinity 
Church has only one right to the ownership 
of said farm, to wit ; the right of the thief 
and robber?" 

"I am aware of this," responded Herman; 
"and so powerful have been the proofs of 
thin fraud, that the Church has, on various 
occasions, come near losing the very jewel 
of all its immense possessions. Only one 
course of action has saved it frorn the hoirs 
of Anreke Jana Bogardus — " 

"It has, when nearly driven to the wall, 
consented to compromise with the heirs for 
their claim, — has simply desired in return, a 
release, signed by all the heirs, — and then, 
on the very eve of settlement, it has man- 
aged to buy off one or two of the most 
prominent heirs. For instance, Aaron Bi 
(who acted for the heirs, some thirty years 
ago,) waa lulled into silence by the generosity 
of the Church. She gave him several valua- 
ble tracts of land, which he sold to Astor — " 

The unknown paused for a moment, aud 
then resumed : 

"At the present tinie, these heirs are 
paring a conspiracy, more desperately f 
getio than any previous effort. It is certainly 
the hiterest of the Church to foil this con- 
spiracy at al! hazards. And we ' Thbbb ' 
peiWDB, not directly connected with the cor- 
poration, think that we can make it our 
interest to assist the Church is the final 
overthrow of the conspirators. To do this 
effectually, we require the assistance of one 
of the heira, who will wind himself into the 
plans of the conspirators, help the plot to 
ripen, and help us to gather it when it is 

" ' Oife of the heirs ?* " muttered Herman. 

"Ay, one of the heirs, — and he must be 
a man of sense, shrewdness and undoubted 
rWpectabilily. Now — do you hear me ? — 
you, Hermwi Barnhurst, are one of the heirs 
of Anreke Jans Bogardus." 

There was a pause of profound silence. 



You might have beard a pin drop, in tha 
deep atilloess of that vast edifice. 

"I am one of the heirs of Anreke Jans," 
said Herman; "and what then?" 

The voice of the unknown was deep, dis- 
tinct and imperative ; 

" You will assist as in foiling these cori- 
epirators. You will assist us willingly, 
faithfully, and wtihout reserve. This is tha 
good counsel which I am deputed to give 

"And if I decline ?" said Herman, draw- 
ing a long breath. 

" You will not decline when you remem- 
ber the event of the night of the tenth of 
November, 1842." 

Dermoyne felt the hand which he clasped 
tremble in hla grasp. 

"Ah!" and Herman drew another long 
breath. 

"As the Third of the Throe, I beg your 
opinion of laj good counsel," said the un- 
known. 

" I accept," said Herman, in a husky 

" But we must have some pledge for your 
fidelity — " 

" Have you not pledge enough," said Her- 
man, bitterly, "if you know the events of 
that night — " 

"True; but we require some other little 
pledge in the way of collateral — as the 
moneylenders say" — said the unknown, who 
had designated himself as "the Thied of 
the Three." "In the event of a certain con- 
tingency — a very improbable contingency, — 
you will inherit one seventh of tha Van 
Huyden estate — " 

Herman gave a start; — he moved forward 
suddenly, but was drawn back against the 
pillar by the strong grip of Dermoyne : 

" The Van Huyden estate !" he ejaculated 
in a tone of utter astonishment. 

"I said the Van Huyden estate," con- 
tinued the Third of the Three,— "and that 
should satisfy you that I know all about it. 
In witness of your good faith, you will 
to-morrow make over to m, by our own 
proper names, and over your own proper 
signature, all your right, title and interest in 
the Tan HuyAen estate. The final settle- 
ment, you know, takes place the day after 
onow. In caao you a((f^thfully to ua, 



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THROUGH THE SILENT CITT!'. 



143 



we will restore you your right on the diy 
when, by your assistance, we have foiled thi 
heirs of Anreke Jans. Tho good counsel 
which I have for you is this ; — accept thi 
proposition at once, if you know what i 
gorfd for your health, your reputation, your 
liberty." 

" The words of the Third of the Three 
were succeeded by a dead pause, 
dark, and the changes of Herman's face 
could not be seen. A sound was heard, like 
a half- suppressed groan. 

"And if I refuse ?" he faltered — "if I 
cast your absurd proposition to tho winds ?" 

" Then the revelation of the event of that 
night, may cast you to the devii," was the 
calm reply. 

"At least give tne some hours for re- 
flection ; let me consider your proposal." 

" We had thought of this," answered the 
unknown. "The time is short. The 25th 
of December will soon be here. I am 
authorized to give you until to-day at mid- 
day, — that la, you have nearly eight hours 
for calm reflection." 

Herman said, after a moment's hesitation, 
in a low and scarce perceptible voice, — 

" Be it so." 

" In case jour answer is Yes, you will 
signify it in this manner" — and he whispered 
in the ear of his victim, — whispered a few 
brief words, which Herman drank in with 
all his soul. "Remember, before mid-day, 
gome seven and a half hours hence." 

"You shall have my answer in the man- 
ner specified," said Herman, in an accent of 
utter bewilderment. 

"Our interview is at an end," said the 
Third of the Three. "As we must not by 
any chance be seen leaving this place 
together, I will pass through the grave-yard, 
white you go out at the main door. GEood 

And leaving the'miserable man, who sank 
back t^ainat the pillar for support, the Third 
of the Three passed from the shadows, out 
into the graveyard, where white tombstones 
appeared in the starlight, mingled with piles 
of lumber and heaps of building stone. 

As he came into the starlight, it might be 
seen that he was a short thick-set Inan, clad 
in a dark over-coat, whose upturned collar 
Ud the low pait of ftis visage, while his hat, 



drawn low over hia brows, masked the uppot 
portion of his face. He chuckled to himself 
as he picked his way among the hea[« of 
lumber and scattered masses of building 

" It is a nice game, any how you choose to 

look at it. Tho heirs of Anreke Jans can 

be played against the Church ; this man 

Herman can be played against the heirs, 

and the Three can dictate terms to both 

parties, and decide the game. And when the 

Throe have won, why then the Third of the 

Three can hold the First and Second in hia 

power ; especially, if this man's chance of 

the seventh of tho Van Huyden estate is 

transferred to the Third, by his own proper 

ime. Well, well; law, properly understood, 

the science of pulling wool over other 

lople's eyes : eloquent speeches in court, 

id the name of a big practice, may do for 

me people ; but give me one of these nice 

little cases, which lie sequestered from the 

public view, quiet as an oyster in his bed, 

d as juicy !" 

Thus you see that the Third of the Three 

IS a philosopher. He paused before a 

marble slab, over which he bent, tracing with 

difficulty the inscription, which was in quaint 

characters, much worn by time — "Vak 

HOTDBN." 

"Strange enough! Just as we were about 
;o search the tomb last night,* to jw inter- 
■upted and scared from our ohjeS hy a 
:itcumstatice so unusual ! The snug sum of 
$200,000, in plate, buried in a coffin ! — an 
odd kind of sub-treasury ! Wonder if there's 
any truth in the legend ?" 

the gentleman thus soliloquized he 
fixed his eyes attentively upon the slab ; but 
e did not see the approach of a man, 
rapped in the thick folds of a cloak, and 
ith a broad-brimmed hat over his brow, — a 
lan who came noiselessly from the shadows 
and took his place at the opposite extremity 
of the slab, quietly folding his arms, as he 
fised his gaze upon the Third of the Threo. 
wild sort of picture this : The gloomy 
church-yard, with its leafless trees, and tomb- 
half hidden among heaps of timber 
and of stone. Yonder, the church, looking 
like the grotesque creation of an encbanter** 



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THROUGH THE SILENT CITY. 



power, ea hidden among uncouth scaffolding, ! " 0' coss I did ; a^ he come out o' der 
it rises vague and shapelosa into the sky, ' cliiirch, his cloak opened, and I seed 'am 
And here, by the tomb of the Van Huydens, under his arm. O" coss I did, Sluno," 
two figures, — the Third of Three, who, in a [ We cannot give any just idea of the 
deep rever\ fi^es h s eyes upon the mscrip- j peculiar patois of these delightful specimens 



tiou — and tlie cloaked figure whose steady 
gaxe IS centered upon the absent- minded 

Two hundred thousand buncd 
coffin — Boliloijuized the Third 
wonder if I could not make a little search. 
The place is quiet, — no watchman 
" Liar !" said a voice, in tones df 
sound of an organ. "Learn that the 
Watcher always guards the vault of the Van 
Huydens ; — learn that it is sacrilege to tob 
the dead," 

CHAPTER IX. 

As Dermoyne led Barn hurst forth into the 
open air, the false clergyman sfaggcred like 
a drunken man. His tall and angular form 
shook like a reed ; and Arthur, catching 
glimpse of his countenance, saw that it w! 
livid and distorted in every feature. 

"Do with me what you will," he said i 
broken accents. "The worst has come.— 
do not care ! Come ; at last, you shall g 
home with me. Home !" 

He tHBied his steps up Broadway, leaning 
Lis we^t on Arthur's arm as he staggered 

Terrible as had been the crimes of the 
wretch, Arthur pitied him. For a moment, 
Wfly ; for the dying cry of Alice was in his 

" Your punishment begins," he whispered. 

And thus, up Broadway, they reaumod 
their march through the city. 

They had not gone many paces from the 
church, when two forms sprang suddenly 
from the shadows of the scafiolding, both 
clad in dark overcoats, with caps drawn over 
their faces. They were the forms of those 
unknown j^rsons who had followed Arthur 
qnd Barnhurat from the Battery over the 
city. One was lean, tall and sinewy in form; 
his quick, active, stealthy step, resembled 
the step of an Indian. The other was short 
and thick set, with broad chest and bow legs. 

"Did yer see dec Red Booli, Dirk t" 



of the civilized savages. 

" Travel's der word," said Slung. 

"O coss it is : an' if we ketch 'um in a. 
dark alley, or round a sharp comer, wont W9 
smash his daylights in !" 

And the one with his hand on his knife, 
concealed in the pocket of his overcoat, and . 
the other with the cord of the sliing-sbot 
wound about his wrist, they resumed their 
hunt in the track of Dermoyne. 

Unconscious of the danger which strode 
stealthily in his wake, Dermoyne clasped the 
Bed Book to his side with one arm, and with 
the other supported the form of the trem- 
bling Barn hurst. 

" Yes, we'll go home," muttered the false 
clergyman — "Home !" He pronounced the 
word with a singular emphasis, like a man 
half bereft of his senses. "You can work 
your vengeance on me there, for the wont 

Then, for a long time, they pursued their 
way in silence, turning toward the East 
River, as they drew near the head of Broad- 
way. 

As he drew near his destination — near the 
end of his singular march, — a wild hope 
agitated the heart of the wretched man, half 
stupefied as he was by despMf. It was his 

" This man has feeling," he thought, " and ; 
I will try him," 

They stood, at length, in the hall of a 
quiet mansion, the hanging lamp above their 
heads shedding its waving light into their- 
faoes. Bamhurst had entered the door by a 
night key, forgetting, in his agitation, tu 
close it after him. Arthur dropped his arm, 
and they confronted each other, surveying 
each other's faces for the first time in four 
long hours. 

It was a singular sight. Both lividly pale, 
id with the fire of widely contrasted emo- 
jns, giving new fire to their gaze, they 
silently regarded each olhor. The tall and 
angular form of the clergymaii was in 
contrast with the compact figure of the 
mechanic : and Hetmw's viaagei Nngulu 






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THROUGH THE SILENT CITY. 



limr Hli.<,kh I sj s d btrl i d (1 e airs -if. 
al»sethi.r d ff t t f oni Ihe fice nf tbe 
raothanic — bold forehead b irinou t d by 
missea of bfo ii hiir short and ourl ng — 
clear gru ejes i ide mouth \ tl firm 1 13, 
and round and massiie chin, joii might 
read the vast differenco between their minds 
in their widely contraated faces. 

" Well, I am — home," said Barnbutst, 
with a smile hard to define. 
J "I wilt Bleep in your room," answered 
Arthur, quietly. " To-raorrow, at ten, we go 
together to that house." 

"Let us retire, then," answered Ilermnu. 
The hanging lamp lighted the stairway, and 
disclosed the door at its head. 

Herman, with the hand of Arthur on his 
arm, led the way up the staircase, and 
|i:iiised for & moment at the door. He bent 
his head as if to listen for the echo of a 
sound, but no spund was heard. Herman 
gently opened the door, and entered — fol- 
lowed by Arthur — a spacious chamber, dimly 
lighted by a taper on the mantle. 

"Hush !" said Herman, and poinUd to a 
small couch, on which a boy of some three 
years was sleeping; his rosy face, ruffled by 
a smile, and his hair lying in thick curls all 
about hi.'i snow-white forehead. 

" Hush !" ^ain said Herman, and pointed 
to a curtained bed, A beautiful woman was 
sleeping there, with her sleeping infant cra- 
dled on her arm. Tho faces of the mother ' 
and babe, laid close together on the pillow, : 



l(ii>ked very beautiful — aim 



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i light. 






I the 



" My wife ! nij' children !" gasped Her- 
man. As he spoke, the agitation of his face 
was horrible to look upon. 

Dermoyno felt his heart leap to hia throat. 
He could not convince himself tJiat it was 
not a dream. Again and ^ain he turned 
from the face of Barnhurst to the rosy boy 
on the coucli — to tho beautiful mother and 
her babe, resting there in the half-broken 
shadows of tho curtained bed, — and felt his 
knees tremble and his heart leap to histhroaL 

And in contrast with this scene of holy 
peace,— a pure mother, sleeping in the mar- 
riage chamber with her children, — came up 
before him, Alice, and her bed of torture in 
the den of Madam Eesimer. 

" This, — this," gasped Bamhurst, " this is 
why I couldn't marry Ahce !" 
Arthur was convulsed by opposing emotions. 

"Devil!" he uttered with, set teeth and 
clenched hands, — "and with a wife and 
children like these, you could still plot tho 
ruin of poor Alice !" 

"Husband," said the wife, as she awoke 
from her sleep — " have you come at last ? I 
waited for you so long !" 

Leave we this scene, and retrace our eteps. 
The revel m the Temple is at the highest. 
The masks begin to fall. Harldib t) 
whispers which mingle softly'^BB t' 
clinking of champagne glasses By s 
is let us enter the Temple. 



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NEW YORK: ^^ 

UPPEE-TEN AND LOWER MILLIOI. 



PART FOURTH. 

IN THE TEMPLE. 

FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWS. 



DJ THE TEMPLE — TB 

It was two o'clock on the morning of the 
24tli of Deoember, 1844, when Frank led 
Nameless over the threshold of a magnificent 
but dimly-lighted hall. 

Attired in black velvet, the goldi 
upon her breast, and with a white vail fall- 
ing like a snowfiake oyer her face and 
hair, she pressed his hand and led him for- 
ward to the light. You cannot, by the 
changes of his countenance, trace the 
tions now busy at his heart ; for his face is 
concealed by a mask ; a cap, with a drooping 
plum^ahades his brow ; hia form is attired 
B of black velvet, gathered to his 
gicarlet sash ; a falling collar dia- 
; and there is a'white cross 
upon bis breast, suspended from his neck by 
g^»golden chain. His brown hair, no longer 
■^#lld and matted, hut carefully arranged by 
a woman's hand, falls in glossy masses to his 
shoulders. 

"Stand here, my knight of the white 
cross, and observe some of the mysteries of 
our Temple." 

For a moment she raised hor vail, and her 
dark eyes emitted rays of magnetic fira, and 
the pressure of her hand made the blood 
bound in every vein. 

They stood by a marble pillar, near a 
table on which was placed a lamp with a [ 



" I am in a dream !■' he said. 
A vast and dimly-lighted hall, broken by 
a range of marble columns ; pictures and 
mirrors flashing and glowing along the lofty 
walls i and the very air imbued with the 
breath of summer, the fragmnce of freahJy 
gathered flowers. Near every column was 
placed a table, covered with fruit and 
flowers, with goblets and bottles of rich old 
wine ; and on every table, a lamp with a 
clouded shade shed around a light at once 
dim, mysterious and voluptuous. And the 
iflected the scene, amid whose 
jnificence Frank and Nameless 
stood alone. 

dream, but in the central 
chamber of the Temple," she whispered. 
"Here, shut/oTit from the world by thick 
walls, the guests of the Temple assenible at! 
dead of night, and create for themselves ft! 
sort of fairy world, far -different from tin' 
world which you see at the church or opel», j 
or even on Broadway on a sunshiny day. 

There was a touch of mockery in her tone 
as she spoke. 

" But do not these guests, as you call 

them, know each other?" whispered Name- 

those who mingle in the 

orgie -of the night, recognize each other 

when they meet by daylight ?" 

"Every onaiocradc gentleman knows the 

ris!<KTatic lady, who meets him within 

these walls," replied Frank. "Beyond that 

A mask, a convenient 

face and form. They 



clouded shade,— a table loaded with fruits j nothi 
and iiowers, with goblets and with bottles costume, hides 

Qf rich old wine. all, however, know the Queen of the Tom- 

Nameless could not repreaa an ejaculation pie,"— she placed her hand npAn her breafl; 
as he surveyed the scene. I " and the password, without which do eae 

(146) 



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FROff MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



can cross the thresliald sf . this house, is 
issued by the Queen of the Temple." 
" Queen of the Temjile ?" echoed Nar 

'■ Y«s, Queen of the Temple ! A Qu( 
who rules by midnight — and the temple ol A d f 
■whose power, — gay, voluptuous, flow 
crowned, as ^on see it, — ia founded upon t 1 p 11 

pollution and death ' 

She paused , ind Nimeiess saw her bosom 
heaie ind heard the sigh which escaped 
from her hpa 

"But thib night past, you wil! hid adieu 
to 'soenes like this forever ?" whispered 
Nameless. "You remember your pledge?" 

She gently raised the Tail ; her counte- 
nance, in all its impassioned loveliness, lay th 
open lo his gaze. Her eyes flashed brightly th 
nividly, although wet with tears. 

" Yes," she responded in a. whisper 
"This night past, I will bid adieu to scenes 
like this forever!" and she drew him gently 
to her bosom. — " Tour life has been dark — 
■ h p f r 



14? 

"A strange and motley throng!" returned 
Nameless, in a whisper. " Are wo indeed 
in New York, in the nineteenth century ? — 
or is it in Rome in the davs of the Bor- 



gl d d tl 1 th 1 1 



I 



fti ht 



dp d by 



m[ 



G 1 — h p b y 
poll t mask d 



d th II wh 

fi — h p 1 

h u 1 d bv 

f th pist w II 

d k th hi f 

f faith f Ifd 1 ' 



A d tl 
h Id 



F k 



d N n 



1th 



11 I 



tt th d mpt f 1 h h f- 

fered like us, and like us fallen." 

At this moment, a burst of music, from an 
adjoining chamber, floated through the vast 
,«nd shadowy hall. And then the sound of 
dancing, mingled with the music — and now 
and then the music and the dance were 
interrupted by the echo of joyous voices. 

" ' The guests of the Temple ' are dancing 
in the Banquet Chamber," said Frank. 
" Masked and vailed, shut out from the 
world by impenetrable walls, they are com- 
mencing one of those orgies, which awoke 
the echoes of the Vatican, in the days of 
Pope Borgia." 

A curtain was thrust aside, — a momentary 
blaze of light rushed into the vast hall, — 
and masked and vailed, the "guests of the 
Temple" came pouring into the place. 

, "Stwid here and observe thBDi,"whiflperSd 

Pcnk, '^ 



Ibyth h 1— hn 
t k ht 1 d th I d lat f 

houri, a stately cardinal discoursed in low 
t«nea vuith a staid quakeress, whose enticing 
form lost none of its charms in her severely 
tf d th ra d C Tph Haroun 

lid d b th p pis of the 

1 f ppo d I d hb s, on his 

m C t ast 1 k th e glided 
g th pll n,— w 1 ht now in 
h d w 1 f ftly whi p d conver- 

s. t fill d th h II th m 1 murmur; 
and the mirrors along the walla reflected 
the pictures — the tables, loaded ari|^Biaiidt 
and flowers — the rich variety « 
the pillars of white marble — tip 
shadow, which gave new 



'%. 



There were certain ot the maskalB wfl| 
in an especial manner, riveted the atteutiotl''' 
of Nameless. ' 

A man of stately presence and royal 
stride, attired in a tunic of puiple silk, with 
an outer tunic of scarlet velvet, edged with 
white ermine— hose, also of scarlet — and 
shoos fastened with diamond buckles. Eyeo 
had tho mask failed to hide bis face, it 
would have been concealed by the cluster 
of snowy plumes which nodded from |u* 
jeweled coronet. .■ '■ 'i ^ 

"Behold Roderick Borgia!" whiaparB^"^ 
Frank, as the masked passed along witti hii '% 
stately stride. 
' "And the lady who leans apou hii aimF' . 

*' Lucretia Borgial" 



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IN THE TEMPLE. 



IS masked, bat the mask which 
hid the l^uir of her face, could not conceal 
the richg^W^f her dark hair, which 
tiasted so vividlj with the whiteness of her 
■ neck and shouldera. A single lily bloomed 
in solitary loveliness in the Wackneas of her 
hair ; her form was encased in a white robe, 
which adapting itself in easy folds to the 
ahape of her noble busl, is girded lightly to 
her waist by a scarlet scarf. Trom the wide 
sleeve, (edged like the skirt with scarlet), 
yOQ catch a glimpse of a magnificent hand 

" Worthy, my dear Lucretia, to rule hearts 
by your beauty and empires by your intel- 
lect! "said Roderick. 

" Ah, your holiness flatters," was the whis- 
pered reply. 

" Her shape, indeed, is worthy of Lucretia 
Borgia," said Frank, as Roderick Borgia anc 
bis daughter passed by the central pillar, ant 
disappeared in the shadows. 

"Does she inherit the morals aa well a> 
the beauty of the woman-fiend whose nam( 
she bears ? " 

Ere Frank could reply, another couple, 
arm in arm, approached the central pillar. A 
bulky cardinal in a scarlet hat and robe, hold- 
ing by the arm a slender youth attired in 
modern style, in frock coat and trowsers of 
blue cj^h, — the trowsers displaying limbs of 
Kmmetry, and the frock coat but- 
Ttliroat over an all too-prominent 
ftardin^ wore a golden 
' 'tis Iwswny ehesi) wid the brown hair of the 
^jendar-waisted youth was gathered neatly 
^pineath a velvet cap, surmounted by 

•Dowy plume. It was pleasant to note the 
affection which eiisted between the grave 
, ewdinal and his youthful friend I Not satis- 
lied with suffering the head of the graceful 
boy to repose on his shoulder, the cardinal 
ondrcled that slender waist with his flow- 
iog scarlet sleeve ! And thus whisperiag 
ioftly— 

■ " Dearest Julia !" said the cardinal, " what 
think you of that doetrinal point ? " 

" Dearest doctor ! what if my husband 
knew?" softly replied the youth. 

They passed by ths centrBl pillar, from 
ths light into the shadow, 
^flow naano you these 7 " asked Namelerar 
"Laa,th« Tenth, aud hu nephew," was 



" Nameless heard 



the answer of Frank, — " but see here ! A 
monk and nun 1 " 

The monk was tall ; his hood and robe 
fashioned of whito cloth bordered with red; 
the hood concealed his ftice, and the robe 
fell in easy folds from his shoulders to his 
sandaled feet. The nun was attired in a 
hood and robe of snow-white satin ; the hood 
concealed her face and locks of gold ; but 
the robe, although loose and flowing, could 
not conceal the rounded outlines of her shape. 
Her naked feet were encased in delicate slip- 
pers of white Si 
hands to the s 
White Nun we 
Beverly, ari 
her whisper. 

Sure^" replied the White Monk, in a 
i that rose above a whisper, — "He is 
false — false — you havo the proofs ! " And 
they went from the light into the gloom. 

trembles, and her voice falters," said 
Frank, observing the form of the retiring 

Did she not say Beverly f " asked Name- 
, a tide of recollections rushing upon his 

brain. "That name — surely I heard it, — " 
Ijook 1 " fcterrupted Frank, pressing his 

arm, — "An oddly assorted couple as ever 

And a little Turk, dressed in a scarlet 
jacket and blue trowsers, with an enormous 
turban on his head, approached the central 
pillar, leaning on the arm, — nay, clutching 
the hand of a tall lady, whose face and form 
were completely concealed by an unsightly 
robe of black muslin ; a garment which 
aeomed to have been assumed, not so much 
for the sake of ornament, as for disguise. 
Gathering the robe across her head and face 
hand, she glided along ; her other 
hand, — apparently not altogether to her ■ 
liking, — grasped by bar singular companion, 
the "Lady in Black" passed by, Name- 
less heard these words, — 

Havana ! A most delightful residence," j 
whispered the Turk. j 

The "Lady in Black" made no reply, — • 
d not even bend her heftd; but passed 
along, her robe brushing the hinic of Name- 
less, as she glided from viev. 

Why was it that throu^ every mrr^, 
Nameless felt a Mnsatioa which cwiB9t%e 



Hos:ed by VnOOy 



I 



FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



."Can \ 



1 think 



Ite-r 



Nuvec 



At that □ 
tto previ 



h the 

hm 

Who IS that l.iJy . be vhi.pered, — 
resting one tand fts^'"^' ''"' P'""-^! f*"^ ^ ^'i''" 
den faintness seized Kim,—" Tliat lady who 
is matched with a compamon so grotcs^jue ?" 

" She may be young or old, fair or hiduous, 
but her name I cannot teil," responded 
Frank. " Aa fov ber companion, — the dimin- 
utive Turk who clutches her hand, and to 
whose soft pleadings she does not ^eeni to 
listen with the most affectionate interest, — 

his name is " Frank bont her mouth 

close to the eoc of NamulBss. 

" His name ? " he interrupted. 

"Is one which cannot hut eicito bitter 
Israel Torke, the Financier!" 
;, linked with the events of 
ight, and with the somber 
3 of other years, Nameless started, 
and an ejaculation escaped his lips. 

"Israel Torke! and in this place?" 

" Yes, — and why not ? " responded Frank, 
bitterly. "What place so fitting for the 
swindler, — pardon me, Financier T Is it not 
well that the money which by day is wrung 
from the hard earnings of the poor, should 
be spent at night in debauchery and pollu- 

" From the bank lo the brothel," tlionght 
Nameless, but he did not breathe th^t 
thought aloud. 

Frank silently took him by the hand, and 
lifted her vail. There was a magic in iho 
pressure and the look. Holding the vail in 
such a manner that he might gaze freely 
upon her countenance, while it was hidden 
from .ill other eyes, she looked at him long 
and steadfastly. 

" Do you regret your pledge ? " she said, 
merauring every word. 

" Begret ! " he echoed, — for the touch, the 
look, the voluptuous atmosphere of her very 
presence, made him forgot the post, the pros- 
pects of the future, — everything, but the 
woman whose soul shone upon him from 



"Then this is my last night in the Tem- 
ple. 0, my heart, my soul is sick of scenes 
like these ! " She glanced around the hall, 
crowded by the maskers, — " To- 'iiorri?w, — " 
bending gently to him, until ha felt her 
breath upon his cheek, '' to-morrow, — " 

" Ti>-morroui ! " echoed n strange voice ; 
" but, my ladv, I have a word to sav to vou 

They turned with the same Impulse, and 
beheld the unbidden speaker, in thu form of 
a Spanish hidalgo, dressed in black velvet, 
richly embroidered with gold. He held his 
mask before his face, and a group of dark 
plumes shaded his brow. 

She started at the voice, and Nameless felt 
her hand tremble in his own. 

" In a moment I will join you again," she 
whimpered to Nameless ; "now, Count, I am 

And leaving Nameless by tbo pillar, she 
took the Count by the arm, and with him 
disappeared in the shadows of the hail. 

Leaning against the pillar, and foiding his 
arms across his breast, — over the white cross 
■which glittered there, — Nameless awaited 
her return with evident ansiety. Ue was 
devoured by contending emotions. The 
fascination with which this beautiful woman 
had enveloped him, — suspicion of the stran- 
ger who had called bar from his side, — the 
strange and varied scene before him, — these 
occupied him by turns ; and then, even amid 
the excitement and fascination of the pres- . 
cnt, some faces of the past looked vividly in 
upon his soul ! 

And while a scene is 
Frank and the Count, 
have a strong influeni 
Nameless, let us, for a: 
him by the central pilli 
mysterious hall. 

Mild lights, rich shadows, the coiling sup- 
ported by marble pillars, the maskers in 
their contrasted costumes, and the mirrors 
refieoting all. The stately Roderick and the 
enticing Lucretia are conversing earnestly in 
yonder recess, — the White Monk and the 
White Nun stand face to face near yonder 
pillar, her lip pressing the champagne glass 
offered by his hand, — Leo the Tenth, paces 



transpiring between 
?hich will hereafter 
! upon the fate of 
instant, stand with 
, and gaze upon the 



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150 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



) the 



slowly from the middle of the hall t 
mirror and back again, the head of his be- 
loved nephew on his shoulder, her waiat' 
. encircled by hia arm; and yonder, apart! 
from all others, stands the Lady ia Black, | 
with her diminutive lover, even the Turk, ' 
kneeling at her feet. Nameless observes all' 
these ivith an especial interest. Aa for the; 
rest, there ia a Pope aharing an orange with j 
a dancing-girl, a Knight halving a bunch of 
grapea with a houri, a Cardinal taking wins ' 
with a Quakeress ; and the saintly Abbess, ! 
yonder, is teaching the grave Haroun Alras- 
chid how to eat a " philopcena '. " 

"Truly, my life is one of adrenture ! " ! 
muttered Nameless, observing the iantaatic ' 
scene. " Last night, arrested as a thief, — a 
tow nights since the tenant of a mad-house, 
and to-night in a scene like this ! To-mor- 
row night vihai and inhere f " 



To-ti 



ight! 



Meanwhile, in a dark recess, whose mirroi 
scarce reflected a single my, Frank, trcmblici 
and agitated, stood face to face with thi 
Count. His maab was laid aside, and in th( 
dim llgHt she saw his face stamped with an 
unusual energy. 

" You wish to speak to me ? " she aiud. 

"An hour ago I e»me to this house, — en- 
tered your chamber unsummoned, and to mj 
□tter surprise found this young man there. I 
overheard the pledge which you exchanged ; 
and now let us have a fait understanding. 
Has he promised, — has he plighted hia word' 
Have you accepted him?" Thus spoke thi 
Count, in a low voice. 

" He has, father," replied Frank ; " and I 
have accepted him." 

"When and where?" asked the C( 
or Col. Tarleton, as you please. 

" As soon as I leave this place, and am 
tenant of a home," replied Frank, her * 
tremhling on that word, so new to her — 

"Daughter,?' said Tarleton, and hia voice 
was deep and husky, indicating powerful 
emotion, " I have a few words to say to you ; 
]'ou will do well to heed them. The drama 
of twenty-one years draws to a close. The 
termination of the fifth act will decide my 
fate and years. This lay is now almost the 
only obstacle between myself and my broth- 
ar's unbounded wealth, and betwetin you and 



the position of a respected, if not virtuous, 
woman. And this boy, mark you, shall not 
leave this house save as your husband. I 
swear it ! Do you hear me, — " 

His voice grew thicker, huskier, — he seized 
her by the wrist. 

" Father ! " she gaaped, aa though her 
proud spirit was cowed by the ferocious de- 

" He shall not leave this house save as 
your husband. You say that he is fascinated 
with you, and you, at first sight, with, him. 
Well ! He has seventy-one thousand dol- 
lars now in his possession, (no matter how 
gained), and on the 25th of December, that 
is, to-morrow, if living, he will become the 
possessor of the 'Van Huyden estate, a richer 
man than Girard and Astor together; ay, 
ten Astors and Girards on top of that. As 
his wife, your position will bo that of a 
queen ; and as for myself, I will sacrifice my 
hopes as the brother of the testator, in order 
to behold you the queenly wife of that tes- 
tator's son. You hear me ? " 

" I do," gasped Frank, 

" But there must be no mistake, mark yon, 
no 'ahp between the cup and the '. 






1 the 



chance of failure. He must be 
your husband ere he leaves this house, or, — " 

"Or?" faltered Frank. 

" Or, — mark you, I do not threaten ; but I 
am speaking Fate, — or, he will not apyear 
on the 25th of December." 

" He will not appear f What mean you ?" 
her voice suddenly changed ; she laid her 
hand upon his shoulder. " Do you mean to 
say that you will murder him, dear father ?" 

" He will not appear, I said, and say it 
again," he resumed in the same determined 
voice; "and the inheritance of this incredi- 
ble estate will fall either to the seven, or to 
myself, the brother, or, — are you listening, 
daughter ? — to the lurin Jrrolker of this hoy." 

" Twin brother ? " echoed Frank, utterly 
amazeil. 

" Yes, twin brother. The time is shorty 
and we must put what we have to sayiu the 
fewest words. You remember your lost 
brother, Gulian ?" 

" I do." 

" He was not your brother, although yoa 
were always taught to regard him as such. 



•Go'ogle 



FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



161 



He wu the twin brother of t^ie boy who 
now leona sgainat jonder pillar. On the 
night of his birth (wishing ta destroy every 
olMtacIa between myself and my brother's 
estate), I Btole him from his mother's arms. 
But wheel I learned the details of my broth- 
er's singular will, I resolved to rear him as 
my own, and keep him in reserve until the 
25th of December, 1844, when thoroughly 
under ray inSitence, end yet backed by 
deniable proofs of his paternity, he would 
appear and claim his father's estate. I 
not until 1832, that I learned that he 
twin brother in existence ; you know what 
pains 1 took to sweep all proof of his e: 
ence from the memory of man ; and it 
only last night that I learned that this I 
IffOther (nowstonding by yonder pillar), 
etill in being. Now, Frank, is the 
clear ? The one whom you were taught to 
call jour brother Gulian, and to regard as 
lost, is neiUwr your brother nor is he lost. 
Ho ia living, and at my will, on the 25th of 
December, 1844, — to-morrow, — will appear 
in place of yonder youth, unless the mar- 
liage takex place at once." 

Frank was utterly confounded. Well she 
remembered the revelation which Nameless 
made while in the clairvoyant state ;* that 
his mother had given birth to two children, 
one of whom had been secreted by the father, 
' the other stolen by the uncle, but that the 
lost boy, whom she bad been taught to 
regard as her brother Gulian, was one of 
these twins, was the brother of Nameless, — 
this was indeed a revelation, an overwhelm- 
ing surpnae. For a moment she was silent; 
her bruQ'tiirabbed painfully. 
" But how am I to believe this story ?" 
" You can disbelieve it, if you like," re- 
sponded her ftUher drily, "and risk the con- 
sequences — " < 

"But will not the marriage be as cer- 
tain to-morrow, the day after, nay a week 
1 hence, — " ite faltered. 

; "Girl! you will drive me mad, — " he 
; clutched her by the wrist : — " nothing is 
; c(M*in that is not aceom pile had—" 
^ Bfee felt the bhKid moimt to her cheek, 
I Mid her Usrt swell in b«r br«Mt : 
I "H^re yoa no shame?" tbf aaiA and 



••m Obif. XVL Put t, iDVlnCHr. 



flung his hand from her wrist — "Do you 
forget what you have made me ? How can 
I, knowing what I am, what you hare made 
me, urge him to hasten this marriage ? Have 
you no shame? 'Come, I am lost and 
fallen,' shall I apeak thus to him, ' I was 
sold into shame by my parents, when only 
fourteen years old. liut you must marry 
me i (o-night ; at once ; my father says so ; 
he knows best; ho sold me; and wants 
y u f d u lah me to speak thus 

toha ah d 

I w w n to tremble. The 

p d p f n her, (bafo|p he had 
d grad d h n ) poke again in the 

to h k h d^ghler. He bit 

his lip, and ground his tee^H|^ 

Frank, Frank, pity "V^^^Bp despe- 
rate, but it is for your sake !" n^BlSt, chang- 
his method of attack — "Spare me the 
"a new erime,j-spare mel I 

I not threaten, I entreat." 

Wringing her bauds within his own, he 
dragged her deeper into the sbAdows of the 

" Behold me at your feet ;" he Ml apon 

3 knees ; "the father on his knees at his 

daughter's feet; the father already steeped 

crime, beseeches that daughter to e^vi 

him from the commission of a new crime ; 

him hy simply pursuing 1 



; XT drei 



Frank was fearfully a^tated; IK> drew 
her father to his right. "When do you 
.'ish the marriage to take place ?" she said 
1 a faltering tone. ' 

"At once, — for your sake, — " 

" But the clergyman, — " 

" Dr. Bulgin is here. If you oanacnt I ^ 

'ill siimmon him to your chamber. Th« 
ceremony will take place there. '- 

"Wait," she whispered; "I will aeft him. 
If I drop my 'kerchief, or take the cross 
from his neck all is right." 

She glided from her father's iiie, and 

issing along the hall, among the maskars, 

on stood by the side of Nameless ooffi 

Tarteton watched herasshewso^ watched 
her as she ooafrontod KatoelaiB ; and while 'i. 

her back was toward him, endeavorsd, ev^ k 

t^ugh the distance, to mwk the [W|il(«f ^ i,-^ 
her mi<«ioD, trov the (Amtgef of Ae esHfl^ 



s-edbyC00«^lc 



isa 



IS THE TEMPLE. 



tenance of Namelesa, Tarleton'a form was 
concealed by tlia haoginga of the recess, but 
his face, projecting from its shadow, was 
touched with faint light ; light that only 
rendered more haggard and livid, its already 
hi^gard and lirid iineameiita. How earnest- 
ly he watched for the anticipated sign ! It 
was not made. He clutched the banging 
with both hands. 

It had been a busy night with him. He 
had taken Ninety-One to the rooms of young 
Evelyn Somers, and placed the convict In 
3ne room, while the dead body of hia own 
victim, rested in the otlier; thence he had 
passed to the library of Somers, the father, 
acd held a o^^ant chat with him; and 
from the^^^^k counting-room of Israel 
Yorke, w/tK^ had set Blossom on the 
track of Nin^y-One. And from the coun- 
ting-room of Israel Yorke, (after a deed 
two which may hereafter be explained) hehad 
repaired once more to the house of the raer- 
"Chant prince, in time to find Ninety-One ac- 
cused of the murder of young Evelyn Somers. 
He had rushed to the room of Ninety-One, 
determined to avenge the murdev of hla 
friend, and (o his great aetontshment, found 
that Ninety-One had escaped by 
door. Of course, the gallant Colonel knew 
■nothing of that door ! Then he had witness- 
e of the merchant-prince, 
Vthieatening the boy, Gulian, he had 
retumen to the Temple, brooding all sorts 
of schemes, hig with all kinds of elaborate 
deviltry ; and had discovered, to his real 
surprise. Nameless in his daughter's chamber ! 
Discovered that Frank was in love with 
Nameless, and Nameless fascinated by Frank. 
A busy night, gallant Colonel ! Well may 
"you clutch the hangings with both hands, 
and watch for the falling of the 'kerchief, 
or the lifting of the cross ! 

"They are talking, — talking, — zounds! 
Why does she not give the sign ? That 
dgd'^von and all my diSicultiea are at an 
«nd ! The seven heirs, MaTlin Pulmer, the 
estate, all are in my power W 

As these words escaped the Colonel's lips 
two figures approached one a knight in 
blue armor, (something like unto the stage 
imageof the Qhost of Hamlet's father) and 
the other in buff waistcoat, wide skirted 
•oat, ruffles, cocked hat, aod bucksktn small 



id ^|M^atl 
indaVth 
etumen to 



clothes, — supposed altogether to resemble a 
gentleman of the old school. ' The blue 
knight and the gentleman of the old school 
were moderately inebriated ; oven to a sinu- 
ousncsa of gait, and a tremuloiisneas of the 
knees. 

"I say Colonel, io/iat — what news ?" hic- 
cupped the knight. 

"Yea, yea," remarked the gentleman of 
the old school, with a bold attempt at origi- 
nality of thought, " what nems ?" 

" Pop ! — " the Colonel looked ^ the 
knight, — " Pills !" he surveyed the gentle- 
man of the old school ; "I've sad news for 
you. Passing by the house of old Mr. 
Somers, an hour or two ago, I discovered 
that his son had been murdered in his room, 
you mark me, by an escaped convict, who 
was found concealed on the premises. Sad 

" Extraordinary !" cried Pop and Pill in a 
breath. And the two drew neat the princi- 
pal and conversed at leisure with him ; the 
Colonel all the while watching for the sign ! 

Frank and Nameless ! 

She found him leaning against the central 
pillar, his arms folded on his breast, his 
large gray eyes (for the mask had fallen 
from his face,) roving thoughtfully around 
the hall. How changed that face ! Tha 
cheeks, no longer sallow, ate flushed with 
hope ; the lips, no longer colorless and drop- 
ped apart in vacant apathy, are firmly set 

;ether( the broad forehead, still white 

i massive, is stamped with thought ; the 
thought which, no longer dismayed by the 
bitter past, looks forward, with a clear vision 

the battles of the future. The events of 
the night had given new life to Nameless. 

She caught hia gaae, — and at once en- 
chained it. His eye derived new fire from 
her look, but was chained to that look. 

s my father who wished to apeak 
Gillian," she said, and watched 
each lineament of his countenance. 

" Your father ?" he echoed. 

"My father, who has worked you so , 
much wrong, — who has worked such bitter 
uTong to me, — and who this very night, 
while brooding schemes for your ' I'uin, . 
entered my chamb^, and found yoD.iii my 
ms, and heard tbiHd«iniii^«dga wUoh ws . 
ichanged." . .., 



3:ed by LiOOg 



)i?'[t 



PROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



jUff 



" Well, Prank," he interuptert, gazing ani- 
iously into her face. 

"He confessea that our, — our marriage, 
will more than exceed his wildest hope. 
That the very thought of it, makes him 
feel bitter remorse for the past, and levels 
every evil thought, as r' ^ards the future. 
But—" 

She paused and took his hands in hers, 
and bent her face nearer to him, until her 
burning gaze, riveted every power of his 

"But he is afraid that yon will hereafter 
regret your pledge of marriage." 

"Frank!" 

" That you, as the jxiasesBor of incredible 
wealth, will look back with wonder, 
contempt upon the hour, when you plighted 
your faith to one like me !" 

"One like you! Frank, Frank, 
think thus ?' 

" That once secure in your 
you will regard as worse than idle words, 
promise made to the daughter of your 
enemy, — to a woman, whose life has been — 

She buried her head upon his breast ; he 
drew her to him and felt the beating of her 

" Oh, Frank, can you think thus meanly of 
me ?" he cried, completely carried away by 
her wild beauty, her agitation, her tears. 
"My promise once made cannot be taken 
back. I know what I promise ; I know the 
future. I have risen from the grave of my 
past life ; you, too, shall rise from the grave 
of your past life. We will begin lite anew. 
We will walk the world together! Oh, 
would that this hour, this moment, I could 
make my compact good, beyond all chance 
of change, all danger of repeal !" 

" Do you really wish thus, Gulian ?" She 
raised her face, and her soul was in her eyes. 
" Is that the deepest wish of your heart ?" 

"Fnnk I swear it' 

She took the wjiite cro^s from his neck, — 
held it for a mcment over her head; it 
glittered brightly in the light; and then she 
wound the cham about her own ueck, and 
(he white cross glittered on her proud 

"Take thia in exchange" — ahe took the 
{pldea CKSS from her breast, and wound its 



chain about his neck ; the cross glitter* oYar 
his heart — " in witness of our mutual pledge. 
And Gulian, — " there was a look — an ex- 
tended hand — "Come!" 

She led him from the light into the 
shadows, and — while his every pulse 
bounded as with a new life — fram the hall. 

And, as they passed from the hall, Leo 
the Tenth, clad in his cardinal attire, led his 
young nephew lovingly among the shadowg 
of the vast apartment, — now pausing to 
:h himself with sparkling Heidsick, and 
now twining his arm about the nephew's 
waist, trying to soothe her mind upon some 
doctrinal point ; 

"Dearest Julia," he whispered, as they 
paused for a moment in the shadow of a 
pillar. 

" Dearest Doctor," she rB^^jnded--that Is, 
the nephew, clad in blUe Sock-coat and 
trowsers ; " you don't think that toy hnaband 
ever will—" 

The sentence was interrupted. A grave hi- 
dalgo, attired in black velvet, richly embroi- 
dered with gold, confronted the Doctor, 
otherwise Leo the Tenth, and whispered 
lestly in his ear. 

Impossible !" responded Leo the Tenth, 
shaking bis head. "Impossible, my dear 
Tarleton!" 

It must be," answered the hidalgo, em- 
phatically. "A quiet room up stairs, and 
) one present save myself, the bridegroom 
id the bride." 

"But my name will appear on the cettifi- 

te," hesitated the Doctor, "and questionB 

may be asked as to the place in which this 

marriage was celebrated, and Iww I came to 

be there." 

Pshaw ! You are strangely scrupulous," 
returned the hidalgo. " I tell you, Doc^b 
is a matter of the last importance, |ipl 
nnot be put off. Then you can celebnb 
e marriage a aecimd time, in another place, 
id — " he whispered a few emphatic word* 
the Doctor's ear. 

Leo the Tenth was troubled, but h« layr 
1 way of escape. 

" Well, wall, be it so, Tarieton ; you are 

I odd sort of fellow. Julia, dear," — this;, 

aside to bis nephew ; " wait fp; me in the' 

Scarlet Chamber, up stidrs.you know?" Tha- 

nephew whispered htr asaeni "PU jt^ 



wGoogle' 



w 

yoa l)reBently. Kow Count," — this to Tarle- 
ton, — "lead the way, snij let us celebrate 
these mysterious nuptials," 

And the three left the Central Hull 
together, Tarleton and the Doctor, on their 
way to the Bridal Charnber, and the nephi 
on her way to the Scarlet Chamber. 

Near the central pillar staod the White 
•Hook, with the hands of the White Ni 
. resting on his shoulders, and his arms about 

her waist. Her hood has fallen ; hi 
tenance, flushed and glowing, lies open to 
his gaze. A beautiful nun, with blue eyes, 
swimming in fiery light, and unbound hair, 
bright RS gold, sweeping a cheek like a rose- 
bud, and resting npon neck and shoulders 
whiW as snow. And the White Monk bends 
down, and their lips meet, and she falls, half 
passionately, iMlf ehndderlng, on hisbmast. 

" Oh, Beverly, Beverly ! whither wruld 
yon lead me 1" He scarce can distinguish 
the words, so faint, so broken by agitation is 
her voice. 

" Tour husband is false. He has trampled 
upon your love. I love you, and will avenge 
yoQ. Come, Joanna !" 

And from the light into the shadow, with 
tbe trembling nan half resting 
half reposing on his breast, passes the White 
Monk. They reach the threshold of the 
hall. Pass it not, Joanna, as you love your 
child ! pass it not, on peril of your soul ! 
But no 1 "Come, Joanna !" and they are 
gone together. 

From the throng of maskere who glide to 
and fro, select, for a moment, the lady in 
black, who stands gloomily yonder, gather- 
ing the folds of her robe about her face. 
Does this scene attract, or repel her ? 
,^"'" Within that shapeless robe, docs het bosom 
■; awell with pleasure— voluptuous pleasure? or 

f iws it contraet with terror and loathing? 

Her Turkish friend,— the diminutive gen- 
tteraan in the red jacket, spangled all over, 
^lue trowaers and red morocco boots,— In 
vain offers her a glass of sparkling cham- 
pBgne; and just as vainly essays to draw 
her forth in conversation. At last, he seems 
to weafy of her continued silence ; 

" ff yon will favor me with your company 
Tbf t few moments, I will explain the pur- 
poM which impelled me to request an intet^ 
^tiw ti this pl»M." 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



" Let it be at once, then," is the whispered 

He offers his arm ; she quietly but firmly 
pushes it aside. 
" I will follow you," she says in her low- 

And the Turk leaves the hall, followed 
by the Lady in Black. 

"The Blue Chamber!" he ejaculates, as 
he crosses the threshold. 

Look again among the throng of guests. 
The stately Roderick Borgia stands yonder, 
his massive form reflected in a mirror, and 
the white robed Lucretia resting on his arm. 
They are masked ; jou cannot see the 
voluptuous loveliness of het face, nor the 
somber passion of his bronzed visage. But 
his brow, — that vast forehead, big with 
swollen veins, — is visible ; and the mirror 
reflects her spotless neck and shoulders, and 
the single lily set among the meshes of her 



. ItiE 






th 



:lad in purple, the t in L t a 

robed in snowy white : bef d d 

>r reflect a more strik g t t Y u 

his voice — that voice « h rgaa 1 ke 

depth stirs the blood ; 

ireer, beautiful lady, now opens 
heforo you, such as the proudest queen might 
envy— " 

And he attempts to take her soft, white 
hfuid within his own. But she gently with- 
draws it from his grasp. Lucretia, it seems, 

timid, or — artful. 

" Yes, we will revire the day, when intel- 
lect and beauty, embodied in a woman's 
form, ruled the world." How his deep voice 
adds force ta his word*. "Yes, yes; you 
shall be my Queen— mine ! But come ; I 
have that to say t-0 you, which will hare a 

tal bearing upon your fate." 

"And my brother?" whispers Lucretia. 

"And also the fate of your brother," 
responds Roderick Borgia. " Come with 

e to the Golden Room." 

" To the Golden Room be it then ^' 

And Lucretia leans on At arm of Borgia 
and goea with him from' the Hall to the 
Golden Room: his broad «he«t swelling 
with the anticipation of tnumi^, — and her 
right hand resting upon the ^^ of tke 
poniard which is iuMttsd iatUfubut tiot 
Isnda ber wikt, 



lit 1.' 



k:. 



. ii 



FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



195 



Ere we follow the guests who have left 
the hall, and trace their various fortuucH, lui 
ua cast a momentary glatjce upon those who 

The Caliph Haroun Alraschid Bits by 
yoTider table, eippirg champagne from a 
long-necked glass, which now anii then is 
pressed by the lips of his fair abbess. The 
caliph has evidently been refreshing himself 
too bountifully with the wines of the Giaour; 
his mask falls aside, and beneath his turban, 
inatea<! of the grave oriental features of the 
magnificent sultan, you discern the puffy face 
and carbuncled nose of a Wall street broker. 

A I'ttl bey d ti I'ph a poire has 

falle to ! p d fi, the triple 

crow eat I 1 d t 1 feet, and his 

pont Ileal b so I 1 tl the stains of 
wine Th d 1 d h Q akoress are 

tryin th teps f tl It valtz. The 
Christ k gl t d 1 1 land by the 

table th I II — d -fs g the merits 

of M h m t p d N ! But the 

remai f Id ho I d f 1 And then, 

in th h d f th p 1! rs, nd in front 

of th 1 fty m rr 1 11 gl d d to and fro 
the t asted t f m k and nuns, 

knigl t d h ird 1 nd Quaker- 



nl 



All » 



mask d — 1 11 k d f th e were faces 
in that hall which jou may have often seen 
in the dress circle of the opera, or in the 
dress pews of the fashionable church. Bo- 
move those masks? Never ! not as you value 
the peace of a hundred families, the reputa- 
tion of some of our most exclusive fashion- 
ables, the repose of "good aooiety." 

Thus the maskers glide along; the music 
strikes up in an adjoining hall — the dance 
"begins — the orgie deepens, — and, — 

Let the curtain fall. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE hLITB BOOK. 

The diminutive Turk, followed hy the j 
Lady in Black, led the way from the hall, ' 
to a distant and secluded apartment She 
still gathered the hood of her robe closely 
I alMut her face, and not a word waa spoken 
as they pursued their way along the dark 
passage. 'A door was opcDed, and they 
acteced a small although lusurioiu apart- 
-' ment, hung with hangingi of aiote, veined 



with golden flowers. A wax candle, placed 
in iu massive candlestick, on a table before 
a mirror, gave light to the place. It was a 
silent, coay, and luxurious nook of the Tem- 
ple, remote from the hall, and secure from 
all danger of interruption. 

As the Turk entered he Hung aside his 
mask and turban, and disclosed the ferret 
eyes, bald head and wiry whiskers of Israel 
Yorke. Israel's bald head was fringed with 
white liairs ; his wiry whiskeis' touched with 
gray ; it was a strange contrast between his 
practical bank-note face, and his oriental cos- 

" Now," he cried, flinging himself into a 
chair, "let us come to some understanding. 
What in the deuce do you mean ? " 

"What do I mean ?" echoed the Lady in 
Black, who, seated on the sofe, held the folds 
of the robe across her face. 

Yea, what do you mean ? " replied Israel, 
giving his Turkish jacket a petulant twitch. 
Did I not help you out of that difficulty in 
Canal street, last evening, and rescue you • 
from the impertinence of the shop-keeper 7 " 
Yes," briefly responded the lady. 
Did I not, seeing your forlorn and deso- 
late condition, pin a note to your shawl, 
igned with my own name, asking jou to 
neet me at this place, at twelve o'clock, 
where,' so I said, 'my worthy and unpro- 
ectod friend, now so bravely endeavoring (o 
get bread for an afflicted fatiier, you will heu 
■thing greatly to your advantage.' 
Those were my words, 'greatly to your ad- 
vantage ' " 

"Those weri! the words," echoed the lady, 
ill preserving her motionless attitude. 
" And in the note I inclosed the pass-word 
by which only admittance can be gained to 
this mansion ?" 

' You did. I used it; entered the mansion 
, met you." Her voice was scarcely au- 
and very tremulous. 

' You met me, oh, indeed you met me," 
said Israel, pulling his gray whiskerB; "but 
what of that? An hour and more has 
passed. Yon hare refused even > glass of 
wine, — have nerer replied one word to Ml 
my propositions ; agad 1 1 have not even seen 
your face," 

" And now you have brought me to tJiia 
kiDely apartmeul to repeat your jjropoq^ ? '^ 



jgic 



166 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



" Yes ! " Israel picked up his turban and 
twirled it round on the end of his finj 
"I want a.plain answer, yes, or no ! I ai 
plaia man, — a man of business. You 
poor, almost starving (pardon mo if 1 pain 
yOQ), and yon havo an aged and helpless 
father on your hands. You have nothing fo 
look forward to, but starvation, or, tho streets. 
Toil remember the scene in the shirt-store 

The lady gently bowed her head, and 
raised both hands to her faca 

" I am rich, benevolent, always had a good 
heart," — another twirl of the turban,-—" and 
in a day or two I am about to Bail for Ha- 
vana. Accompany me ! Your father shall 
be settled comfortably ; the sea-lweezcs will 
do you good, and, — and, — the climate ia de- 
licious." And the fervent Turk stroked his 
bald head, and smoothed his white hairs. 

" Accompany you," s^d the lady, slowly ; 
"in what capacity! As a daughter, per- 
chance ? " 

"Not ex-act-ly as a dangh-f-e-r," res- 
ponded Israel ; "but asa ramjajiion." 

There was a pause, and tho robe was 
gently removed from the head and face of 
the Lady in Black. A beautiful countenance, 
shaded by dark brown h^r, was disclosed ; 
young and beautiful, although there was the 
shadow of Sfwrow on the cheeks, and traces 
of tears in the eyes. An expression inex- 
pressibly sad and touching came over that 
face, as she said, in n voice which was musi- 
cal in its very tremor, — 

" And you, sir, knew my father in better 

"I did." 

"You nevei- knew any one ot his race 
goiity ot a dishonorable act ? " 

"Never did." 

"And now you find him aged and help- 
less, — find myself, his only hope, reduced 
to the last extreme of poverty, with no pros- 
pect but (your own words), starvation, oi the 

"Ay." Israel, beneath his spectacles, 
seemed to cast an admiring glsDce at his 
Turkish trowsers and red morocco boota. 

"And in this hour, you, an old friend of 
tho family, who have never known one ■oS 
our name guilty-cf an act of dishonor, come 
to. me, andjeeeing my father's affliction, and 



my perfectly helpless condition, gravely pro- 
pose that I shall escape dishonor by becom- 
ing youT — mistress! That is your proposi- 

Sbe rose and placed her hand firmly on 
Israel's shoulder, and looked him fixedly in 
the eye. The little man was thunderstruck. 
Her flashing eyes, her bosom heaving proudly 
under its faded covering, the proud curl of 
her lip, and the firm pressure of the hand 
which rested on his shoulder, took tlie Fi- 
nancier completely by surprise. 

"I am scarce sixteen 3-ears old," she con- 
tinued, her eyes growing l.irger and brighter, 
"my childhood was passed without a care. 
But in the last two years I hiivc gone 
through trials that madden me now to think 
upon ; trials that the ^ed and experienced 
are rarely called upon to encounter ; but in 
tho darkest hour, I have never forgotten 
these words, 'Trust in God ;' never for an 
instant believed that God would ever leave 
me to become the prey of a man like fjou '." 
And she pressed his shoulder, until the 
little man shook again, his gold spectacles 
rattling on his nose. 

" For, do you mark me, the very trials 
that have well-nigh driven me mad, hare 
also given me strength and cours^e, may be, 
the strength, the courage of despair, but 
still the courage, when the last hope fails, to 
choose death before dishonor ! " 

But your father," faltered Israel. 
My father is without bread ; but once in .' 
twenty-four hours have I tasted food, and ' 

a miserable morsel ; hut rather than ac- 
cept your proposals, and lie down with 
shame, I would put the poison via! first to 
my father's lips, then to my own ! Yes, 
Israel YoAe, there is a God, and He, in this 
house, when the last hope has gone out, 
when there is nothing but death before, 
gives me strength to spit upon your infa- 
mous proposals, and to die ! Strength such , 
as you will never feel in your death-hour 1 " 

" Pretty talk, pretty talk," faltered Israel ; , . 
"but what does it amount to? Talk on, 
still the fact remains ; you and your father 
are starving, and you reject the offer of the 
only one who can relieve JOB." * 

SheraisedherevettohMVen. She folded 
her handi upon her hMfiuf bKeit Her 
face vii iniuturall]r j^sUiidbif 17^ omaU 



FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



15-r 



iirallv bnglit A 


e she stood, in an attitude 


so wim and e 


vera, she was wondroiisly 


bej.titifiil Her 


oice was marked with sin- 


gular elation, — 




"0, my God' 


there must be a hell," she 


Baid " There must bo a place where the 


J t -e f th 


Id m d traight ; else 


Ijd th m 


t h e, 1 d in ill-gotten 


d p fl 


1th h le my ogod 


f th f h 


m 1 k at this hour 



ly b described by 
f tabl He shifted 



dh d 



h k r 



Wh t th d 1 d 1 3 «.me lo see 

- m f f 1 as J , nof me?" 

I m t } as bsthopo;" her 

00 te ni d h to was that of 

all y d desp. I th ht that remorse 

had b b y t J h art ; that you 

hdloto f hptbya just, al- 

th h tard tit I h ght " 

" Remorse ! restitution ! " laughed the Fi- 
nancier. " Come, I like that ! " 

" That knowing the utterly destitute con- 
dition of the father, you had summoned the 
daughter, in order to tender to her, at least, 
a portion of the wealth which you wrung 

from him " 

Choked by emotion, she could not pro- 
ceed, but grew pale and paler, until a flood 
of tears came lo her relief. 

" 0, sir, a pittance, a pittance, to save my 

father's life ! " She flung herself at his feet, 

; and clutched his knees. Her much-worn 

bonnet fell back upon her neck, and her hair 

bmst its .fastening, and descended in wavy 

masses upon her shoulders. Her face was 

( flushed with sudden warmth ; her eyes shone 

all the brighter for their teats. "A pittance 

{ out of your immense wealth, to save the life 

1 of your old friend, my father ! His daugh- 

j ter begs it at your feet," 

i Israel gazed at her deliberately through his 

( gold spectacles, — 

I "Oh, no, my dear," he said, and a sneer 

I curled his cold lip ; " you are too damnably 



and insensible, her long htur floating on the 
carpet. The agony which she had endured 
in the last twenty-four hours had reached iU 
climax. She was stretched like a dead wo- 
man at the feet ni the Financier. 

" Trust in God, — good motto for a picture- 
book ; but what good does it do you now 
my dear?" thus soliloquized Israel, as he 
knelt beside the insensible girl. " Don't dis- 
count that kind o' paper in my bank that I 
know of. Fine arm, that, and splendid 
bust!" He surveyed her maidenly, yet 
idod proportions. " If it was not for her 
stubborn virtue, she would make a splendid 
companion. Well, well, " 

A vile thought worked its way through, 

ery lineament of his face. 

"Once in my power, all her scruples would 
at an end. We are alone," — he glanced 

jund the cozy apartroen(,r— " and I think 
I'll try the clTect of an anodyne. Anodynes 

i good for fainting spells, I believe." 

Ho drew a slender vial from beneath his 
Turkish jacket, and holding it between him- 
self and the light, examined it steadily with 



The maiden said no more. Relaxing hei 
gtasp, slifl fell at his feet, and lay there, pali 






'Twill r. 



well I thought of it ! 
her, — make her gently delirious for a while, 
herself completely 
until to-morrow ; much surer than persua- 

)n, and quicker ! Trust in God, — a-hem 1", 

He raised her head on his knee, and un- 
corked the vial and held it to her lips. 

At that moment there was a quick, rapid 
knock at the door. It broke startlingly upon 
the dead stillness. 

Why did I not lock it ? " cried IstmI, 
his hand paralyzed, even as it held the virI 

the poor girl's lips. 

Too lalfi ! The door opened, and one by 

e, six sturdy men, in rough garments and 
with faces by no means ominous of good, 
stalked into the room. 

And over the shoulders of the six, ap- 
peared six other faces, all wearing that same 
discouraging expression. It may not be im- 
proper to state that every one of the twelve 
carried in his right hand a piece of wood, 



that deserved the n 

And shuffling ovi 
Israel. " Gpt him 
to be the spokesma 



le of a stick, perchan 

■ the floor, t^7 endrcled 
' said one who appeared 
L of the band, "stdh voi 



:< 



b.Google 



•Itfle 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



tight I Hod B bunt, but fetched him at last, 
I utf, Israel, m^ Turk, (a gentle hint with a 
club), get up and redeem your paper ! " 

And he held a bundle of bank notes,- 
Cbow Bunk, Mnddj Run, Terrapin Hollow, 
under tho noae of the paralyzed Financier. 

CHAPTER III. 



ItoDEBiGK BoROiA leads ^ucretla : 
the threshold of the Golden Room, 
utters an ejaculation of wonder mingled with 
terror. For it is a magnifloent, and yet 
gloora? place that Golden Room. A large 
square apartment, the walls concealed by 
black hangings, — ban^nga of velvet fringed 
with gold. The floor is covered with a dark 
carpet, the coiling represents a sua radiating 
among sullen clouds. The chairs, thi 
are covered with block velvet, and framed 
in gold. Only a single mirror is there, — op- 
posite the sofa, reaching from the floor to 
the ceiling, framed in ebony, which in its 
turn is framed in a border of gold. A lamp, 
whose light is softened by a clouded shade, 
stands on an ebony table, between the aofa 
and the mirror, and around the lamp are 
clustered frails and flowers, two long necked 
glasses, and a bottle of Bohemian glass, 
blue, veined with gohi. A single picture, 
suspended ag^nst the dark hangings, alone 
relieves the sullen grandeur of the place. 
It is of the size of life, and represents Luore- 
tia Borgia, her unbound hair waving darkly 
over her white shoulders, and half bared 
bosom, her eyas shooting their maddening 
glance, from the shadow of the long eyelashes, 
her form clad in a white garment, edged 
with scarlet, — a garment which, light and 
airy, floats like a misty vail about her beau- 
tiful shape. Coming from the darkness into 
this scene, the masked Luotetia, as we have 
swd, could not repress an ojamilation, half 
Binonishment, half fear — 

"Never fear," cries Roderick gayly, aS ho 
flung his plumed cap on the table. "It 
looks gloomy enough, but then it is like the 
Golden Room in the Vatican, of which his- 
tory tells. "And then," — he pointed to the 
[dctUM, " the living Lucretia need not fear a 
oomparison with the dead one. Remove 
jmt mtak I I un dying to look upon you." , 



Lucretia sank upon the sofa with Roderick 
by her side. Roderick unmasked and re- 
vealed the somber features of Gabriel Godlike. 
Lucretia dropped her mask, and the light 
shone on the face of Esther Royalton. 

"By heavens, you are beautiful!'* — his 
eyes streamed with singular intense light, 
from the shadow of his projecting brow. 

And she was beautiful. A faultless shape, 
neck and shoulders white as snow, a counte- 
nance framed in jet-black hair, the red 
bloom of a passionate organization on lips 
and checks, large eyes, whose intense light 
rather deepened than subdued by the 
shadow of the long eyelabhos. And then 
the blush which coursed over her face and 
neck, as she felt Godlike's burning gaze fixeil 
upon her, can be compared to nothing save a 
sudden flash of morning sunlight, trembling 
frozen snow. One of those women, 
altogether, whose organization embodies the 
very intensity of intellect and passion, and 
whose way in life Hes along no middle 
track, but either rises to the full sunlight, or 
is lost in shadows and darkness. 

You consent, my child ?" Godlike 

softened his organ-like voice, — took her hand 

within his own — she did not give, nor did 

she withdraw her hand, — "Randolph shall 

abroad, upon an honorable mission to a 

foreign court, where he will be treated as a 

without regard to the taint (if thus it 

be called) in his blood. He will have 

fair and free scope for the development of 

And yon, — " 

paused. She lifted her eye? 



face, and met hie burning gh 

searching and profound look. 
'And myself, — " 
And you shall go with mf 
, where your beauty shall 

hearts, your intellect 

position, that a qui 






Washing- 
id alt 
for yourself a 
!en might envy." 
eply, but her eyes were 
downcast, her beautiful forehead darkened 
by a shade of thought. "Was she moasnring 
the full force and meaning of his words ? 

In, — what — capawty — did — you — say ?" 
she asked at length in a faint voice. 

"As my ward, — " responded Godlike; 
" you will be known as my ward, the heiress 
and daughter of k wealthy W«l {ndian, who 
at his de^h, intmatect year penoa and for- 



Goo<^M 



PROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



159 



re, jou will 



said Esther, 

t swelling 



tune tfl my care. You will h«ve your 
mansion, your pair of lervanta, carriage 
*o-forth, — in fact, all the eitemala of a 
son of immense wealth. As my ward you 
will enter tha first circles of society. The 
whole machinery of life at the Capital will 
be laid bare to your gaae, and with your 
hand upon the spring which seta that 
chinory in. motion, you oan command 
your will. You will ! 

"Tell me eomething,' 
low voice, her bosom for 
above the scarlet border of her robe, — "Tell 
me something of life at the Capital, — life 
Washington City." 

Godlike laughed until his broad chest 
shook again, — a deep sardonic laugh. 

"Poets have prated of the influence of 
woman, and most wildly ! But life in 
Washington City distances the wildest dream 
of the poets. There woman is supremo. 
Never was her influence so absolute before, 
at any court, — neither at the court of Louis 
the Great, nor that of George the Fourth,- 
98 at the plain republican court of Waahing- 
wb City. The simple people, afar off from 
Washington, think that it is the President, the 
Heads of the Department, the Senators and 
Representatives, who make the laws and 
wield the destinies of the republic. They 
think of great men sitting in council, by the 
midnight lamp, their hearts heavy, their 
eyes haggard with much witchmg over the 
welfare of the nation Bah ! when the real 
legislator is not a graie senator or solemn 
minister of state, but some lovely woman, 
armed only with a [air of bright eyes, and a 
soft musical voice. 1 he grave legislators of 
the male gender, strut grandly in their robes 
of office, before the scenes, — and that poor 
dumb beast, the people, opens its big eyes, 
and etaree and struts ; hut behind the scenes, 
it is womau who pulls the wires, makes 
the laws, and sets the nation going." He 
paused and laughed again. " Why, my child, 
I have known the gravest questions, in 
which the Tory fate of the nation was in- 
volved, decided upon, in senate or in cabinet, 
after long days and nights of council and 
debate, «nd,-^ — knocked to pieces in an 
Inatant by -' the soft fingers of a pretty 
womui. It is red tape, venm bright eyes in 



Washington City, and eyes always cany thf 

"This is indeed a strange atory you ara 
telling me," said Esther, hor eyea still 
downcast. 

Godlike for a moment surveyed himself 
in the mirror opposite, and laughed. 

. "1 vow I had quite forgotten, that I wni 
arrayed in this singular costume, — scarlet 
tunic, edged with ermine, and so-forth, — it 
'Is something in the style of Borgia, and," 
he added to himself, surveying the sombec 
visage and massive forehead, surmounted by 
iron gray hair, — " not so bad looking for a 
man of sixty ! You think it impossible 1" 
ho continued aloud, turning to Esther, who 
had raised her hand thoughtfully to her 
forehead, — " why my dear child, a man who 
lives in Washington for any time, sees 
strange things. I have seen a husband 
purchase a mission by the gift of the person 
of a beautiful wife ; I have seen a brother 
office th ru f h t r*! 

honor; I have y h d f th 

hen all his 1 ra f po t p d 

fruitless, place i th !e- th hast ty f 

mly and he tfld ht — dwn 

By !" he d d h d k brows, 

until his eyes w ly 1:1 H w la 

! to look p m k d th a y 
thing but contemjt, — t npt d 

But," and E th d h j t th t 

bnanzed face, every lineament of which now 

worked with a look of indescribable scorn,— 

you have genius, — the loftiest ! you toww 

above the mass of men. You have inSn- 

■an influence rarely given to any one 

it spans the continent ; why not ub« 

your genius and influence to make men 

better ?" 

There was something in her tone, which 
itruck the heart of Godlike. 'The expression 
)f intense scorn was succeeded by a look of 
sadness as intense. His brows rose, and hii 
looked forth, large, cleat and dreamy, 
as a* though that dark countenance, 
seamed by the wrinkles of long years of sin, 
)iad been, for an instant, baptised with the 
hope and freshness of youth. 

''That was longago; long ago; ihsdrsMnof 

king men better. I felt it once,— tried to 

carry it into deeds. But the dream has long 

past. I awakened from it mauy jtt H .1^ 



^o.,eabyCoO«^Ic 



160 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



Tou see it is veiy pleasant to believe in the 
ianate goodness of human nature, but attempt 
to cany it into action, atjd Lark ! do jou 
not hear them, the very people, to whom 
yesterday you sacrificed your soul ; hark ! 
'crucify Mm ! criici/y him !' " 

He rose from the sofa, and the mirror re- 
flected his majestic form, clad in the attire 
of Roderick Borgia, and his dark visage, 
stamped with genius on the giaft forehead, 
and burning with the light of a giant soul in 
the lurid eyes. He was strangely agitated. 
His chest heaved beneath his maskei''s attire^ 
There was an absent, dreamy took in his up- 

"I used to think of it, and dream over it, 
in my college days, — of that history in which 
'Hosanna!' ia shouted to-day, and pali 
branches strewn ; and to-morrow, — the hall 
of Pilate, the crown of thorns, the march up 
Calvary, and the felon's cross 1 I used, I 
Bay, to think and dream over it in my col 
lege days. As I looked around the worU: 
and surveyed history, and found the samt 
story everywhere found that for bold im- 
posture and giant humbug, m every age, the 
world had riches, honor, fame, while i: 
turn, for any attempt to make it better, it 
had the cry, 'crucify ' crucify '' it had the 
scourge, the crown of thorns, and the felon's 

His voice swelled bold and deep through 
the silent room ; as he uttered the last word, 
he raised his hand (o his eyes, and for a 
moment was buried in the depth of his 
emotions. Esther, raising her eyes, regarded 
with looks of mingled admiration and awe, 
that forehead, upon which the veins stcod 
* forth bold and swollen, — the handwriting of 
the inward thought., 

" The devil is a very great fool," he said, 
with a burst of laughter, " to give himself so 
much trouble about a world which is nnt 
worth the damning." And then turning to 
Esther, he stud bitteriy : "Do you ask mc 
why I utterly despise mankind, and why I 
have lost all faith in good ? In the course of 
a long and somewhat tumultuous life, I have 
found one thing true, — whenever from a 
pure impulse, I have advocated a noble 
dionght, or done a good deed, I have been 
hunted like a dog, and whenever from mere 
I, I have defended a bad principle, or j 



achieved an infamous deed, I have been wor 
shiped as a demigod. Yes, it Is not for 
one's bad deeds that we are blamed ; it ia 
for the good, that condemnation falls upon 

He strode to the table, and filled a glass 
to the brim with blood-red Burgundy : " My 
beautiful Esther, your answer ! Which do 
you choose ? On the one hand want and 
persecution, on the other, position and 
'power, — yes, on the one hand the life of the 
hunted pariah ; on the other, sway of an ab- 
solute queen." 

He drained the glass, without removing it 
from his lips ; then advancing to the sofa, he 
took her hands within his own, and raised 
her gently to her feet, 

" Esther, it is time to make your choice," 
he said, bending the force of hisgaze upon that 
beautiful countenance : " which will you be ? 
Your brother's slave, bunted at every step, 
and even doomed to be the pariah of the 
social world, — or, will you be the ward of 
Gabriel Godlike, the beautiful heiress of his 
West Indian friend, the unrivaled queen of 
life at the capital." 

Esther felt his burning gaae, and said with 
downcast eyes, — her voice very low and 
faint — "And in return for this generous pro- 
Jon, what am I to give you ?" 
Can you ask, my child ?' he said, and 
ised her hand within his own. — "You 
will be my friend, my counselor, my com- 
panion." 
" Companion ?" 

." Wearied with the toils of state, the wear 

■d tear of the world, — in your presence, I 

will seek oblivion of the world and its cares. 

With you I will grow young again, and — 

who knows — but guided by you, I shall, 

lireo-score, learn to hope in man ? 

Tour heart ia fresh, your intellect clear and 

id : I shall often seek your counsel in 

affairs of state, for I have learned, that in nine 

1 out of ten, it is better to rely upon the 

timis of woman, than upon the careful 

of the shrewdest man. In a word, 

child, you will b« my companion, — my 

divinity" — * 

Divinity ?" 

Yes, — divinity! TradiHo» says that 
Lucretia Borgia was th» MoWMfrondrously ! 
beautiful .Woman of all Wage; ud ^- || 



/Google 



PROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



ISl 



yonder canvas does not flatter her, tradition 
does not lie. Now, 70U are living and more 
beautiful than Lucretia Borgia, without her 
crimes. Yes, more lovely than Lucretia, 
ftnd, — puvo as heaven's own light." 
" Pure aa heaven's own light ?" 
" You echo me, — and with a mocking 
smile. Woman ! yonr beauty maddens me ! 
I adore you !" Uis face was flushed with 
pasaion, — his deep-set eyes flamed with a 
fire that could not be mistalten, — his voice, at 
other times deep as an organ, was tremulous 
anil broken. First pressing her clasped 
hands i^ainst his broad chest, — which hi 
with emotion, — he nest girdled her waist 
with his sinewy arm, and despite her atrug- 
glee, drew her to hia bosom. " Gaze upon 
■ yonder portrait ! those eyes are wildly beau- 
tiful, bnt pale when compared with j 
Tliat form is cast in the mould of voluptu- 
ous loveliness, but yours, — yours, Esther, — 
yours—" 

Advancing toward the portrait, he pushed 
the hangings aside, — the doorway of an ad- 
joining apartment was revealed. 
"Come, Esther, by heavens you must be 

There was no mistaking the determination 
of that husky voice, the passion of that 
bloodshot eye. 

Now pale as death, now covered from the 
bosom to the brow with burning blushes, she 
struggled in his embrace, but in vain. He 
dragged her near and nearer to the threshold — 
on the threshold (which divided the Golden 
Boom from the next apartment, where all w'as 
daik as midnight) he paused, drew her strug- 
gling form to his breast, and stifled the cry 
which rose to her lips, with burning kisses. 

With a desperate effort she gbded from 
bis arms, and tiie next moment, — her hair 
unloosed on her bosom bared in the struggle, — 
confronted him with the poniard gleaming 
over her head. 

"Hoary villain!" she cried, dilating in 
every inch of herstature, until she seemed to 
rival his almost giant height, — "lay but a 
finger on me and you ihall pay for the out- 
rage with your life !" 

Her head thrown back, her bared bosom 
Hrelling lp4'7 in '!■« ''g^*- •»'"" dark hair 
.Wrtingin on»pci, wavy mass npon her neck 
and ihoHlden,— it was a noble picture. And 



her eyes, — you should have seen the flashing 
of her eyes ! As for the statesman, with 
one foot upon the threshold, be turned his 
face over his shoulder, thus exhibiting his 
massive features in profile, and gaaed upon 
her with a look which was somothing be- 
tween the sublime and the ridiculous ; a 
strange mixture of passion, wonder and 
chagrin. 

" Esther, " 

" No doubt yuu can induce husbands lo 
sell their wives to you ; " the eyes still 
flashed, and the poniard glittered overhead ; 
"no doubt, gray-haired fathers have sold tboir 
daughters to your embrace ; nay, even broth- 
ers, for a place, may have given their sisters 
to your lust ; bnt know," agjun that bitter '" 
word so bitterly said, — 'hoary villain!' — 
" know, hoary villain ! that Esther Royalton 
will not sell herself to you, even to purchase 
her brother's safety, bis life, much less her 
own ! For know, that while there is a taint 
upon my blood, that there is biood in my 
veins which never knew dishonor, the blood 

of , whose grandchild stands 

before you ! " 

As she named that name. Godlike repeated 
it from pure astonishment. 

"You a statesman! you a leader of the 

American people! Faugh! (Back! Lay 

r upon me aa you value your life !) 

May God help the Republic whose leaders 

play the farce of solemn statesmanship by 

daylight, and at. night seek (heir inspiration 

lie orgies of the brothel ! " 

But, Esther, yon mistake me ; do not 

( your voice, " his face flushed, bis 

eyef bloodshot, he advanced toward her. 

At the same instant she caught the pur- ■ 
pose of his eye, and with a blush of mingled 
and anger, for the first time be- 
ware that her bosom was bared to the 
light. 

(treated, — Glodlike advanced, — she, 

brandishing the dagger, — be, with his hands 

:tended, hia face mad with baffled passion. 

huB retreating, st«p by step before him, she 

reached the table, and cast a lightning glance 

toward the lamp. 

"You shall ba mine, I sweat it!" Ho 
darted forward. 

But while her right hand held the da^er \, 
aJoft, her left sought the lamp, and even w 



..ogle 



162 



IF THE TEMPLE. 



he nuhed foTward with the oath on his lips, 
the room was wrapt in utter darkneas. 

He was foiled. A mocking laugli, which 
resounded through the darkness, did not add 
to his composure. 

" Esther, Esther," he said, in a softer lone, 
endeavoring to smother his rage, " I will not 
harm you, I swear it." 

And with his hands extended he advanced 
in the thick gloom ; and Esther, with thi 
handle of her poniard, knocked thrice upon 
the ebony table. 

"Dearest Esther," — he advanced in the 
direction from whence the knocks proceeded, 
and came in contact with a form, — the form 
■iiT of a voluptuous woman, with a young bosom 
' warm with life, and young limbs mouldud 
in the flowing lines of the Medicean Vonua i 
No. Precisely the contrary. But he came 
in contact with a brawny form, which bound- 
ed against him, pinioning his arms to his 
side, at the same moment that another 
brawny form clasped him from behind, 
a moment, ere he had recovered the surprise 
eaused by this double and Hneipected em- 
brace, his arms were tied behind his back, a 
handkerchief was tightly hound across his 
mouth, and a second kerchief across bis eyes, 
he was lifted from his feet, and borne upon 
the shoulders of two muscular men. It was 
not dignified or statesmanlike, but, — histori- 
cal truth demands the record, — while in this 
position, the grave statesman kicked, deliber- 
ately and wickedly kicired. But ha kicked 

Presently he was placed upon his feet 
itgain, and seated in a chair whose oaken 
back reached above bis head, and whose 
oaken arms pressed against his sides. He 
could not see, hut he felt that light was 
shining on his face. 

So suddenly had bis capture been achieved, 
BO strange and complete was the transition 
from the putBuit of the beautifui Esther, to 
his present Mindfolded and helpless condi- 
iJon, that the statesman, for a few moments, | 
almost believed himself the victim of some | 



long pause ; and Godlike, on 
membered every dot^l which 
Harry Itoyalto had j d t his ean. 



this C 



f T Mil 



f U 11 rs — 



h — t 



la J dg- 



l tb lash, 






:> unpunished 
B to judge 
especial : 



power backed bj t 
its jurisdiction 
Justice' could t 
in the deep si! f ht 

ments executed as p 

idly the story of H y be 

accusation, the t 1 th j d r 
and the back ol th u 1 

stripes and blood 

The Court f T M II 

heard aga — aa y 

TO, is thus II 1 be 

backed by ten m II f d 11 

punish thos m wl 

from their very magnitude, g 
by other courts of justice. It e: 
and punish two classes of ci 

committed for the hve nf money, by 
.n who seeks to enjoy lahor's fruits, 
without sharing lahoi' s ivorko ; crimes com- 
mitted by the man who uses his weaW), or 
the acddentofhis social position, aa the means 
of oppressing his fellow-creature, even the 
poorest and the meanest. Tour mind is pto- 
d in analysis. Tou are able, at a glance, 
ace nearly all the wrongs which desolate 
ity, and mar the purposes of God in this 
d, to the classes of crimes which have 
named." 

liere was another long pause. Gabriel 
had time for thought. 

Gabriel Godlike 1 Detected in a gros* 
outr^e upon a woman whom you thought 
poor and friendless, — detected in using your 
wealth and your social position as the means 
of achieving that woman's dishonor, you are 
about to be put on trial before the Court 
of Ten Millions." 

Another pause. Gabriel began to recover 
his scattered senses. The bandage across 
is mouth concealed the sardonic smile 
hich flitted over his lips. 
"A sort of Vixhne ftncfc, — something 
grotesque and frightful dream. jfiom the dark ages''— 'li», ejaculated, men- 

Alt was silent around him, I tally. And yet he did dOt'<NI comfortabla. 

At length a voice was heard, hollow and , There was Harry Eoya! ton's beck; he had 
distinct in its every tone,— I seen il. " But fhty would not dare to flog \ 

" Gabriel Godlike, you are now about to be ' stateamw),— rae ! Gabriel Godlike !" 
put on trial before the Court of Ten Millions."! "Still you are at liberty to teftiss a tpal 



w 



FROM MIDNICJHT UNTIL DAWN. 



163 



befbrs this court," — the voice spoke sgali 
" but upon one condition. In a room not far 
removed from this, removed from hearing, 
and yet within a moment's call, are gathered 
at this moment a number of gentlemen, who 
have been summoned to thia house on vari- 
ous pretests ; gentlemen, you will remark, 
of all political parties, high in social posi- 
tion, and bearing the reputation of honorable 
minded and moral men. Your strongeat 
political friends, your bitterest political op. 
ponents are there." 

Gabriel began to listen with attention. 
"Now you may refuse to be tried before 
this court on one condition,— that you will 
be exposed to the gaze of thia party of gen- 
tlemen, in your present state, with your 
masquerade attire, and in presence of the 
woman whom, but a moment since, yt 
. threatened with a gross outrage." 

Gabriel listened with keener interest 
"If you doubt that this party of gentli 
men, consisting of — (he named a number of 
names familiar to Godlike's ear) — are within 
call, yout doubt can be solved in a moment," 
" It is an infernal trap," and Gabriel 
ground his teeth with aupprcased rage. 

" If you consent to ba tried by this court, 
be pleased to give a gesture of assent.' 

Gabriel revolved for a moment within 
himself, and then slowly nodded his head. 

The bandage was removed from his eyes, 
and the kerchief from his mouth. He slowly 
surveyed the scene in whicl(. much against 
his will, he found himaelf an actor. 

It was a spacious apartment, resembling 
the Golden Room, the walls were hung with 
blank velvet, fringed with gold, and dotted 
with golden tlowers ; the ceiling represented 
a gloomy sky, with the sun in the center, 
struggling among cloud*. It was the 
game to which he was about to conduct 
Esther when she escaped from his arms and 
3onf routed him with tbe poniard. 

But in [Jace of the voluptuous couch 
which had stood there, with silkeu pillows 
ind canopy white as snow, there was a large 
able covered with black cloth, and extend- 
ng across the room from nail to wall, and 
oehind the table a ru«ed platform, on which 
Itood an arm-chair, iMDeatb** canopy of dork 
relvet. A tighUcI candia in an inui candle- 
ttick, Itood m 4l)« centn of tha tabl^ and 



near it, a knotted rope, a book, an inkstand, 
and a sheet of white paper. 

The Judge of the court was seated in the 
arm-chair, under the shadow of the canopy. 
His face Godlike could not see, for he wore 
a hat whose ample brim concealed his fea- 
!, but his whl(« hair descended to the 
collar of his coat. He wore an old-fashioned 
of dark cloth, with manifold capw, 
about the shoulders. His head was bent, his 
hands clasped, his attitude that of profound 
quiet or profound thought. 

On his left, resting one hand on the arm 
of hia chair, was Esther ; her white dress in 
bold relief with the dark background. Her 
unbound hair increased the deathlike pallor 
of her face, and her eyes shono with all their 

And on the right of the judge stood a huge 
negro, whose giant frame was clad in a suit 
of sioek blue cloth, while his white cravat 
and his wool, also of snow-like whitenaas, 
increased the blackness of his visage. It 
was, of course, old Royal. He also rested 
one hand on an arm of the judge's chair. 

And on the right and left of Gabriel's 
chair, Etood a muscular man, whose feature* 
were hidden by a crape mask. 

The scene altogether was highly dramatic. 
The Borgian attire of Godlike by no means 
detracted from its dramatic effect. 

The silence of the place, — tbe gloom 

scarcely broken by the light of the solitary 

candle, — the contrast between this scene and 

hich he had been an actor but a 

previous, — all had their effect 

upon the mind of the statesman. 

A trap ! get out of it as I may. An in- 
fernal trap !" 

Without raising his head, or removing his 
;lasped hmiils from his breast, the judge 
spoke, in an even and distinct although bol- 

You may still refuse to be tried by tbis 
court. Consent to be esposed in your pres- 
t condition to the gentlemen whom I havo 
mad, (and who may be brought hither in 
instant), and the trial will not proceed." 
Tlie blood rushed to Gabriel's face, but be 
made no reply. 

Or, if you doubt that those gvntlemao 
near, it is not too late U ramoTa yotv 
doubla." 



,:eabyC00«^Ic 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



v 



The vei 


as l«g.n t. 


forehead. 




"Go on 


" he said, 



, Lalf-smotliered 

The judge ertended his hand and placed 
a pnichmenC in the hands of Esther. 

"Read the accusation," he said, and in a 
voice at first low and falnt^ but gradually 
growing stronger and deeper, Esther read, 
- while a death-like stillness prevailed; 

" Gabriel Godlike is accused of the follow- 
ing offenses against man, agdnst society, 
against God : — 

"As a man of genius, intrusted by the 
Almighty with the noblest, the most exalted 
powers, and bound to use those powers for 
the good of his race, he has, in the course of 
his whole life, prostituted those powers to 
the degradation and oppression of his race. 

" As a statesman, rivaling in intellect the 
three great names of the nineteenth centurj'. 
Clay, Calhoun and Webster, he has not, like 
these great men, been governed by a high 
aim, an earaest-soulod sincerity. His intel- 
lect approaches theirs in powers, but as a 
man, as a statesman, he has not exhibited 
their virtues. Wielding a vast inHuence, 
and bound to use that influence in securing 
to the masses such laws as will invest every 
man with the right to the full fruits of his 
labor, and the possession of a home, he has 
lent his influence, sold his intellect, mort- 
gaged his official position, to those who en- 
slave labor in workshop and factory, defraud 
it in banks, and rob the laborer — the free- 
man — of a piece of land which ho may call 
by the sacred title of boms. 

A 1 h ■ g p f d k w- 

1 d f th t h 1 1 es f tt 1 w nd 
tt kwld fthtgrt law 
f a d wh h p 1 m th t 11 m are 
b th «, bo d t ach th by t of 
ciprocal I d d t h has d his 

knowledge of written law to gloss over and 
Banctian the grossest wrongs; he has darkened 
and distorted the great laws of God to suit 
tay case of social tyranny, no matter how 
damning, how revolting, which he has been 
called upon to defend for hire. 

"As a citiien, bound to illustrate in his 
Hfe the purity of the christian, the integrity 
of the republican, be has never known the 
•ffections of a wife, or children, but hii pri' 



vate career has been one long catalogue of 
tho basest appetites, gratified at the expense 
of every tie of truth and honor. 

"In his long career, he has exhibited that 
saddest of ail spectacles ; — a lawyer, with no 
sense of right or wrong, higher than his fee; 
a statesman, regarding himself not as the 
representative of the people, but as the feed 
and purchased lawyer of a class ; a man of 
god-like intellect, without faith in God^ 
without !ove for his race." 

Esther concluded; her face was radiant, 
but her eyes dimmed with tears. 

" Gabriel Godlike, what say you to this 
accusation ?" exclaimed the judge. 

A sardonic smile agitated the lips of the 
statesman, but he made no reply in words. 
At the same time, despite his attempt to 
meet the accusation with a sneer, its words 
rung in his very soul, and especially the 
closing clause, " without faith in Qod, wiilwut 
love to his race." 

Gabriel's head sank slowly on. his breast, 
and his down-drawn brows Lid his eyes from 
the light. He was thinking of other years ; 
of the promise of his young manhood ; of the 
dark realities of his maturer years. The 
^e spoke again. 

Gabriel Godlike, you are silent. Tou 
have no reply. In your own soul and before 
Heaven, you know that every word of the 
accusation is true You cannot deny it. 
Your own soul and conscience convict you." 
) paused ; agam the mucking sneer 
crossed Gabriel's hps, but a orawd of emo- 
tions were busj at his heart. The judge 
praceedcd, in a measured tone Every word 
fell distinctly upon the statesman's unwilling 



Gabriel Godlike, you may smile at the 
I of being held accountable to God and 
I, for the USB which you have made of 
your talents In the last forty years, but thert 
come an hour when History will pase 
its judgment upon you ; there will come ar 
hour when God will demand of you the in^ 
tellect which he has intrusted to your carej 
That hour will come. Then, what will b<| i 
your answer to Almighty God 1" ' Lord I 
thou didst intrust me with superior intellect 
to be used for the good of my tavtber* ol 
the human family ; and after a life of tixtj 
yean, I ctui truly say, I have avrtt vno 



.,Gbdg e 



FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



166 



used that intellect for the elevation of man- 
kind, and have never once failed, when ap- 
petite or ambition tempted, to squander it in 
the basest iusfa.' What a record will thia 
be for history ; what an answer to be ren- 
dered to Almighty God ! 

" Gabriel Godlike ! Great men are placed 
upon earth, as the prophets and apostles of 
the poor. It is their vocation to speak the 
wrongs which the poor suffer, but are unable 
to tell ; it 19 their mission to Und the deepest 
thought which God has implanted in the 
breaat of the age, and to carry that thought 
into action, or die. What has been the 
thought struggling in the bosom of the last 
fifty years ? A thought vast as the provi- 
dence of God, which, whether called by the 
name of Social Progress, or Social Re-organi- 
zation, or by whatsoever name, still looks for- 
ward to the day when social misery will be 
annihilated; when the civilization will no 
longer show itself only in the awful contrast 
of the few, immersed in superlious wealth,— 
of the many, immersed in poverty, in crime, 
in despair ; a day, when in truth, the gospel 
of the New Testament will no longer be the 
hollow echo of the soundiHg-board above the 
pulpit, but an everj-d ay' verity, carried with 
deeds along all the w^ys of life, and mani- 
fested in the physical fcomfort as well as the 
moral elevation of all men. 

" Something like this has been the thought 
of the last fifty — yes, of the last hundred years. 
It was the secret heart of our own Eovolu- 
tion. It was the great truth, whose features 
yon may read even beneath the blood-red 
waves of the French Revolution. And in 
the nineteenth century thia thought has 
called into action legions of noble-hearted 
men, who have earnestly endeavored to 
carry it into action. It has bad its confessors, 
its saints, its martyrs. 

" Gabriel Godlike ! In the course of your 
long career, what have you done to aid the 
development of thiri thought ? Alas ! alas ! 
Look back upon your life ! In all your 
career, not one brave blow for man — your 
brother — not one, not one ! As a lawyer, the 
hired vassal of any wealthy villain, or class 
of villains; as a legislator, not a statesman, 
but always the paid special pleader of heart- 
leu monopoly and godless capital ; as a 
maB, jour iutelleot alwayi towsn among the 



stars, while your moral chariicter sinks be- 
neath the kennel's mud ! Such has been 
your life ; such is the use to which jou have 
bent your powers. Like the sublime egotist. 
Napoleon Bonaparte, you regarded the world 
as a world without a God, and mankind as 
the mere creatures of jour pleasure and your 
sport. If the poor wretch, who, driven mad 
by hunger, steals a loaf of bread, is branded 
as a cBiMisAi, and adjudged to darkness 
and chains, by what name, Gabriel Godlike, , 
shall we call j/ou f what judgment shall we 
pronounce upon your head ?" 

The judge arose, and with his face shaded 
from the light, and his white hair? falling \a 
his shoulders, lie extended his hand toward 

the CRIMINAL. 

There was a blush of aAonjeupon Gabriel'* 
downcast forehead ; shame, mingled witt 
suppressed rage. 

" Shall we adjudge you to the lash 1" and 
the judge looked first to Gabriel, then to the 
giant negro by his side. 

Godlike raised his head .; Esther shud- 
dered as she beheld his look. 

" Tile lash !" he echoed, — " No, by ! 

The man does not live who dares speak of 
such a thing." 

"I live, and I speak of it," responded the 
judge, calmly. "You forget that you are 
in my power ; and, as you are well aware, 
(it is a maxim upon which you have acted 
all your life,)'MioHT makes right.' And 
why should you shudder at the mention of 
the lash ? What is the torture, the disgrace 
of the lash, compared with the torture and 
disgrace which your deeds have infiicted 
upon thousands of jour fellow men ?" 

Godlike uttered a frightful oath. — " You 
will drive me mad !" and he ground his 
teeth in impotent rage. It was j, pitiful con- 
dition for a great statesman. 

"No, no ; the lash is too light a puftish- 
ment for a criminal of your magnitttde. 
Prisoner, stand up and hear the sentenca of 
the court !" 

Gabriel had a powerful will, but the will 
which spoke in the voice of that old man, 
his judge, was more powerful than his own. 
Reluctantly he arose to his feat, his broad 
chest panting and heaving beneath itatcailat 
attire. «' 

"Unbind his arms." Tbs masked attend- 



wGooi^jlc 



IM 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



*'. 



ants obeyed. Gabriel'a lisuds 
" Secure him, nt the first sign of i 
of disoljedience." 

The judge calmly proceeded— 

" Qfthriei Godlike, hear the sentence of the 
court. Toil will affix your own proper i 
nature to two documeni,', which will n 
be presented to you. After which you 

Gabriel could not repress an ejnculati 
The simplicity of the sentence struck him 
with Bstonishment. 

"Hand the prisoner the Rnt document, 
which he may read," said the judge. Pale 
and trembling, Esther advanced, and, passing 
l)l» table, placed a paper in tdk^ hands of 
like, which he read ; 

"New York, Dec 24tli, 1844. 
*" The undersigned, Gabriel Godlike, hereby 
acknowledges that ho was this day detected 
in the act of attempting a gross outrage upon 
the person of Esther Royaiton, whom he 
had inveigled to a house of improper report, 

No. — , street, New York : an outrage 

which, investigated before a court of law, 
would justly consign him to the Btate'a 

" Signed in presence o£ < 

No words can picture the rage which cor- 
nigated Qodlihe's visage as he perused this 
singular document. 

"No, I will not sign!" — be fixed his flaming 
eyes upon Esther'a pallid face — "not if you 
rend me into fragments." 

"Esther," said the judge, ciJmly, "call 
the gentlemen from l!ie neighboring aparU 
tnent. Tell them that the purpose for which 
I summoned them will be explained in this 
toonl." at 

Sother cast a glance upon Go duke's flushed 
viiage, and moved to tba door, — 

"SUyl I will — I will!" Shame and 
mortiScation choked his utterance. He ad- 
vanced to the table ahd signed bis Dame to 
&e paper. 

The judge Arew hia broad-brimmed hat 
deeper over bis brows, and advanced to the 
table. — Twill witness your signature," he 
quietly obserredl, and signed a name which. 
Qodlike would have given five years «f his 
lib talMt* read. 



" The second document Tests on the table 
before you. The writing is concealed by a 
sheet of paper. You will sign without 
reading iL There is the place for your sig- 
nature." And he pushed the concealed 
document across the table. 

"This is loo much, — it is infamous," said 
Godlike, between his teeth. "How do I 
know what I am signing ? I will not do it." 
He sank back doggedly in his chair ; the 
perspiration stood in thick beads upon his 

" Esther," (she lingered on the threshold, 
as the judge addressed her,) "tell Mr. God- 
like's friends that he will be glad to see 

Oh ! bitterij, in that moment, did the 
fallen statesman pay for the misdeeds of 
years ! As if ui^ed from his seat by an 
influence beyond his control, he rose and 
advanced to the table, his brow deformed by 
the big veins of helpless rage, his eyes blood- 
shot with suppressed fury, — he signed his 
uame. His hand, trembled like a leaf. 

"Now, now— -Mn I free 1" he cried, beat- 
ing the table with his clenched hand. 
" Have you ^one with me ?" He turned hia 
gaze from Esther, who stood trembling on 
the threshold, to the judge, who, with his 
shadowed face, stood calm and composed 
before him. 

" I will witness your signature," said the 
judge, and ag^n signed that name, which 
Godlike, even amid his wrath, endeavored, 
id in vain, to read. 

At the same instant he placed his hand . 
upon the candle, and all was darkness. In ; 
time than it takes to record it, Godlike 
seized, pinioned and blindfolded. 
You will betaken to your dressing-room, 
in which you will resume your usual attire, 
after which, without questioning or seeing 
jne, you will quietly leave this house. ■ 
ir the gentiemen whom I summoned U> 
this house to look upon your disgrace, I will 
manage to dismiss them, without mentioning 
your name." 

And the papers which jou have foTMd 

to sign ?" interrupted Oateiel. 

Do not speak of force. There was 

force save the compalsion of your e 

crimes. And I give yon Isir wsnilng tl 

those pspen whidi jou kw* f^nwl bW* fel 



,/Googli 



PROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



IBT 



darkness, jou wiU be aakeii to sign yut once 
again in broad daylight. Go, sir ; fur the 
present we liave done with you." 

And as ia thick darkness he was led from 
the hall, trembling with rage and shame, the 
voice of the judge ouce more broke on bis 
ears, but this time not addressed to him : 

"Pity, good Lord ! Pardon me, if I am 



£ the V 



eof e 



t prayer. 



CHAPTER IV. 



THE BBrOAL 

It was the bridal chamber. A strange 
hour, and a strange bridal ! 

In the luxurious apartment, where Nam 
less and Prank first met, a Holy Bible was 
placed wide opeij upon a table, or altar, co 
ered with a snow-white doth On eithe 
side of the book were jlatod wax candle 
shedding their clear light around the room 
upon the details of the plate and upon th 
gorgeous curtains of the mtmage bed 

Frank and Namelesa jojned hands be'iid 
that altar, before the opened Bible. Nev 
had Frank's magnetic beauty shone with 
such peculiar power. She was clad in black 
velvet, her dark hair gathered plainly aside 
from her brow, acd the white cross rose and 
fell with every throb of her bosom. Name- 
less wore the black tunic which, with bis 
dark brown hair, threw his features into 
strorg relief. The golden cross hung on his 
breast, over his heart. He was pale, aa if 
with intense thought, but his large, gray 
eyes met the gaze of Frank, as though his 
soul was riveted there. 

And thus they joined hands, near the 

The Rev. Dr. Bulgin stood a little in the 
backgrouud, his broad red face glowing in 
the light. Ilis cardinal's attire thrown aside, 
he appeared in sleek black, with the eternal 
white eravat about his neck. There was the 
flush of champ^ne upon the good doctor's 
fiorid face. 

Behind Nameless stood Colonel Tarleton, 
dressed as the hidalgo, his right band j{raap- 
ing a cdU of paper, raised to his mouth, and 
his eyes gazing fixedly from beneath hii 
down-draim broft^ It mu the iDomant of 



iaiib. 



U 



"Once married and the way is clear!" ha 
thought. "To think of it — after twenty- 
one years my hand grasps the prize!" 

" We will walk through life together," 
said Frank, pressing the hand of Namelera. 

" And devote our wealth to the elevatioD 
of the uTifortunate and the fallen 1" he tes- 
ponded, as a vision of future good gave new 
fire t« his eye. And then he pressed bis 
hand to his forehead, for his temples throb- 
bed. A vivid memory of every event of 
his past life started up suddenly before bis 
aoul, every event invested with the familial 
faces, the well-known voices of other days 
He raised his eyes to the face of Frank, and 
the singular infiuenee which seemed to in> 
est h Ik an atmosphere, again took poir 

SB n f h m It was not the infiuenee at 
piss n no the spell of her mere loiehneM, 
Ith ugh 1 person was voluptuously 
m Id d a d the deep redin the center of 
h h b n check, told the' story of a 

w n a d passionate nature ; but it was as 
th h h ry soul, embodied in her lus- 
t rcled and possessed his own. 

Was 1 1 in the common acceptation of 
the word ? Was it fascination ? Was it the 
result of sympathy between two lives, each 
of which had been made the sport of a dark 
and singular destiny ? 

" Had not we better go on ? " said Dr. Bul- 
gin, mildly, " Summoned to this house to 
celebrate these nuptials at this unusual hour, 
I feel somewhat fatigued with the duties of 
the day," and he winked at Tarleton. 

" Proceed," said Tarleton, pressing tha 
right hand, with the roll of paper to hia 

Ijr 

The marriage service was deliberately said 
in the rich, bold voice of the eloquent Dr. 
Bulgin. The responses were duly midB. 
The ring was placed upon the finger of th« 
bride, and the whits cross sparkled in th» 
light, as it rose with the swell of her proud 
bosom. 

"Husband," she whispered, u their lip* 
met, " I have been sacrificed to others, but I 
never loved but you, and I will loVe you till 
I die." And she spoke the truth. 

" Wife ! "~he called that sacred naoiB ia 
a low and softened voice, — "let the past !»' 
forgotten. Arisen from the gmvei of ma- 
pMt lives, it is out part to begin iifa ■oew.'*' 



wGoogle 



And bia tone was that of truth and entliu- 

" My son ! " — Tarleton started forward aud 

clasped Nameless by the hand, — "Gulian, 

my «on, let the past be forgotten, — forgirec, 

;»nd let us look only to the future! The 

. proudest aspiration of my life is fulfilled !" 

Kameless returned his grasp with a cordial 
pressure ; but at the same instant a singular 
Bensation crept like a chill through his blood. 
WaB the presence of the dead father near at 
the moment when his son joined hands with 
the false brother ? 

"Here, my boy," continued Tarleton, 
laughingly, as he spread forth upon the table 
tte roll of paper which he had held to his 
lip; "sign (his, and we will bid you good 
. ^ht. It's a mere matter of form, you 
know. Nay, Frank, you must not see itj 
you women know nothing of these matters 
of business." Motioning his daughter back, 
ha placed pen and ink before Nameless, and 
then qnietly arranged his dork whiskers and 
■moothed his black hair; and yet his hand 
trembled. 

Nameless took the pen, and bent over the 
table and read : — 

Decembbb 24, 1844. 
To Db. Maktim Fulmbb : — 

This day I transfer and assign to my wife, 
Froiices Van Huyden, all my right, title, and 
interest in the estate of my deceased father, 
Gulian Van Hvyden ; and hereby promise, on 
my word of honor, to /lold this transfer sacred 
»t all times, and to make it binding {if re- 
guested), by a docinnent drawn up according to 
the formt of law. 

Kameless dipped the pen in the ink, and 
was about to sign, when Frank suddenly 
drew the paper from beneath hla hand. She 
read it urith a kindling cheek and flashing eye. 

"For shame !" she cried, turning to her 
father, " for shame I " and was about to rend 
it in twain, when Kameless seized her wrist, 
And look the paper from her hand. 
. "Nay, Frank, I will sign," he eiclaimed, 
and put the pen to the paper. 

"0, father," whispered Prank, with a 
glance of bommg indignation, "this is too 
WHCh— " Het words were interrupted by 
tiu laddtan opemng of th« dtH>r. 



" Is there no way of escape, — none ? " — a 
voice was heard exclaiming these words, in 
tones of fright and madness, — "la there no 
way of escape from this abode of ruia and 

The pen dropped from the hand of Name- 
less. That voice congealed the blood in his 

Turning his head over his shoulders, he 
saw the speaker, — while the whole scene 
swam for a moment before his eyes, — saw 
that young countenance, now wild with af- 
fright, on which was imprinted the stainless 
beauty of a pure and virgin soul. 

" The grave has given up its deiid ! " he 
cried, and staggered toward the phantom 
which rose between him and the door; the 
phantom of a young and beautiful woman, 
clad in the faded gannenla of poverty and 
toil ; her unbound hair streaming wildly 
about her face, her eyes dilating with terror, 
her clasped hands strained against her imita- 
ted bosom. 

The grave has given up its dead," he 
cried. " Mary ! " 0, how that name awoke 
the memories of other days ! " Mary ! when 
last I saw thee, thou wert beside my coffin, 
while my sou! communed with thine." And 
again he called that sacred name. 

It was no phantom, hut a Uving and beau- 
tiful woman. She saw his face, — she uttered 
a cry, — she knew him. 

" Gulian ! " she cried, and spread forth 
hor arms. Not one thought that he had 
died and been buried, — she saw him living, — 
she knew him, — he was before' her, — that j 
was all. " Husband !" ' 

He rushed to her embrace, but even as his 
arms were outspread to clasp her form, he 
fell on his knees. His head rested against 
her form, his hands clasped her knees. The 
emotion of the moment had been too much 
for him ; he had fainted at her feet- 
She knelt beside him, and took his head 
to her bosom, and pressed her lips against 
his death-like forehead, and then her ioo^ 
cned hair hid his face from the light. She 
wept aloud. . . 

"Husband !" 

At this moment turn jour gaie to the; 
marriage aitar. Dr. Butgin is atill there,: ; 
gazing in dumb lurpriM, first upon the faca I ■ 
of Frank, then upon her father. It is Iiaid I j| ! ] 



,/Goog 



i 



PROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



to tell whicli looks most ghaatly and death, 
like. Tarleton loolts like a man who has 
been stricken by a thtmderbolL Frank rests 
one hand upon the marriage altar, and r 
the other to her forehead. For a moment 
death seems bus; at her heart. 

With a desperate effort, TarletoQ rallies 
his presence of mind. 

"Good evening, or, nither, good morning, 
doctor," he says, and then points to the door. 
The reverend gentleman takes the hint, and 
quietly fades from the room. 

At times like this, one moment of resolve 
is worth an age. Tarleton's face is colorless, 
b«t he sees, with an ominous light in his 
eyes, the way clear before him. He turns 
aside for a moment, to the cabinet yonder, 
and from a small drawer, takes a slender 
vial, filled with a colorless liquid ; then 
quietly glides to his daughter's side. 

"Frank!" — she raises her head, — their 
eyes meet. He holds the viabbefore her face — 
"your husband has fainted ; this will revive 
him." That singular smile discloses his 
white teeth. Frank reads his meaning at a 
glance. 0, the unspeakable agony, — the 
conflict 'between two widely different emo- 
tions, which writhes over her face 1 

"No, father, no ! It must not be," and 
she pushes the vial from her sight. 

His words, uttered rapidly, and in a whis- 
per, come through his set teeth, — " It must 
be, — the game cannot be lost now ; in twelve 
hours, you know, this vial will do its work, 
and have no tign ! " 

An expression which he cannot read, 
crosses her face. A moment of profound 
and harrowing thought, — a slance at the 
kneeling girl, who hides in her flowing hair, 
the face of her unconscious husband. 

"Bo it 90," Frank exclaims, "give me (he 
vial ; I will administer it." Taking the vial 
from her father's hand, she advances to the 
cabinet, and for a moment bends over the 
open drawer. « 

And the next instant she is kneeling be- 
side Nameless and the weeping girl. 

" Mary ! " whispers Frnnfe, and the young 
wife raises her face from her husband's fore- 
head, and they gaze in each other's face, — a 
contrast which you do not often behold. The 
face of Frank, darfc-husd nt other timeB, and 
red with passion on the cheek and lif^ but 



now, lividly pale, and only expressing the 
intensity of her organization in the lightning 
glance of the eyes, — the face of Mary, al- 
though touched by want and sorrow, bearing 
the look of a guileless, happy soul in every 
outline, and shining all the love of a pure 
woman's nature from the large, clear eyas. 
It was as though night and morning had 
met together. 

"Mary!" said Frank, — her hand trem- 
bling, but her purpose firm, — " your husband 
will die unless aid is rendered at once. Let 

Before Mary can frame a word in reply, 

she places the vial to the lips of Nameless, 

does not remove her hand until the last 

drop is emptied. Tarleton yonder watches 

scene, with his head drooping on hit 

breast, and his hand raised to his chin. 

" He will revive presently," Frank ei- 

lims with a smile. 

" God bless you, generous woman, " 

But Prank does not wait to receive hei 
thanks. 

Returning to her father's side, — " Come, 
let us leave them, now," she whispers ; "now 
lat your request is obeyed." 
"But he must not die in this house." 
" 0, you will have time, ample time to re- 
lovehim before the vial has done its work,"— 
bitter smile crosses her face, — "Leave them 
igether for an hour at least. Let them at 
least enjoy one hour of life, before his eyes 
e closed in death ; only one hour, father !" 
She takes her father by the hand, and ~ 
hurries him from the room, — let us not dar« 
to read the emotions now contending on her 
corpse-like face. From that room, which 
Kas to have been her bridal chamber,— the 
itarting-point of a new and happy life ! 

" I must now see after the other," Tarleton 
soliloqui7.es, as he crossed the threshold. 
'« one removed, (Jie other must be ready 

And Frank and her father leave the room. 
The chest of Nameless began to hoav*,— 
s eyes gradually unclosed. With^ vacant 
snce he surveyed the apartment 
" It is a dream," he said. 
But there were arms about hl8 neck, kisKi 
L his lips, a warm cheek Utd Tiext to hU , 
own. Certainly not the eUip, tlie kiss, oC 
the pressure of a drasta. 



wGoogle 



IW 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



''• "Not in a dreun, Carl," she eaid, calling, 
him by the nama which be had boma in 
other da^s. 

" Carl ? Who calls me Carl 7 " 

" Not in a draam, Carl, hut living and th- 
Blored to me." 

EvBD as he lay in her armi, his head rest- 
ing on her young boEoin, ha raised his ejei 
and beheld her face. ' 

"Maryl" 

"Thou art mj husband ! " 

" Thon art my wife ! " 

That moment was a full recompense for 
all they had suffered, yes, for a lifetime of 
suffering and anguish. Thej forgot every- 
thing, — the dark past,— the strange chance 
OT providenco which had brought them to- 
gether, — they only felt that they were living 
and in each other's arms. 

At sight of the pure, holy face of Mary, 
bU consciousness of the fascination which 
Frank had held over him, passed like the 
memory of a dream from tho soul of Name- 

"0, Mary, wife, thou art living, — God 'm 
good," he said, as she bent over him, bap- 
tizing his lips with kisses, and hja face with 
tears. " Do you remember that hour, when 
I lay in the cofSn, while you bent over me, 
and oar souls talked to each other, without 
the medium of words ; 'you have seen him 
for the, last time,' they said; 'not for the 
last time, — we will meet again was your 
reply.' And now we have matl Mary — 
■wife ! let us never accuse Providence agwn, 
for God is good !" 

Moment of joy too deep for words. 

Dtink every drop of the cup, now held to 
your lips, Carl Raphael ! For even, as tho 
arms of your young wife are about your 
naok, even as her young bosom throbs 
against your cheek, and you count the beat- 
ings of her heart, doath spreads his shadow 
over you. The poison is in yonr veins, — 
^DT young life is abont to wt in thia world 

CHAPTER Y. 

TBI SOARLKT CHAUaKR. 

HAynta %bco more resumed the attire of 
IjW 'Qib Tenth,' — scarlst robe, cap, with 
Bodding plumes and even with golden chain ; 



Dr. Bulgin was hurrying aloQg a dark pas- 
sage on his way to the Scarlet Chamber, where 
hisnephewawwtedhim. TbeScarletCbami- 
ber was at the end of the passage; as he drew 
near it, the Doctor's reflections grew mora 
pleasant and comfortable. It may be as well 
to make record, that after ho had left the 
Bridal Chamber, he had refreshed himself 
with a fresh bottle of cbampagnoi 

" Odd scene that in the room of Tarleton'a 
daughter ! Very dramatic, — wish I knew 
what it all meant. However my 'nephew ;' " 
a rich chuckle resounded from the depths of 
his chest — " ' my nephew' awaits me, and 
after another bottle in the Scarlet Chamber, 
must Bee !ier safely home. It is not aueh 
had world after all." 

Thus soliloquizing he arrived at the end 
of the passage, and his head was liud against 
the door of the Scarlet Chamber. 

Cozy place, — bottle of wine, — good com- 
pany—" 

Hush I" whispered a voice. 

That yon Julia ? What are you doing 

here in the dark ?" he wound his arms 
about his nephew's waist. " Waiting for 

"Do not, — do not," she gasped, strolling 
free herself from his arms, — "Do not 



Tush, child 
despite the stru] 









gathered his arm 
closer around her waist, pushed open the 
door and entered the Scarlet Room. 

A quiet little apartment, lighted by a 
hanging lamp, whose mild beams softened 
glare of the rich scarlet hangings. 
There was a sofa covered with red velvet, a 
which stood a bottle, with two 
long necked glasses, and from an interval in 
the hangings, gleamed tha vision of a snow- 
white couch. Altogether, a place worthy 
tha private devotions of Leo the Tenth, or 
of any gentleman of his exquisite taste, and 

What's the matter child ? You're pale, 
and have been crying, — " exclwmed Bulgin, 
bore her over the threshold, and 
paused for a moment to gaze upon her face, 
which waa bare to the lig^t, the cap b)ving 
fallen from her brow. As ha spoke bis 
bach was to the sofa. 

Thwe," wasOrt'onljr word wV«l> ihA 



CjOOglc 



FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



m 



had power to frame, and bursting iiito tears, 
she pointed over tis shoulders to the sofa. 

Somewhat surprised. Dr. Bulgiu turned ( 
hiB heel, the white plumea nodding ov 
his bulky face, and, 

There are some scenes which must be left 

Oo the sofa, sat throe grave gentlemen, 
elad In solemn bliick, their severe features, 
rendered even more stern and formal, by the 
relief of a white cravat. Bach of these 
gentlemen held his hat in one hand, and 
the other a cane, surmounted by a head of 
white bone. 

As Bulgin turned, the three gentle 
quietly rcse, and said politely, with 

"Good morning Dr. Bulgiu." 
And then as quietly Bat down again. 
The Doctor looked as though he had boon 
lost in a railroad collision. He was para- 
lyzed. Hchadnoteven the prosenceof mind, 
to release the grasp which gathered the 
Toung form of his lovely nephew (o his 

The exact position of affairs, at this crisis, 
will be better understood, when you are in- 
formed, that in these three gentlemen, the 
Rev. Dr. Bulgin recognized Mr. Watkins, Mr. 
Potls, and Mr. Bums, the leading members, 
perchance Deaoons of his wealthy congrega- 
tion. The one with the slight form, and 
short stiff gray, hair, — Watkina. Mr. Potfs, 
is a small man, with a bald head, and the 
slightest tendency in the world to corpu- 
lence. Mr. Bums is tall and lean, with an- 
gular features, and an immense nose. Alto- 
gether, as grave and respectable men as you 
will meet in a days walk, from Wall Street, 
to the head of Broadway. But what do 
they in the Tbmplr, at any time, but espe- 
cially at this unusual hour? 

That was precisely the question which 
troubled Bulgin. 

"W-e-l-l Gentle-m-e-n," he said, not 
exactly knowing what else to say. 

To which they all responded with a sin- 
gular unanimity,— "W-e-l-l D-o-cUo-r!" 

"Did not I,— did not I,— tell, — tall you 
not to come in hijfe ?" aohbed the nephew, — 
that is Juli^ 

Mr. WaninB aroM aDd pawed his htod 
throBgh his stiff gray ludr, — , 



"Allow me to compliment you upon the 
becoming character .of your costume !" and 
sat down i^ain. 

Then Mr. Potts, whose bald head shone 
in the light as he rose, — 

"And allow me to congratulate you upon 
the character of this house, and especially 
the elegant seclusion of this chamber." And 
Mr. Potls sat down. 

Mr. Bums' lean form next ascended, and 
his nose seemed to increase in size, a< he 
projected it in a low bow, — 

"And allow me, — " what a deep voice ! 
" to congratulate you upon the society of your 
companion, who becomes her male attire 
eiceedingly." And Mr. Burns gravely re- 
sumed his seaL 

"Uid— I~not— tell, tell—you,— n-o-t to 
come in," sobbed Julia, 

The Doclor'a face was partly hidden by 
his plumes, but that portion, of it which wa» 
visible, resembled nothing so much in color, 
as a boiled lobster. 

It now occurred to the Doctor, to releasa 
his grasp upon the waist of Julia. He left 
her to herself, and she 1^11 on her knees, 
burying her face in her hands. As for the 
Doctor himself, he slid slowly into a chair, 
never once removing his gaze, from the three 
gentlemen on the sofa. Thus confronting 
them in hia cardinal's attire, with the white 
plumes nodding over his forehead, beseemed, 
in the language of the chairman of a town 
meeting, "to bo waiting for this here meeting 
1 to business." 

was B pause, — s, panful and em- 
bamissing pause. 

The three sat like statues, only that Mr. 
Potts rubbed the end of his nose, with the 
fop of his cane. 

Why could not Dr. Bulgin, after the 

inner of the Genii in the Arabian Nighta, 

disappear through the floor, in a, cloud of 

t and puff of perfume 1 

Well, — gentlemen, — " said Bulgin 

last, for the dead silence began to drive j)i|B 

mad, and made him hear all sorts of n^iw^ 

rs, — "what are yoti doing in Ait 

plare, at this unxanal hour !" 

This was a pointed question, to whfeh 
Ur. Bums felt called upon to itjAf. H« 
and again the iiOM looiiMd Ififllr, M 
he bowed,— 



■.,.4 



wGooi^lc 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



"Precisely the queBtion which » 



about 



> ask jou," he said, and was aeated 



Mr. Potta took his turn : 



e have heard rumora," 
he said rising, "rumors concerning our pas- 
tor, of a painful nature. And Although we 
did not credit them, yet they troubled us. 
Last night, however, we each received a 
letter, from an unknown person, who in- 
formed UB, that in case we visited this house, 
between midnight and daybreak, we would 
discover our pastor, in company with the 
wife of an aged member of our church. As 
the letter inclosed the password, by which 
admittance is gained to this place, we took 
counsel upon the matter, and concluded to 
come. And,— " 

"And,—" interrupted WatkiBS, rising 
solemnly, and eitending the forefinger of his 
right hand, toward Bulgin, " and now tee see!" 

"And now we see !" echoed Mr. Watkins, 
absently shutting one eye, as 
Bulgin' s face. 

"We alt see," remarked Mr. Potta 
ing his seat, and then aa if to clinch the 
mattei^" and with our own eyes 

Bulgin never before fully appreciated the 
meaning of the word "embarrassed." 
wits had never failed him before; would 
they fail him now ? He made an effort— 

" Why, gentlemen, the truth is, I was sum 
moned to this house, on professional duty, — ' 

"Mr. Potts groaned ; they all groaned. 

" In that costume ? asked Potts. 

"And with madam there ?" asked Wat- 
kinfl. 

" Pro-fessi-o-n-a-l d-o-t-y!" thus Watkina 
in a hollow voice. 

■ Professional duty ' would not do ; avi- 
dently not. Foiled on this tack, the good 
Doctor tried another ; 

" The truth is," he begtm, with remarkable 
eomposure, — "I had been informed that 
Mm. Parkins here,—" ho pointed 
K>b1ni)g " nephew" otherwise 3a 
drww his chair nearer to the three, gradually 
BofWmng his voice into a confidential whis- 
per, — "Mrs. Parkins, the young wife of my 
i^ed fnend Parkins, had been »o far led 
fttraj fa^ the insinnatljig manDera of a young 
m^ n of (ashioD, aa to promise to meet him 



this improper place. Deaironi to save the 
wife of my aged friend at all hasards, I as- 
sumed this dress, — the one which her sedei- 
r was to wear, — and came to this place, 
id^ — rescued her. Do you understand ?" 
That "do you understand," was given in 
le of hia most insinuating whispers; "and 
thus you see I periled my reputation in 
order to save, — her '." ■ 

What effect this story would have had 

upon the three, had it been suffered to travel 

unquestioned, i>, is impossible to tell. But 

low and softly as the Doctor whispered, he 

overheard by his "nephew," otherwise. 

Don't lie. Doctor," she said quite tartly as 

she knelt on the floor. "I was not led away 

by any young man of fashion, and I did not 

here to meet any young man of fashion. 

■ led away by you, and I came here 

with you." 

Thus speaking, Julia roio from h t 1 nees 
and came to the Boctor's side th \a present- 
ing to the sight of the three gentlemen the 
figure of a -very handsome * om^n dressed 
in blue frock cost and tro *s r' She was 
somewhat tall, iuxurionslj proportioned 
with a fine bust and faultless iraib \\.r hiir 
chestnut brown, and her complos or i deh 
cate mingling of "strawbemes and cream. ' 
"A dem toine woman, the exquisite of 
Broadway would have called her. There 
was not so much of intellect in her face, as 
there was health, youth, passion. Mar- 
ried M> a man of her own age, and whom she 
loved, ^he doubtless would have risen above 
temptation, and always proved a faithful , 
wife, an affectionate mother. But sold by \ 
her parents, in the mockery of a marriage, to ■ 
old enough to be her father, — per- ■ 
chance her grandfather, — transferred at the ■ 
e of seventeen, like a bale of merchandise, 
the possession of one whom she could not ' 
vere as a father, or love as a husband, — * 
! behold her before us, the victim of the ■ 



reverend tempter. 

"You know. Doctor, that you led i 
away, you know you did," she cried, sob- 
bing, "now did you not?" She bent 
down her head and looked into his face. 
"You can't say you didn't. No more 
MB't," and she turned In mate appeal to 
three gentlemen. 



H0B:9db,l^nOO'^IC 



FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWS. 



ITS 



"Evidently not," esclaimod Mr. Potts, 
who in his younger days had beeci somewhat 
wild, "that cock won't fight 1" lie continued, 
using a figure of speech, derived from the 
experience of said younger days. 

Aa for the Doctor, he menially wished 
the heautiful Mrs. Julia Parkins in Kams- 
chatka. 

"Never have an affair with a fool again, 
aa long as I live !" he muttered. 

"And while you soothed my poor old 
husband, on that doctrinal point; you, — you," 
sobbed Jniia, " told me how handsome I was, 
and what a shame it was for me, to be jailed 
up vi'itix an old man like that. Yea, yon 
said Jailed. And how it was no harm for 
me to love yon, and that it was no harm for 
yon to love me. And I heard you preach, and 
you came to the house, day after day, and, — " 
poor Julia could not go on for sobbing. 
The three gentlemen groaned. 
As for Dr. Bulgin, he calmly rose from his 
seat, and taking the corkscrewfrom the tray 
on the table, proceeded quietly to draw the 
cork of a bottle of ohamp^ne. This accom- 
plished, he filled a long necked glass to the 
brim with foaming Heidsick. 

"Jig's np, gentlemen," he said, bowing to 
the three, as he tossed off the glass, and re- 
garded them with a smile of matchless im- 
pudence, — "Jig's np!" 

"What does he mean by 'jig's up?'" 
asked Mr. Burns of Mr. Potts, in a very 
hollow voice. 

"He means," returned Bulgin himself. 
Straightening up, and rubbing his broad chest 
with hia fat hand, ",lhat the jig is np. 
You've found me ouL There's no use of 
lying about it. And now that you have 
found me out, — " he paused, filled another 
glass, and contemplated the three, over its 
^brim, — "allow me to ask, what do you intend 

He took a sip from the glass. The three 
were thunderstruck. 

" Cool !" eiclaimed Mr. Potts, punching 
the toe of his boot with his cane. 

" Yon cant expose me,'' continued Bulgin, 
aa he took another sip: " that would create 
tcandal, you know, and hurt the church more 
than it would me." 

The rich impudence of the Doctor's look, 
lyould " have made a cat laugh." 



"We wilt expose yon 1" cried Watkina, 
hollowly, with an emphatic nodding of his * 
nose, " The troth demands it. As long aa 
you Me suffered to prowl about in this way, 
no man's wife, sister, or daughter is safe." 

" No man's wife, sister, or daughter is 
safe !" echoed Mr. Potts. 

"Did I ever tempt yoar wife, Burns?" 
coolly asked Bulgin, — Burns winced, for hia 
wife was remarkably plain. 

" Or your sister, Potts ?" Potts colored to 
the eyes ; hia sister was a miracle of plaiu- 

Or j'our dai^hter, Watkins ?" Watkine 
felt the thrust, for his daughter was as plain 
i Burns' wife and Potts' sister comWned, 

"Be assured I never will," continiud 

lulgin — " now, what do you intend to do ? 

Ixpose me and ruin this poor creature here?" 

Don't call me a poor creature, you hrnta !" 

indignantly interrupted Julia. " Publish me 

Che papers, dismiss me from the church, giro 

y name to be a by-word in the mouths of 

scoffers and infidels ? Gravely, gentlemen, 

that what you mean to do ? Let us reflect 

little. You pay me a good salary; I preach 

iu good sermons. Granted. My practice 

may be a little loose, but, is not my doctrine 

orthodox ? Where can you get a preacher 

who will draw larger crowds ? And is it 

worth your while, merely on account of a 

little weakness like this," — he pointed to 

Julia, — " to disgrace me and the church , 

The Doctor saw by their faces, that he 
had made an impression. They conversed 
together in low tones, and with much eam- 
3s. Meanwhile, Julia sobbed and Bul- 
gin took another glass of champagne. 

Will you solemnly promise," — Bnma 
knocked his cane on the floor, and emphasis- 
ed each word, " to be more careful of your 
conduct in the future, in case we overlook 
the present offense ?" 

" Cordially, gentlemen,- and upon my 
honor !" cried Bulgin, rising from his seat, 
I will take Julia quiftly home, viA. to- 
lorrow commence life anew. I give yon 
ly hand upon it." 
He advanced, and shook them by the 

If you keep your wotd, thia will nit 
me," said Bunii, with gloomy ootdiaUty. 



,/Googlc 



trt 



IN THE TBMPLE. 



"And me," echoed Watkins. 
' "And me," responded Potts. 
"But it will not suit me !" cried a strange 
Toioe, whicli started the whole company to 
their feet The voice came from behind the 
hangings which concealed the bed. It was 
a firm voice, and deep aa a well. 

" It will not suit me, I say," and from the 
hangingB the unknown Bpeaket emerged with 
a measured stride. 

He wa3 a tall nan, lomewhat Ijent 
■honldera, and wore a long doak, of ■■ 
tique fashion, wliich was fastened to his necfe 
iy a golden clasp. His white hairs 
covered by an old-fashioned fur- cap 
eyes hidden by large green glasses, and the 
(dtred collar of his cloak, concealed the 
lower part of his face. An aged man 
dently, ai might be seen by bis snow-' 
hair, and the wrinkles on the exposed 
tion of his face, but his step was strong 
measured, and his voicd firm and clear. 
"And who are you f " cried Bi 
recovering from his surprise. His remark 
was chorused by the others, 

" A pew-holder in your church," emphati- 
cally ex cl aimed the cloaked individual. 
" Let that anfflce you. "Gentlemen," — I 
mg his back on Bulgin, he lifted his cap and 
exposed his forehead to the three gentle- 
men, — " you know me 1" 

With one impulse, they pronounced a 
same ; and it waa plainly to be seen that 
they respected that name, and its owner. 

" This compromise does not suit me," said 
the cloaked gentleman, turning abruptly to 
Bulgin. " You are a villain, sir. It is men 
like you who bring the Gospel of Christ Into 
contempt. You are an atheist, sir. It is 
men like you who fill the world with infi- 
dels. I have borne with you long enough. 
1 wilt bear with you no longer. You shall 
be exposed, sir." 

This style of attack, as impetuous as a 
charge of bayonets, evidently startled the 
good Doctor. 

" Who are you f" he asked, sneeringly. 
"I ain the man who wiote the letters to 
thMe three gentlemen, yesterday," dryly 
Fnapondad the cloaked gentleman. 

" This is a conspiracy," growled Bulgin. 
"TakecaMiSirl There is a law for con- 
.t^ttton against character and reputation — " 



" Bangh !" responded the old gentleman, 
shrugging his shoulders ; and then ha beck- 
oned with his band, toward the recess in 
which stood the bed. "Come in," he said. 

Two persons emerged from the recess ; 
one, an old man, of portly form, and mild, 
good-humored face— now, alas ! dark and 
corrugated with suppressed wrath ; the other, 
a slender woman, with pale face, and large, 
intellectual eyes, — and a baby, sleeping on 
her bosom. 

Bulgin uttered an oath. 

" My wife ! — her father \" waa all he could 

" I have summoned you from your home 
1 the country," said the cloaked gentleman, 
to meet me at this house at this unusual 
our, to show you the husband and son-in- 
iw in his festival attire, and in company 
with his paramour. — Look at him ! Isn't he 
beautiful 1" 

The wife rushed forward, with an indig- 

"Let rae see the woman who has stolen ' 
y husband's affections," she said. 
The cloaked gentleman interposed be- 
i-een her and Julia, — 
" Softly, my good lady ; this poor child 
must not be disgraced;" and, turning to 
whispered : " Hide your face with 
your 'kerchief, and hurry from the room. 
There is a carriage at the door ; it will hear 
youhome. Away now !" 

The nephew" did not need a second 
Hands over her face, she glided 
from the room. 

Bulgin now found himself in this posi- 

m : — behind him, Watkins, Burns and 

Potts ; on his right, the cloaked gentleman ; 

his left, his weeping wife, with her baby; 

front, the burly form of his father-in-law, 

10, clad in the easy costume of a country 

gentleman, seemed too full of wrath to trust 

himself with words. 

husband, how could you — " began 
the wife. 

"Is that your wife, sir?" thundered tha 
ther-in-law. " Answer me ! Is that your 

"It is," answered Bulgin, retreating a step. 
Allow me to eiplain, — " 
"Is that your child, sir ?" thunduted the 



.,Goog 



FROM MroNIQHT TJNTH, DAWN. 



enraged old gentieman. "Answer me! Is 
that your child ?" 

"It — is — " and Bulgin retreated another 

" Then, what in the devil do you do in a 
place like this ? — Hey ? — Answer me ! — a 

The fathor-in-law was too much enrag d 
to Bay any more. So he proceeded to set 1 
the affair in his own way. He did n t 
threaten " divorce ;" — did not even menti n 
"separate maintenance." Nothing of th 
kind. His course was altogether different 
From beneath his capacious buff waiatco t 
he drew forth a cow-hide — a veritable coi 
hide, — and grasped it firmly. 

"Don't strite a man of my cloth," cried 
Bulgin, 

The only answer was a blow across the 
face, which left its livid mark on the nose 
and cheeks. The good Doctor bawled and 
ran. The father-in-law pursued, giving the 
cow-hide free play over the head and ahoul 
dera of the Doctor. And the wife, with 
baby on her bosom, pursued het father, — 
"Don't, father, don't!" Thus, the chase 
led round the room ; the howls of the Doc- 
tor, the blows of the whip, the falling of 
chairs, and trampling of feet, forming, alto- 
gether, a striking chorus. And to add the 
feather to the camel's back, the baby lifted 
up its voice in the midst of the scene. Mr. 
Potts, Mr. Bums, and Mr. Walking, mounted 
on the sofa, so that they might not ho in the 

Aa for the cloaked gentleman, leaning 
Bgiunst the door, he laughed, — yes, perhaps 
for the first time in thirty yeara. 

After making the circuitof the room three 
or four times, the scarlet attire of the Rev. 
Dr. Bulgin hung in rags upon his back ; and 
the old man, red in the face, bathed in per- 
spiration, and out of breath, sank panting in 

He glanced at hisdaughter, who sat weep- 
ing in a comer, and then at the Rev. Doctor, 
who, with the figure of the letter X wolted 
across his face, was rubbiog his bruises in 

" Now, sir, if ever I catch you at nDJlhing 
of this kind, if I don't lick yon, mjr name 
aiot JenkioB !" 



CHAPTER VL 

BANK-STOCK AT THE BAB. 

The Conrtof Ten Millions was once mors 
n se Th J d was m h » 

t h f m I p d th t th 

ny p 1 ft hdwdbyth 

h t w th mpl b m B t th be t f 1 
Eath as 1 g n h 1 f t the 

<^ t h ght Th gr t t t 

th th mb b w d mi&q rad 



tt f R d k B gi 1 

tl t f t! ) Th u, 

It g Ih 1 g d I h h th dl n 

th t bl 1 11 h d ts be m ar d that 
m h se b) k hang g w f d 
with gold, and whose „loon ce lin^ repre- 
sented a stormy sky * th the s n strugglmg 
among its clouds itt 

In the seat of the cr n nal sat Israel 
York e, the financier, his dimmutive form, 
clad m the scarlet Turkish jacket and blue 
trowscrs contristing somewhat odd!) with 
his buaincsa like face and with the general 
appearance of the scene Israel was per- 
ple\ed, for he shifted uneiiiU m the chau: 
and cla'iped its arms with hia hands, while 
his terrot-like eyes, now peering above, now 
below, but never through the glasses of his 
spectacles, roved incessantly from side to 
side. There sat the silent judge, under the 
gloomy canopy, his head bowed on his 
breast. There was the black table, on which 
itood the solitary candle, and over which 
ivere scattered, an inkstand, pen and paper, 
I book, and sundry other volumes, looking 
very much like ledger and day-book. On 
side of the table, ranged against the 
, were sii sturdy fellows, attired in 
ie garments, with crape over their faces; 
and each man held a club in his brawny 
hand. Aid on the opposite side, also ranged 
against the wall like statues, were sii more 
iturdy fellows, each one grasping a club with 
his strong right arm. They were dumb «■ 
stone ; only their hard breathing coul4 .b> 
beard { — evidently men of toil, who, oO^nptft 

on, in a good cause, can strike B blow.ihlt 

ill be fell. -.r 

Israel did not like this scene. A few- 
moments since, kneeling beside a beautiful 
^rl, whose young lAvelinesa was helpless 
n his power; — and tiow, ft prisoiiet in 






wGooi^Tc 



176 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



this ni^tmare sort of place, with the jiidgi 
Dsfore him, and six sturdy fellows on elthe: 
hand, wMting to do the judge's bidding 
The contrast was too violent. Israel thought 
so ; and — Israel felt anything hut comfort- 

" Do they mean to murder mo in this dis- 
mal den?" he ejaculated to himself. " Really, 
this way of doing business is exceedingly 
unbusin ess- like. What would they Bay in 
Wall street to a scene like this ?" 

Here the voice of the judge was heard 
through the dead stillness ; 

" Israel Yorke, you are about to he put on 
trial for your crimes." 

'■My crimes?" ejaculated the httla man, 
bounding from his seat. " Crimes ! — What 
crimes have I committed t" 

Theri^ntspoke the sense of injured inno- 
cence ! To be sure— H-hat crimes had he 
committed ? Had he ever stabbed a man, or 
put another man's name to paper, or stolen a 
loaf of bread? No, — indignantly — No! 
Israel Yorke was above all that. But how 
many robbers had he made, in the course of 
his career, by his banking speculations? how 
many forgers? how many murderers? how 
many honest men had he flung into the 
felon's cell? how many pure women had he 
transformed into walkers of the public 
Streets? Ahl these are questions which 
Israel Yorke had rather not answer. 

"Yes, your crimes, committed thmugh a 
loDg course f ears not th the brave y 
and holdnest of the h „h y robber but 
w th the CO ad ce and lo u n „ of tl e 
flneak and ev, ndler who r bs th n the 
letter of the law C mes comm tted not 
upon the vealtl } and the strong but upon 
the weak the poor the helpless — the widow, 
by her fireless hetrth — the orphan bj his 
father's grave Oh sir — weha*e<|u3t tried 
a bold bad man a colossal cnminal who e 
very errors wear something ol the gloomy 
grandeur of the thunder cloud To put you 
on trial after him is like Jpavmg the 
presence of Sitan his forehead ^et bearing 
some traces of former splei dor to find oi la- 
self confronted bt Mammon that most 
abased of ■ill the damned Yes air — an 
apoligj IS due to human natnre by this 
court, for stooping so low as to put y u on 
fOai trial. And yet, even you derive some 



sort of consequence from the vast field of 
your crimes, — the wide-spread and infernal 
results of your lite-long labors." 

Israel crouched in his chair, as though he 
expected the ceiling to fall on him, "What 
d'ye mean by crimes ?" he cried, grasping 
the arms of the chair with both hands ; — 
" and w hat right have you (o try me 1" 

The judge briefly but pointedly, and in a 
clear voice, which penetrated every nook of 
the chamber, esplwned the peculiar features 
of the court. Its power, backed by ten mil- 
lions of silver dollars ; its jurisdiction, over 
crimes committed by those who seek the 
fruits of labor, without its work, or who use 
the accident of wealth and social position to 
oppressor degrade man — their brother; its 
stern application to criminals, who, clad in 
wealth, had trampled all justice under foot 
of their own terse motto, " Mioht MAKKa 

BIQHT." 

The explanation of the judge nas brief, 
but impressive. Israel began to feel convic- 
steal into hia souk " Might makes right !" 
Oh, how like the last nail in the coffin, 
those simple words, to a wealthy scoun- 
drel, who suddenly finds himself helpless in 
the grasp of a mightier power ! 

'){ — what — am — I — accused !" faltered 
Israel ; thus recognising the jurisdiction of 
the court. 



The i 






Of every crime that can be committed 
by the man, who makes it hia sola object in 
o coin money out of the life and blood 
of the helpless and the poor ; — and who 
pursues this object steadily, by day and 
light, for twenty years, with tbe untiring 
scent of the bloodhound on the track of 
blood. Survey your life for the last twenty 
years. You have appeared in various char- 
acters : as the trustee, as the executor, as the 
speculator, the landlord, and the financier. 

He paused. Israel found himself liaten- 
g with intense interest. 

" As the trustee, to whom dying men, with 
their last breath, intrusted the heritage of 
the orphan, you have in every case, plun- 
dered the orphan out of bread, out of edu- 
cation, and cast him ignorant and helpless 
upon the world. How many orphans, givoB 
into your charge, with their heritage, »0w 
rot in the grave, or in the felon's dungemf 



./Goctgl 



J! 



FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



177 



Your history is written in their blood. Do 
yon, — " tlie voice of tlie judge sank low, 
" do you remenibor one orphan, whom, when 
a little child, her father gave to jour 
and whom, when grown to young woi 
hood, you robbed of her heritago ? Do you 
remember the day on which she died, the 
tenant of a brothel ?" 

Once more the judge was silent, but Israel 
had no word of reply. As for the twelve 
listeners, they manifested their attention by 



" As the landlord, it has not been your 
object to provide the poor with coinfortiibli 
homes, in exchange for their hard-earned 
rent-money, hut to pack as many human be- 
ings as you might, within the smallest com- 
pass of brick and mortar, — to herd creatures 
made in the image of the living God, in nar- 
row rooms, dark courts, and pestilential al- 
leya, as never beasts were herded, — and thus 
you have sowed death, you have bred the 
fever, the small-pox, the cholera, — but you 
have made monei/." 

Seated in the shadow of the velvet canopy, 
from which his voice resounded, the judge 
again was silent. Israel, dropping his eyes, 
imitated the silence of the judge. The 
murmur of the twelve listeners was now 
accompanied by the sound of their clubs 
grating against the floor. 

"It is as a banker, however, that your ap- 
petite for money, made out of human blood, 
takes its intensest form of baseness. You 
started with a Savings Fund, chartered by 
a well-p£ud legislature, who transformed you 
into a president and board of direcWts, and 
divesting you of all responsibility, as a man, 
authorized you to coin money out of the 
blind confidence of the poor. Hard-work- 
ing men, servant-girls, needle-women, and 
others of the poor, who gain their pittance 
by labor that never knows rest, until it sleeps 
in the grave, deposited that pittance in your 
hands. A pittance, mark you, not bo re- 
marltahle for its amount, as for the fact, that 
it might, in some future hour, become bread 
to the starving, warmth to the freesing, home 
to the homeless. And how did you deal 
with the sacred tnist ? The earnings of the 
poor filled the coffers of your Savings Fund, 
until they counted over a hundred thousand 
dollars, and then, on the eve of a dreary, 



winter, the Savings Fund failed. That WM 
al!. Yoa did not fail; oh, no ; but the Sa- ' 
vings Fnnd Corporation (into which a pliant 
legislature had transformed you), — it failed. 
And while jou pocketed the hundred thou- 
sand dollars, you left the poor, who had 
trusted you, to starve, or beg, or die, as 
pleased them." 

Israel shaded his eyes with his hands ; he 
seemed buried in profound thought. 

" This was the corner-stone of your for- 
tunes. Then the Savings Fund swindler 
grew into the banker. There were legisla- 
tures at Albany, at Trenton and at Harris- 
burgh, eager to do your bidding, — hungry tc 
be bought. For every dollar of real value 
in your coffers, these legislatures, by their 
charters, gave you the privilege to create at 
least jifty paper dollars ; in otheMvords, to 
demand from the toiling people of the land, 
some millions of dollars' wortli of their labor, 
without any equivalent Your hanks grew ; 
there were sham presidents and boajda of 
directors, but you were the actual owner of 
them all ; your paper was scattered broad- 
cast over the land. It was in the hands of 
fanners and mechanics, of poor men and 
poor women, who had taken it in pay for 
hard labor ; and all at once your banks failed. 
What became of the poor wretches who took 
your paper, is not known, but as for you, 
your capital of a hundred thousand now 
■elled into two millions of dollars. Let the 
poor ho 1 Hal jo not a press in your 
? Why should not the press be pur- 
chased when le„ slatnres are to be bought aa 

much merchand se ' 

The judge [au'ed and after a moment 
resumed — 

There was a clamor for a while, but you 
laughed in your sleeve, bought houses and 
lands, — dotted the city with pestilential dens, 

which you crowded the poor, like insects 

afesteringcarcass,--and after a time, raised 
your head once more as a banker. It was 
Harrisburgh, Albany or Trenton this time, — 
of the three, or all of them, — which 
you the right to steal by law, Tou 
now the omier (and behind th« wenes, 
*ire-puller), of three banks. Last night 
you thought 'the pear ripe.' Your note* 
were once more scattered broadcast over the 
land. 'It isagood time tofail,' you4,hoa^|^ .' 



,/GoO-,; 



178 



I THE TBKTftft' 



UlfV04aet night, in the railroad cars (in order 
to gi«e soolur to your failure) you pretended 
to be robbed of seventy-one thousand dollars, 

" Pretended to be robbed ? I tell you I 
was robbed," cried Israel, half-rising from 
his seat, — " robbed by an old convict and his 
young accomplice." 

"And this moniing, in due course, your 
three banks stopped paymeriL All day long 
your victims lined the street, in front of your 
den of plunder; and to-night found yon in 
this place, seeking for a time, the gratifica- 
tion of one lust in place of another. And 
now you are in the hands of those who, 
having 'the might,' will do with you as 
your crimes deserve, 'Might makes right,' 
you know. " 

"Butwhereiathe proof of ail this? Whore 
are my aHusers ? " Israel's teeth chattered 
as be Bpoke. 

"Do you ask for accusers? What accusers 
SM needed more powerful than those 
which now, — and even your seared 
most hear them, — arise against you from the 
Bilenoe of the grave and the darkness of thi 
dungeon cell ?" 

Israel tried bard to brace his norvei 
against the force of words like these,— 
against the t«ne in which they were spoke,— 
but he shook from head to foot, as though he 
had been seized with an ague-fit. 

" Tiink for a moment of Cornelius Ber- 
men, whom, by the grossest fraud, yoii strip- 
ped ot property and home, leaving himself 
and his only child to sink heart-broken into 
the grave. And once you called yourself 
hh/riend. Think, also, of your instrument, 
Buggies, whoso persecution of the artist, in- 
stigated by you, provoked a brave and hon- 
est youth into murder, and consigned him to 
the felon's death ! Do you ask for accusers ?" 
"Cornelias Beiroen ! " faltered Israe!, as 
if thinking aloud. 

"Do you ask for proofs ? Behold them 
on the table before you.* For years your course 
has been tracked, your crimes counted, and 
tho hour of your punishment fixed. And 
the hour has come ! On the table before 
you are proofs of all your crimes, proofe that 
would weigh you down in a convict's chwns 
before any court of law. Tbe» are the se- 
crets which yoa thought safely locked up in 
ymtr fiie-proo( or buried in the forgottoo 



past, — secrets connected with the history of 
long years, with your transactions in Harris- 
faurgh, Trenton, Albany, — with all your 
schemes from the very dawning of your in- 
famous career." 

"Can Fetch, the villain, have betrayed 
mo ?" and Israel sank back helplessly in 
the huge arm-chair; — "or, is this man only 
trying to bully me into some confession or 

Israel Torke ! the devotion with which 
you, for long years, have pursued your ob- 
ject, — to coin money out of human blood, — 
has only been exceeded by the devotion of 
those who have followed you at every step 
of the way, and for years, singled you out as 
victim of avenging justice." 
But what do you intend to do with me ?" 
cried Yorke, nowfihivering from head to foot 
with terror. 

"In the first place, you will sign a paper, 
stating the truth, viz : that you have ample 
means to redeem every dollar of your notes, 
and that you will redeem them to-day, and 
heuceforth at yourofEcc." 

" But I have not the funds," Israel began, 
but he was sternly interrupted by the judge ; 
" It is false ! you have the funds. Independ- 
ent of the seventy-one thousand dollars, of 
which you say you were robbed, you can, at 
any moment, command a million dollars. 
The proofs are on the table before you. You 
must redeem your notes." 

"And suppose I cjnsent to sign such a 
paper ?" hesitated the Financier. 

you must sign another paper, the 
contents of which you will not know until 
future time," continued the judge, veiy 
quietly. 

" If I do it, may I be ! " screamed 

Israel, bouncing from his seat. 

veil. You may go," calmly re- 
marked the judge. "You are free; thesa 
gentlemen will see you from this house, and 
attend you until bank hours, when they will 
have the honor of presenting you to the 
holders of your notes, who will, doubtlesB, 
gather in respectable number* in front of 
your banking house." 

Israel was free, but the twelve gentlemeD, 
tb clubs, gathered round him, anxioua t« 
nort him safely on his way, 
" Come, my dear little Turk, ve aw leadj," 



,/GoogTC 



PROM MIDNIGHT TTNTIL DAWN. 



179 



said one of the number, with a very gruff 
voice, laying a hand, — it was such a. hard 
hand,^-on tlie sbouldera of the Financier, 
" We're a-dyin' to go witli you ; ain't we, 

'' Dyin' ain't the word, — we're Btarvin' to 
death to be alone with the geiitlenian in blue 
trowsers," responded another. 
Israel bit his Y\ps m silent rage, 
" Give me the papers," he said, in a sullen 
voice, and following a sign from the finger 
of the judge, he advanced to the table, and 
beheld the documents, the first of which 

It was an important ducumont, containing 
a brief statement of all Israel's finincial af 
fairs, — evidently prepared by one Kho knew 
al! about him — together with his solemn 
promise to redeem everj one of hiB notes, 
dollar for dollar. 

"Could Fetch have betrayed me ?" — Is- 
rael hissed the words between his set teeth, 
as he took up the pen. — " If I thought so, 
I'd out his throat." 

He signed, shook his gold spectacles, and 
uttered a deep sigh. 

" Now, the other paper," s^d the judge, 
"ila contents are concealed by another sheet, 
hut there is room for your signature." 

Israel's little eyes shone wickedly as ho 
gazed upon the sheet of paper, which hid 
the mysterious document. He chewed the 
handle of his pen between his teeth, — stood 
for a moment in groat perplexity, and then 
signed at the bottom of the sheet, the mu- 
sical name of "Israij, Yobke," and then 
fell back in the chair wiping the sweat from 
his forehead with the sleeve of his Turkish 

" Anything more ?" he gasped. 

"You are free," said the judge; "you 
may now change your dresa, and leave this 
bouse." 

Israel bounced from his seat. 

"Yet, hold a single momenL One of these 
gentlemen will accompany you wherever yon 
go; eat, drink, walk, sit, sleep with you, and 
be introduced by you to all your financial 
friends, as your moneyed friend from the 
country, " 

" Why, you niuat be the devil incamatfl," 
lereamed Israli, and he beat his olvnched 
hand igainat the arm of the chair. 



"It will be the business of your attenclant 
to accompany you to your banking house, 
and see that you commence the redemption 
of your notes at nine o'clock this morning. 
He will report all your movements to me. 
Were you suffered to go alone, you might, in 
1 fit of absence glide out of public view, 
and — Havana s such a pleasant sidence for 
runaway bankers espec ally n w ter time." 

I riel gave utte ance to an oith. The 
jud-,e w tho t remark ng ths jardonable 
ebuU t on of feel ng qu etly addressed his 

W b h of vou gentlemen w 11 put your- 
self u der tb s ^entleman s o ders as bis at- 
tendint and sbtduw ? 

There was a pause, and one of tlie twelve 
advanced and laid his brawny hand upon 
the table. His gaunt and musciJar form 
was clad in a sleek frock-coat of dark blue 
cloth, buttoned over his broad chest to his 
throat, where it was relieved by a black cH|fc 
vat and high shirt collar. His harsh fi| 
tares, closely shaven, and disfigured by a 
hideous scar on his cheek, — features mani- 
festing traces of hardship and age, — were in 
singular contrast with his hair, which, sleek, 
and brown and glossy, was parted neatly in 
the middle of his huge head, and descended 
to either ear, in massy curls. His eyes, half 
hidden by the shaggy brows, shone with an 
eipreasion only to be described by the words, 

"I'll go with him, boss," s^d a gruff 
voice ; and, turning to Israel, this singular 
individual regarded him with a steady look. 
Israel returned his look, and the twain gazed 
upon each other with increasing interest; and 
length the individual approached I^ael, 
and bent down his head near to his face. 

It's the fellow, — it's the fellow!" cried 

Israel, once more bouncing from his seat. 

robbed me last night in tho cars, — 

he " 

Be silent," cried tho judge, who had re- 
garded this scene attentively, with his hand 
upraised to his brow. — "Gentleman, conduct 
the prisoner into the naitt room, and leave 
alone with this perwn," he pointed to tho 
ganntindividuilwhostoodaloneby the table. 
The eleven disappeared through the cnr- 
iria into the Golden Koom with Israel in 
their charge. 



..Google" 



180 



TS THR TEMPLE. 



"How sir, who aiB you?" sternly in- 
quired the judge. 

The individual gravely lifted his brown 
hair,— for it was a wig, — and disclosed the 
outline of hia huge head, with the black 
hair streaked with gray, cut close to the 
«caip. Then turning down the high shirt- 
collar, he disclosed the lower part of his 
, face, — the wide mouth and iron jaw, stamp- 
ed with a savage resolution. 

"Don't yon think I'm hansum ?" he said, 
ftpd the eyes twinkled under the bushy 
brows, and the mouth distorted in a grin. 
" It's the same !" ejaculated the judge, 
"How did you escape from the room 
which you were confined some three hours 
ago, and what do you here ?" 

"As yer so civil and pleasant 
don't mind answerin' yer questions. Arter 
the poleese had-tied me, and left me in the 
dark upon the bed, 'it looks black,' said I (o 

tself, ' but don't give it up so easy !' and a 
i door was opened, an' a hand cut my cords, 
(md ft voice said 'get up and travel, — the 
way is clear,' and a bundle was put into my 
hand, oontainin' these clothes, and this head 
0' hair. — I rigged myself out in the dark, 
pitched my old clothes under the bed, an' 
then went down the back stairway. I cer- 
tainly did travel — " 
"And then ? — " 

"And then," responded the individual, " I 
went and got shaved." 
"How came you here ?" 
"Thinking, I was safer in a crowd, than 
anywhere else, I put for down town, and I 
mixed in with the folks in front of Israel 
Yorke'a banking-house, and as they were 
hollering, why.I hollered loo. They wanted 
to piteh into him, — so did 1 Lord ! didn't 
they holler ! And a gen'elman, seein' I was 
BO aimest, told me about a private party, who 
were about to foller up Isr'el, to this house. 
One o' their gang, he said, was sick, — he 
aied me to jine 'em, — and swore me in as 
one of your perieeae, — and I jined 'em." 
"What is your name?" cried the judge. 



left a baby with me and my wife, I waa 

He paused, and passed his brawny hand 
over his eyes. The judge started up from 

"Yes, yes, you were called, — " he ex- 
claimed. 

"John Hoffman," replied the convict. 
The judge sank back in his chair, and 
his head dropped upon his breast. It waa 
sometime before he spoke, — 

" I have heard of your story before," he 
said, in a tremulous voice. "And now an- 
swer me one question," he continued in a 
firmer voice. — "Did you commit the mur- 
der for which you were arrested ?" 

"I can't expect you to believe an old cnse 
like me, but I certainly did nol," responded 
Ninety -One. 

How came you in the room nest to the 
in which the murdered man was found?" 
I was took tliere by a friend, who offered 
to hide me. from the folks who were arter 
e, about Israel's valise." 
The judge seemed buried in thought. 
"And after the murder was discovered, 
and you were arrested and pinioatd, the 
same /rienii appeared once more, and aided 
your escape ?" 

" It was a friend," dryly responded Ninety- 
One, — "can't say what he looked like, as 
■as as black as your hat, (purviden 
you don't wear a white hat"). 

"Did you commit the robbery on t]>» 
railroad cars, last night f 

I'll be straight up and down with yon, 
i," said Ninety-One,— "I did no(,— and 
nobody didn'L The money was found on 
the track, after the smashin' up o' the cars." 
Do you imagine Qie friend, who hid you 
away in the house of old Mr. Somers, in- 
tended to implicate you in the murder of 



"That's jist one o' th' p'ints I'd like to 
ittle;" Ninety-One uttered a low deep langh, 
"if he did, I wouldn't give three tosses of a 
bad copper for hia windpipe." 

'As the case stands now, you labtir ^'^^ff 

the double suspicion of robbery and miD^el't 

jnnocent, I will 



"In the place where I was last, they called 
me Nmety-One," answered the old convict, Now mark me.^f „ ._ 
iiranging the high collar about hia face, — defend you. In the couiuof the d^ I will 
•'Ta«M «go, when I was an honert man, have some future talk vSi%on. STor »ho 
aim ft man in a cloak, On ■ dark nighl^l present, y»ar diaguiw wilTATOid tV^S/^a 



,/Googlc 



FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



181 



II go with Israel 



for a day or two. You 

Torke, and report all his 

My name and residence you will find 

card near the candlestick. One question 

more — there was a boy with you, — ■' 

The voice of the judge again grew tremii- 



Ninety-One, attired in the neat frock-coat, 
which displayed the brawny width of his 
chest, drew himself to his full height, and 
gazed upon the judge, long and earnestly, 
hia eyes deep-sunken behind his bushy brows. 
"Do you think I'd a answered all your 
questions, hoss, if I hadn't thought you knew 
Bomethin' o' my life and had the 
the power to set me right afore thi 
Well it's not for my own sake, I w 
set right, but for the sake of that boy. And 
afore I answer your question, let mo as an- 
other ; Did you ever happen to know a man 
named Doctor Martin Fuimer ?" 

Ninety-One could not see the expression 
of tho judge's face, (for as you are aware, 
that face was concealed under tho shadow 
of the broad brimmed bat,) but when the 
judge replied to his question, his voice was 
marked by perceptible agitation: 

" I know Dr. Fuimer. In fact, — in fact, — 
I am often intrusted by him with business, 
will be in town 



shuffled into the room, escorting tho little 

gentleman in Turkish jacftet and trowaare : 

" Draw near sir," he beckoned lo Ninety-One, 

"attend this man from this house,—" he 

pointed to Yorke, "and do with him as I 

direct yon, — thus — " he communicated his 

to Ninety-One, in a rapid tone, 

broken by emotion, and inaudible to the 

gentlemen, — " to the 

eleven, — "already have your instructions." 

and then clutched Ninety-One 

by the hand, the convict endeavoring, a]. 

though vainly, to gain a glimpse of his fea- 

ires,— " In this house with Frank did you 

y ?" his voice was husky, 

"In this house, with a gal named Frank," 

IS we red Ninety-One. 

The judge stepped hastily from the plat- 
form, and his steps trembling as he went, 
diaappoSred through a side door, his hands 
clasped over his breast. 

Isrnel Yorke found himself alone with 
Ninety-One and the eleven gentlemen with 
clubs. Ninety-One addressed him in a tone 
of cheerful politeness : 

le, old cock, , you and me'^ got to 
he said, covering Israel's right shoul- 
der with his huge hand. 

Israel, biting his lips with illy suppressed 
„.,,,,„ , . , ... „ |'"?E. <»i''d "ot help venting the bittariiBflH 

He is alJve then," exclaimed Nuiety-One. { of his soul, in a single word,— 

"Devil," he hissed the word between hia 
set teeth. 

" Well, I am a devil Isr'el," answered 
Ninety-One good hunioredly, "an' your ano- 
ther. Butyousee there's two kind o' devils. 
I'll explain it to you. Once a little sneak of 

happened ii 
take his ar 



"Well boss, when you meet Dr. Martin 
Fuimer, jist tell him that that boy, who was 
«feh me, had a parchment about his neck, 
on which these letters was writ, 'G. Q. V. 
H. C The very same," he continued, as if 
thinking aloud, "which I used to send in i 
letter, to Dr. Martin Fuimer." 

"And this boy," almost shrieked the 
judge, rising, and starting one step forward, 
omthe platform, bis corpse-like hand extend- 
ed toward Ninety-One, — " This boy with the 
parchment about hia neck, where, — where is 



3 up to the head devil, (this 

n the lower region*,) and oftered 

le devil, and I'mano- 

we're ekle,' says the little sneak 

! of a devil. Now the head devil did notJike 

i this. Ho says, says he, to the little sneidc, 

' There's two kind o' devils, joung gen'le- 

an. There's mc, for instance, — when I fell 

from Heaven, I showed plti^k anyhow, and 

■■WHERE IS THE CHILD OF ouiiAN vAK fell like a devil, and <vent about makin' 

HCTDEN?" \ stump ipeefJie3 in the lower reoions. But 

"In the early part of the evenin' I >ft lyou,— vou,— whatwnsyoudoingmoanwhile' 

him in this vecy^house, in company with a Fsaeakin' out o' Heaven with your earpet-bag 

gal nainpi Fraokig' f^n „f „„,i tricks, which you had stolen 

Ihe judge fnW^pted him,— "Bring in from the gold pavement.' Now Israel the 

the pnwnerl" he shouted, and the eleven | name of the firat devil was Beekehub, Mlb 



CHAPTER VII. 



,/Goo«^Ic' 



^ 



IN "tUE TEMPO!. 



_ . ifl Bneak of a devil waa called, Mam- 
nt<M.'YDo you taKe ?' 

The etevcn gantlemen with clubs, received 
ibis elegaut npologue, with evident p!i 
manifesting their delight bj 3. unnaimous 
bnrat of laughter. 

, Israel said nothing, but evidently was 
aorbed ia a multitude of reflections, not 
together of the most pleasant character. 

In a short time, once more arrayed 
his every-day attire he left the Temple, 
cqmpaniod by Ninety-One, and followed by 
ths eleven. 

Hastening from the " Court of Ten Mil- 
lions," his hands clasped tightly over his 
breast, and his steps trembling as he went, 
THE JUDGE was determined, at all hazards, 
to obtain an immediate interview with 
Frank. Hurrying along a dark passage, and 
then down .tbo dark atmrway, — for the 
lights haiT^ bSfti extjnguished, and the 
TwnpIeJwa* "^arb-and silent as the tomb, — 
the judge mutlered frequently the words "in 
this house — in this house'" lud then ex- 
aim — Oh p me! 
Thh^ tehasdhm h' 

H pe d d d d h mag- 

n fi p h h, h early 

part h g T to as d with 

hwfridh hhd h table. 



N y 



Th 



H p ntly 






tep* and hum d p 

tered h C to' C m lew 

oand biffn d h so k Is d heir 

pal and u gh h p urea 

and h mirrors h tab 00 d with 
flwrs,«Kih gppteby 

marb p lars. Wh aa w sa the 
Oe tra Chambe was al h d m ion ; 
wtrtn p la n le hrobb 
fiashmg h Th a g y 

tume* glittered in thfi light, and each volup- 
tooui lecess, echoed to the sighs of passion. 

. Now the scene presented that saddest of all 
Bpectacles, — the decaying lights of a festival, 
emitting their last dim gleam, upon the faded 

■ ^I«ndori of the forsaken festal hall. Popes, 
Oaliph% Cardinala, QualtaKsses, KnigbjA 
N'yaiphi and Houris, all were gone. The 
lAos Wat .lilent ai the grtC^, and much 



A single form walked slowly up and 
down the silent hall, — a woman, whose no 
ble person was attired in black velvet, her 
dark hair falling to her shoulders, and a 
white cross clustering on her brow. Her 
hands dropped listlessly by har side, and 
her dark eyes dilating in their sockets, were 

"Frank, 1 must speak with you at once, 
and on a subject of life and death," cried the 
judge, suddenly confronting her. Even as he 
spoke, he was startled at the unnatural 
pallor of her face. "To-night a young 
man, in whose history I am fearfully inter- 
ested, entered this house, ftod saw you in 
'your chamber. He is now here," he continued 
impetuously, — "I must see him." 

"You mean the lost son of Gulian Van 
Huyden ?" she calmly said, pausing in her 
walk, and folding her arms over her breast. 

" He was here then," cried the judge, evi- 
dently wild with agitation, "nay he is here 

as here half an hour hgo," returned 
Frank, who, pre-occupied with her own 
thoughts, did not seem to notice the agita- 
of the Judge, — "half an hour ago he 
left the house." 

Left the house? Whither has he gone?" 
'I know not." 

■Child, child, you mock me," in his agi- 
tation he seized her wrist, — "I must see 
this boy, it is upon n matter of life mA 
death. For God's sake do not trifle with (tla," 
I tell you, that he left the house half 
hour ago," returned Frank, ''and as I 
hope to have peace in the hour of my death, 
I do not know whither he has gone." 

The solemnity of her tone impressed Ihe 

" But will ^e return ?" , 

"He will never return, — never!" sheaii> 
swercd, and it seemed to the judge, as thonglk 
there was a hidden meaning in her won^ 
'0, do not drive me to despwr. I most 
this youth, before to-morrow, — yes, to- 
day, — this hour !" 

'You will never see him in this house again." 
I^id he leave thi« house alone, or was he 
flScompanied, — and by whom ?" 

A strangs smile pasaed^)rer her^foce as 
she replied in a whisper^lj* * 

at tccompacied hy itvj Beiman. 



iaa ^mJHki Jkb> 



j/Googlc 



FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



183 






who arisen from the gi 
claim her hiisb:ind." 

The Judge uttered a uild ejaculation', and 
EJink half fainting in a chair, — his hat fell 
&om his brow, and his face was revealed. 

That face, remarkable in every outline, 
was bathed in cold moisture, and distorted 
ty contending 



CHAPTER VIII. 



Ik the Temple, near the hour of dawn, 
the morning of the 24th of December, 1844. 

"Fallen!" 

Yea, fallen ! nevermore to press the kias 
of a pure mother upon the lipa of her i 
cent child. Fallen ! never more to meet her 
husband's gaze, with the look of a cl 
. and faithful wife. Fallen! — from wifely 
purity, from all that makes ths past hoi 
the future hopeful — fallen, from all that 
makes life worth the having, — fallen ! and 
forever ! i 

" Fallen !" 

Oh, how this word, trembling from her 
lips — wrung from her heart — echoed throngl 
the stillness of the dimly-lighted chamber. 

She was seated on the sofa, her noble form 
dad in the white silken robe — her hands 
clasped — her golden hair unbound — her 
neck and shoulders bare : and thcsame light 
haogii^g from the ceiling, which disclosed 
theAatailsof that luxurious chamber — car- 
p8^ chairs, sofa, mirror, and the snow-white 
oouct in a distant recess — fell upon her beau- 
tiful countenance, and revealed the remorse 
that was written there. There was a wild, 
startled look in her blue eyes; her lipa were 
apart; her cheek was now, pale as death, and 
than, flushed with the scarlet hues of una- 
vailiog shame. 

He w:as reclining at her feet ; his arm 
resting on the sofa; his face upturned — his 
eyes gazing into hers. Clad in the costume 
of the white monk — a loose robe of white 
cloth, with wide sleeves, edged with red — 
Beverly Barron toyed with his flaxen curls, 
at he looked Into her face, and remarked her 
' with a look of mingled meaning. Th«ra 
was base appetite, gratified vanity, bat no j 
rvmorsett his look. 
And the light fell on hii florid foca, with i 
12 



its sensual mouth, receding chin, wid« 
nostrils, and bullel>shaped forehead, encirded 
by ringlets of flaxen hair — a f*ce mllogether 
animal, with scarcely a single ray of a 
higher nature, to light np or reflne ita grosa- 

" Fallen!" cried Joanna; and clasped her 
hands, and shuddered, as if with cold. 

"Never mind, dear," said Beverly, and he 
bent forward and kissed her hands — "I will 
love you always !" 

" Oh, my God !" — and in that ejaculation, 
al! the agony of her soul found utterance,— 
"Oh, my God ! my child !" 

Beverly knelt at her feet, and kissed het 
clenched hands, and endeavored to sooths 
her with professions of undying love ; but 
she tore her hands from his grasp — 

" My husband ! How can I ever look into 
his face again !" 

Had you seen that noble form, swelling id 
every fiber ; had you seen the silken robe, 
heaved upward by the agony which filled 
her bosom ; had you seen the look, so wild— 
remorseful — almost mad — which stampaj 
her face, — you would have felt the emphasii 
with which she uttered these terrible words, 
" My husband ! How can I ever look into 
his face again !" 

" Your husband," whispered Beverly, il^ 
something of the devil in his eyes, "yoBr 
husband, even now, is on his way to Boston, 
where the chosen mistress of his heart awaits 
him. Hi^ brother is at the point of death, 
is he ? ha, ha, Joanna ! ^Twas a good excuse, 
but, like all excuses, rather lame — when 
found out. The poor, good, dear Joanna, 
sits at home, pining at her husband's ab- 
sence, while he, the faithful Eugene, couboIh 
himself in the arms of his Boston love I" 

"It cannot be! it cannot be!" cried Jo- 
anna, beating the tarpet with her foot, ttnd 
pressing her clenched hands ag^nat her 
ving breast. 

Do you see this, darling?" and, throwing 
the robe of the white monk aside, he dill 
closed his " flashy" scarf, white vest aoA 
gold chain. "Do you see this, pet?" and 
from beneath his white vest he drew forth a 
package of letters.-^" Her letters to her deal 
Eugene! How she loves him — how she' 
pities him, becsiue he is not married to fi 
tj/mpalheHc soul, — how she counts the faoolf 



wGoogle 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



that mnst elapse before he comes ! It is 9.II 
written here, darling!" 

Joanna took the package and passed it 
absently from one hand to the other. " Yes, 
jes, I read them yesterday ! It is true, be- 
yond hope of doubt. He loves her ! — he 
loves her !" 

"And you," — Beverly arose and seated 
himself by her side, winding Iiis arm about 
her waist. "And you, like a brave, noble 
woman, whose dearest affections have been 
trampled npon," — he wound his left hand 
unid the rich masses of her golden hair, — 
"yoTi, like a brave, proud heart, whose very 
May of life has been blighted by a husband's 
treachery, — have atvnged yourself upon 

He pressed his kiss upon her lips. But 
the warmth of passion had passed away. 
Het lips were cold. She shrunk from his 
embrace. The vail had fallen from her 
eyes; the delusion, composed of a mad pas- 
sion and a mad desire for revenge, had left 
her, and she knew herself to bo no longer 
tho stainless wife* and holy mother — but that 
thing for which on earth there is no forgi' 
JMB — an adulteress I 

" No, Beverly, no. It will not avail. His 
fault was no excuse for my crime. For his 
fault affects me only — wrongs me alone — but 
mine — ," there was a choking sensation in 
her throat — she buried her face in her 
hands — " Oh God ! oh God ! my child 1" 

Beverly took a bottle of champagne 
which siflod upon the table, drew the cork, 
and filled two brimming glasses. 

"Tou are nervous, my darling," he said, 
"take this. Let lis pledge each other — for 
the past, forgetfulness — for the future, hope 
and love." 

He stood erect beneath the lamp — his tal! 
form, clad in the robe of the white monk, 
relieved by the very gloom of the luxurious 
chiuaber ; he pressed the glass to his lips, 
and ovei 



senses, now only added to her remorse and i 

shame. 1 

"My father, — so proud of his name, so i 

proud of the honor of his son, the purity of i 

his daughter, how shall I ever meet his eye? i 
how can I ever look him in the face 

And the image ot that stern old man, with | 
wrinkled visage and snow-white hair, rose 
vividly before her. Her father was an aris- 
tocrat of the old school — proud, not of his 
money, but of his blood, The royal blood 
of Orange flowed in his veins. Iioving his 
only daughter better than his own soul, he 
would have put her to death with his own 
hand, sooner than she should incur even the 
suspicion of dishonor. 

"Pshaw, Joanna ! He need never know 
anything about the adventures of this night. 
You have been slighted, and you have taken 
your revenge ; — that is all. No one need 
know anything about it. You will mingle 

society as usual; these things, my darling, 
are almost things of course in the fashionable 
world, among'the 'upper ten." Among the 
beautiful dames whom you see at the opera, 
on a 'grand night,' how many do you sup- 
pose would waste one thought of regret upon 
an adventure like this ?" 

Joanna buried her burning temples in her 
hands. All of her life rushed before her. 
Her childhood — the days of her pure maid- 
enhood — the hour of her marriage, when she ■ 
gave herself to the husband who idoliatd 
her, — tho hour of her travail, when she gave 
birth to her child, — ali rushed upon her, ! 
with the voices, tones, face* of other days, j 
commingled in one brief but vivid pano- 1 

"You see, my pet, you know but little of | 
the world," continued Beverly. "In the 
very daivn of your beauty, ignorant of the 
world, and of the value of your own loveli- 
ness, you wedded Eugene Life w 



iirveyed the white couch, colored dream to jou }0u thought of him 
which looked dim and shadowy in its distant oniy- as the ideal of \ 



murmured, " Eugei 
nificent wife is mine !" 

And then drained the glass without mov- 
ing it from hb lips. 

She took the glass and drank ; but the 
same wine which an hour ago had fired her 
liJood, and completed the delasion of her 



thought that he regarded }oi! in the »i 
light. You did not dreim that he would 
ever regard you simplv as the handsomest 
piece of furniture about his splendid estab- " 
lishment, — a splendid fixture destined I 
bear him children who ivould perpetuate tb 
name of Livingston — while hlalvvingafrec- 



viogfd 



PROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



ttona wandered about the world, constaQtly 
■eekiag new objects of passionate regard. 
You never dreamt of this, did you, darling?" 
Joanna uttered a groan. Pressing her 
hands to her throbbing temples, she felt her 
bosom swell, but could notfr^ne a word. 

"Now, nay dear, you are a woman ; you 
know something of the world. Like hun- 
dreds of others of jour wealth and station, 
you can, under the vail of decorum, select 
the object of a passionate attachment, and 
indulge your will at pleasure. A bright fu- 
ture, rich in love and in all that makes life 
dear, is before you " 

And Beverly drew her to him, putting one 
arm about her neck, while his left hand gir- 
dled her bosom. As he kissed her, her gol- 
den hair floated over his face and shoulders. 

At this moment the door opened without 
a sound, and a man wrapped in a cloak, with 
a cup over his brow, advanced with a noise- 
less step toward the sofa. 

It was not until his shadow interposed be- 
tween them and the light, that tliey beheld 
him. As Joanna raised her head, struggling 
to free herself from the embrace of her sedu- 
cer, she ^held the intruder, who had lifted 
his cap from his brow. 

"0 God, Eugene !" she shrieked, and fell 
back upon the' sofa, not fainting, but utterly 
paralyzed, her limbs as cold as marble, her 
blood turned to Ice :n her veins. 

It was Eugene Livingston. Gently fold- 
ing his arms, cap in hand, he surveyed his 
wife. His face was turned from the light, — 
'its ghastly paleness could not be seen. His 
cloak hid t^e heavings of his breast. But 
the light which fired his eyes, met the eyes 
of his wife, and burned into her soul. 

He did not speak to her. 

Turning from her, he surveyed Beverly 
Barron, who had started to his feet, and who 
now stood as if auddeciy frozen, with some- 
thing of the look and attitude of a man who 
is condemned to watch a lighted candle, as 
it burns away in the center ot a barrel of 
gunpowder. 

Not a word was spoken. 

Joanna crouching on the sofa, her chin 
resting on her clasped hands, — Beverly on 
the fioor, his tiands oattpread, and his face 
dund) with terror, — Eugene standing between 
thein, fbldiDg bb cloak upon hia breast; as 



he silently turned his gaze, first to his wife, 
and then to her seducer. 

At length Eugene spoke, — 

"Gome, Joanna," he said, "here is your 
father. He will take you home." 

She looked up and beheld the straight, mil- 
itary form, the stem visage and snow-white 
hair of her father. One look only, and she. 
sank lifeless at his feet. She may have 
meant to have knelt before hi^, hut as ahe 
rose from the sofa, or rather, glided from it, 
she fell like a corpse at hia feet. The old 
general's nether Up worked convulsively, but 
he did not speak. 

" General, take her to my home, and at 
once," whispered Eugene. " There must be 

no Bcandsl, no noise, and " he paused 

as if suffocating, — " no harshness, mark you." 

The general was a stalwart man, altbougb 
bis hair was white as snow, — a man whose 
well-knit limbs, erect bearing, and sinewy 
hands, indicated physical vigor undlmmed 
by age, but he trembled like a withered leaf 
e raised his daughter from the floor. 
I will do ae you direct, Eugene," he MUd, 

You will find her cloak in the nest 
n," said Eugene, " and the carriage is at 
the door." 

The general girded his insensible daughter 
his arms, and bore her from the room. 
As he crossed the threshold, he groaned like 
dying man. 

Eugene and Beverly wore alone. Beverly 
at a rapid glance surveyed the room, Eugene 
stood between him and the door ; he tumB4 
the windows, which were covered with 
thick curtains. Those windowB were three 
high. There was no hops of etcape 
by the windows. 

" Will you take a chdr, my friend," laid 
Hgene. 

Beverly sank into a chair, ncu' the table ; 
as he seated himself he felt his koee* bend 
beneath hira, aud hia heart leap to his throat 
lugene took a chair opposite, and shad- 
b;s eyes with his hand, surveyed the 
seducer. There was silence for a few mo- 
ments, a silence during which both these 
1 endured the agonies of Ihc damnfri 
You have a'daughter, I believe," aaid 
jene, in a voice that was broken by ■ 
tremor. " You may wish to send lome word 



wGooi^lc 



IM 



IN THE TEMPLK 



to her. Here i| a pencil and tabieti. Let 
nw Mb you to be brief." 

Be fiuDg the pencil and tablets upon the 
table. BeTerij recoiled at tbough a Berpent 
bad stntig him. 

"Eagene," ha TalCerei, for tbe first time 
finding words, "you — jou do not mean to 
murder me?" 

And hi» fiorid face grevr a«by with abject 
tenor. • 

Engsne did not reply, but knocked twice 
Kpon (he marble table with his clenched 
band. 9cui»ly had the echo of the sound 
died away, when the door was once moi 
opened, and two person* advanced to tb 
table. 

The Gr»t waa a tall, mnscular mui, with 
phlegijpatic face, light hair, and huge red 
whiBkers. Hta blue frock-coat was buttoned 
to tbe throat, and he carried an oblong box 
in his hands. 
'. "iFeanna's brother!" ejaculated Beverly, 

The Becond person was a dapper Uttlo 
gentleman, with small eyes, a hooked noser 
and an enormous black moustache. . 
dressed in black, with a gold chain 
breast, and a diamond pin in bis faultless 
shirt bosom. 

"Major Barton!" ejaculated Beverly, 
bounding from his seat, for in Major Barton 
he realized an old and intimate acquaint- 

" Robert," said Eugene, turning to Joan- 
na's brother, " what haye you there ? 

" The dueling pistols," quietly responded 
Robert. 

(, "Have you and this gentleman's friend 
arranged the prtliminarifs f " 

" We have," interrupted the dapper Ma- 
jor ; " distance, ten paces, — place, Weehawk, 
opposite the dty, — time, right off." 

"Thif without consulting me!" .cried 
Beverly, who at the menlion of a duel, felt 
a hope Hghten up in hia heart, for coward as 
he was, he was also a capital shot. 

" Qentlemen, I beg to say, " he drew 

tli White Monk's robe over his heart, and 
usomed a grand ur, — " gentlemen, " 

Tbe d^per little major glided to his 

"Bar., my boy, better be quiet Eugene 
w^ted on me an hour ago and explained all 
fta drcamitances,— de^red mo to act a* 



your friend. As I'd rather see , yon have a 
chance for your life in a duel, than to see 
yoa killed in such a house as this, like a d<^ 
I consented. Bev., my boy, better be quiet." 
" If you don't wish to fight, say so," and 
the phlegmatic Bobert stepped forward, eye- 
ing BeTerly witk a look of settled ferocity, 
that was not altogether pleasant to see, — "If 
you decline the duel, just say so in the pres- 
ence of your friend, Major Barton. Just 

And Robert eyed Beverly from head to 
foot, as though it would afford him muoh 
pleasure to pitch him from the third story 
window. 

"I will fight," said Beverly, pale and red 
by turns. 

" Then I'll get your hat, and coat, and 
cloak," said the obliging' major, — "they're 
in the next room. We must leave the house 
quietly, and there's a boat waiting for us, at 
the foot of the street, or the North River. 
We can cross to tha Jersey shore, before 
morning breaks. It will be a nice little af- 
fair all among ourselves. By-tbe-bye, how 
about a surgeon ? " 

"Yes, a surgeon!" echoed Robert, turn- 
ing to Eugene, who, seated by tbe table, 
rested his forehead i^ainst his hand. 

"We will not need a surgeon," said Eu- 
gene, raising his face, from which all color 
of life had fled. " Because our £ght is to the 



CHAPTER IX. 



Tket sat near the marriage altar, theii 
hands clapped, and their gaze fixed upon 
each other's face. The countenance of 
Nameless^ was radiant with a deep joy. 
One hand resting upon the neck of Mary, 
the other clasping her hand, his soul was in 
his eyes, as he looked into her face. Her 
hair, brown and wavy, streamed over the 
hand, which rested on her neck. Despite 
her faded attire, — tbe gown of coarse calieo, 
and the mantilla of black velvet, — Mary was 
very beautiful; as beautiful aa her name. All 
the life which swelled her young bosom, 
was manifested in tha bloom of her aheaks, 
the clear, joyotu look, of her eyes. Her 
beauty was tbe^^puiity iA k ftaialna aaul, 



byGoot^Ic 



i 



FROM MIDNIGHT UNTIL DAWN. 



187 



embodied In a person, rich with every t: 
and outlino of warm, womanly loveliness. 
" Well might my whole being thrill, 
yoH pMsed by me to-night ! Your form 
was vailed, your face hid, but my eoul knew 
that you were near !" 

"0, Carl, in all our lives, we will nei 
know a moment of joy ko deep as this!" 
and there was something of a holy sadness 
in Mary's gaze as she spoke, — "After years 
of sorrow and trial, that might break the 
Btoutoat hearts, we have met again, like two 
persona who have risen from tte grave. 
The world is so dark, Carl, — so crowded 
with the callous and the base, — that I fear 
for our future. 0, would it not be beautiftl, 
yes holy, to die now, in each other's wms, 
at the moment when our hearla are filled 
with the deepest joy they can ever know ?" 

The words of the pure girl, uttered in a 
voice imbued with a melancholy enthusiasm, 
cast a shadow over the face of Nameless, and 
brought a sad intense light to his eyes. 

" Tes, Mary, it is even so," he replied, — 
" it is a harsh and bitter world, in which the 
base and callous-hearted, prey upon those 
who have souls. When I think of my own 
history, and of yours, it does notsecra reality, 
to me, but the images of the past ittove 
before me, like the half defined shapes of a 
troubled dream." 

And he bent his forehead, — fevered and 
throbbing nith thought, upon her bosom, 
and listened to the beatings of that heart, 
which had been true to him, in every phase 
of his dark life. She pressed her lips silently 
upon his brow, 

" But the future is bright before as, Mary," 
he whispered, raising his face, onoe more 
radiant with hope, — "the cottage by the 
river shore, shall bo ours again ! 0, don't 
you rememlMIr it^ Mary, as it leans against 
the cliff, with the ilver stretching before it, 
and the palisades rising far away, into the 
western slty? We will live there, Mary, 
and forget the world." Alas 1 he knew not 
of the poison in his veins. "Your father, 

"My father 1" she echoed, starting from 
her chair, as the memory of that broken man 
with the idiot faCB,— never for a moment 
forgotten, — oame vividly before her, "My 
father i come Carl, let us go to him !< 



She wound the mantilla about her form, 
and Carl, otherwise Nameless, also icse from 
his chair, when a fooUtep was heard, and 
the door was abruptly opened. 

" Leave this house, at once, as you value 
j"Our life," cried an agitated voice, — "Yoa 
know my father, — hnow that he will shrink 
from no crime, when his darker nature is 
aroused, — you have foiled the purpose which 
was more than life to him. There is danger 
for you in this house! away !" 

" Prank !" was all that Nameless coHld 
ejaculate, as he saw her stand before him, 
lividly pale, her hair unbound, and the gol- 
den cross rising and falling upon her hearing 
bosom. There was a light in her ey«8, 
which he had never seen before. 

" No words," she continued in broken and 
rapid tones, — "you must away M once. 
You are not safe from poison," — a Wttar, , 
mocking smile, — "or steel, or any treaahsry, ' 
i long as j'ou linger in this feonse. But 
lis is no time for masquerade attiri^— la tbn 
ext room you will find the apparA "which 
oa wore, when firat you entered this house, 
igether with a cloak, which will protect 
you from the cold. You have no time 'to 
lose, — give me that bauble," and aha tore the 
chain from his neck and the golden cross from 
hia teeast, — " away, — you have not a mo- 
ment to lose." She pointed lo the door. 

Frank !" i^ain ejaculated Nameless, aod 
something like remorse smote his heart, aa 
;iued upon her countenance, so sadly- 
changed. 

Will you drive me mad ? Go !" agaia 
she pointed to the door. 
Nameless disappeared. 
"And you, — " she took the hands of 
Mary within her own, and raised them to 
her breast, and gazed long and earnestly into 
virgin face, — " You, 0, I hate yau 1" shq 
said her eyes flashing fire, and yet the next 
moment, she kissed Mary on the cheeks and 
forehead, and pressed her t« her bosom with 
frenzied embrace. " Yott^P* , worthy of 
him," she said slowly, in a l8w voice, again 
perusing every line of that countopanoe, — 
I hnow you, although an hour ago, I did 
ot know that you lived ;" once more hw 
>res ware rapid and broken, — "know your 
history, know who it vt» that lured you to 
this place, and know the desolato condltdon 



,yC00«^IC 



/ 



IN THE TEMPLE. 



of your father. Tour husband has money, 
bnt it will not l>e safe for him to attempt to 
UBS it for some days. , Take this,— conceal it 
in your bosom, — nay, I will tafee no denial. 
Take it child I That money and purse are 
not the w^es of pollution, — they were both 
mine, in the days when I was pure and 
iappy." 

Scarcely knowing what to do, Mary, whom 
the wild manner of Franlr, struck at once 
with pity and awe, took the purse, and hid 
ft in her bosom. 

"I 'now remember yoii," said Mary, her 
eyes filling with tears, as she gazed into the 
troubled face of Franh, — " Father painted 
your picture, and afterward you sought us 
out in our, garret, and left your purse upon 
the table, with a, note stating that it contained 
the balance due on your portrait. 0, it was 
kind, it was noble, — " 

" Do not speak of it, child," Frank said in 
rapid and abrupt tones, — "Had '' not been 
Convinced that you and your father were 
dead, I would hare visited you often. That 
is, if I could have concealed from you what 
I was, and the way of life which was mine." 

Her lip quivered, and she hid her eyes 
witli her hand. 

"But come, your husband is here," she 
said, as Nameless re-appeared, his form once 
more clad in the faded frocjt-coat, but with 
a eloak drooping from his shoulders. "Tou 
must away, and at once." 

"Frank," — and Nameless, trembling with 
agitation, approached her, "we will meet 
again in happier hours." 

0, the strange look of her eyes, the bitter 
mocking curl of her lip ! 

" We will never meet again," she answered, 
in a voice that sunk into his heart. Then 
burying the chain and golden cross in her 
bosom, she placed » letlflr in his hand, — 



"Swear to me that you will not read thb, 
until three hours at least are pa^ed ?" 
" I promise, — " 

" I swear, in the sight of Heaven !" 

" Now depart, and, — " she turned her 
face away from their gaze, and pointed to 
the door. 

As she turned away, Mary approached 
her, and put her arms about her net'', and 
her eyes brim full of tears all the while, — 
kissed her on the forehead and the lips, 
saying at the same time, and from the depths 
of her heart, "May God in Heaven bless 
you !" 

^'rank took Mary's arms from her neck, 
end joined her hand in that of Nameless, 
nd then pushed them gently to the door, — 
Go, and at once," she whispered. 

And they crossed the threshold, Mary 
looking back over her shoulder, until she 
disappeared with Nameless, in the shadows 
of the passage. 

Frank stood with one hand extended to 
the door, and the other supporting her 
averted face, — she heard their footsteps in 
the passage, on the stairway, and in the hall 
beneath. Then came the sound of the 
opening and closing of the door, which led 
to the street. 

And then the agony, the despair, the 
thousand emotions which racked her soul, 
found utterance in the simple, and yet 
awfully touching ejaculation, — " 0, my 
! — " and she flung herseif on her knees, 
before the Marriage Altar, resting her clench- 
id hands upon the Holy Bible, which was con- 
cealed by her bowed head, and unbound hair. 
>, my God ! He isgone, and — forever !" 
es, Frank, woman so beautiful and so 
ly lost, gone and forever — gone, with his 
young wife by his side, and Ppison in his veiw 



-.=-*• 



1 



*H0B:edb,GoOgle 



NEW YORK 



UPPER-TEN AND LOWER MILLION. 



PART FIFTH. 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAY. 

BECBMBER a4, 18 M. 



Baffled schemer! 

In the dim hour whicli comes before the 
break of day, Colonel Tarleton was hurrying 
rapidlv along the silent and deserted street, 

Broadniv a few lioura since, all light, and 
1 fe ind motion, was now lonely as a desert. 
Oathenng his cloak over his white coat, and 
dran ing his cap lower upon hia hroivs, Tarle- 
ton hurried along with a rapid and imjietiious 
8tep 1 ow ind then suffering the thoughts 
which filled him, to find vent in broken 
ejaculations. 

"Baffled schemer! " he exclaimed aloud, 
and then his thoughts arranged themselves 
into words: — "Why do those words ring 
in my ears ? They do not apply fo nie ; let 
me but live twenty-four hours, and all the 
tehemes which I have worked and woven 
for twenty-one long years, will find their end 
in agrand, a final triumph. Baffled schemer ' 
No,— not yet, nor never ! This boy who 
was to marry Frank, will,^Hfe nuiay in a few 
houn, and make no sign ; and now for the 
other child. I must hasten to the house of 
old Somers, — his 'private secretary ' must be 
mine before daybreak. The hour is unusual, 
the son lies dead in one room, — the father in 
the other ; but I must enter the house at all 
hazards, for, — for, — the only remaining cMld 
0fGulianVanHiiyden,must be in my power 
before daybreak." 

And he hurried along toward the head of 
Broadway, through the silent city. Even in 
tbe gloom, the agitation which possessed 
him, was plainly discernible. The hand 
which held the cloak upon his breast^.waa 
tightly. clenched, and, aa he passed through 



the lieht of a lamp, you might note his 
compressed lip, his colorless cheek, and eyes 
burning with intense thought. His whole 
life swept before him like a panorama. The ■• 
day when the wife and mother lay dead in 
her palace home,-while Gulian, bis brother, 
clutched him with a death-g;rip as he 
plunged into the river, — the. years which he . 
had gayly passed in Paris, and the horrible 
years which he had endured in the felon'a 
cell, — the happy childhood, and the irrevo- 
cable shame of his daughter, sold by her 
own mother into the arms of lust and gold, — 
his duel with young Somers, whom he had 
first murdered, and then smuggled hia corpse 
into his father's home, — the scenes which ha 
had thi^ night witnessed in the Temple, be- 
gmnwig with his interview with Ninety-One, 
and ending in the marriage of Frank and 
Nameless and the apparition of Mary Ber- 
man, — ill flitted before him like tbe phan- 
toms of a spectral panorama. 

" And the next twenty-four hours will de- 
cido all ! Courage, brain, you have never 
yet despaired, — " he struck his clenched hand 
against his forehead, — "do not fail me now!" 

Turning from Broadway, as the night 
grew darker, he entered the street in which 
the house of Evelyn Somers, Sr., was situated. 
He was rapidly approacliing that house, — 
cogitating what manner of excuse he should 
make to the servants for his call at such an 
unusual hour, — when he was startled by the 
sound of footsteps. He paused, where a 
street lamp flung iU lighf over tliQ pavementa 
Shading his eyes, he beheld two figures ap- 
proaching through the gloom. He glided 
from the light, and stationed himself against 
the wall, so that he could see the figures as 
they passed, himself unseen. The steps 
(1891 



byGoo«^Ic' 



190 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAT. 



iarer, and presently from the 
gloom the figures passed into the light. A 
man, wrapped in a cloak, with a broad som- 
brero drooping over his face, supported on 
his arm the form of a youth, who, clad in a 
closely buttoned frock-coat, trernbled from 
weakness, or from the winter"^ cold, Tho 
face of the man was in shadow, but the light 
shone fully on the face of the youth as he 
passed by. 

Tarleton. with great difficulty, suppressed 
an ejaculation and an oath. 

For in that hoy who Jeaned tremblingly 
upon the arm of the cloaked man, 
niied the Private Secretari/ of the merchant 
prince! 

" Courage, my poor boy," — Tarleton heard 
the cloaked man utter these words, 
passed by, — " it was a happy impulse which 
led me to leave my carriage, and walk along 
this street. I arrived just in time to 
yon ; it ia but a step to my carriage, and 
in my carnage yoii will tell me all." 

"0, air, you will protect me," — the i 
of the youth was tremulous and broken, — 
" fo^ will protect me from this ma 

Afid with these words they passed from 
the light into the gloom ayain. 

Tarieton stood for a moment, as though 
ed to the wall against which he leaned. He 
could not believe the evidence of his 
That the boy, Gulian Van Huyden, tho pri- 
vate secretary had left the mansion of thi 
merchant prince, at this strange hour, and 
was now in the care of a man whom he, 
Tarleton, did not know ; this fact was plain 
enough, but Twleton could not believe it 
He stood as though nailed to the wall, while 
the footsteps of the retreating figures resound- 
ed tl^rough the atillness. At length, with a 
violent effort, he recovfred his presence of 

" I will follow them and reclaim my child!" 
he ejaculated, and gathering his cloak across 
the lower part of his face, hurried once more 
toward Broadway. 

But as he discovered the distance between 
himself and the figures of the cloaked man 
and the youth, his purpose failed him, he 
knew not why, — he dared not address the 
man, much less seize the boy, Gulian, — but, 
ha itill hung upon their back, watching their I 
' »v«y movement, himself unobserved. I 



Meanwhile, a thousand vague suspicions 
and fears flitted through his mind. 

At the head of Broadway, in the light of 
a lamp, stood a carriage, with a coachman in 
dark livery on the box. The horses, black 
as jet, stood, beating the pavement with their 
hoofs, and champing their bits impatiently. 

The unknown paused beside this carriage, 
Etil! supporting the boy, Gulian, on his arm, 

"Felix," he said, in a low voice, address- 
ing the coachman, who started up at the 
sound of his voice, "drive at once, and with 
ail speed, to the Jwnse yonder," — he pointed 
to the north. 

" Yes, my lord," was the answer of the 
coachman. 

"And you, poor boy," continued the un- 
known, thus addressed as "my lord," turning 
to young Gulian, — "enter, and be safe here- 
after from all fear of persecution." He 
opened the carnage door, and Gulian entered, 
followed by the unknown. 

And the next moment the sound of the 
wheels was heard, and the carriage passing 
Union Square and rolling away toward the 

Tarleton, who had, unobserved, beheld this 
scene, started from the shadows and ap- 
proached the lamp. He clenched his teeth 
in helpless rage. 

" I saw his face for an instant, ere he en- 
tered the carriage, and as his cloak fell aside, 
I noticed the golden cross on bis breast ; and 
I neither like his cadaverous face, nor the 
golden cross. Why, — " he stamped angrily 
upon the pavement, — "why do I hate and 
fear this man whom I have never seen he- 
fore ? — 'my lord ! ^ — the cross on hia breast, — 
perchance a dignitary of the Catholic Church ! 
Ah ! he will wring the secret from this weak 
and superstitious boy. Alt, ail is lost !" 

roused from this fit of despair and 

rage by the sound of carriage wheels. It 

hackney coach, returning homeward, 

the horses weary, and the driver lolling 

sleepily on the bos. 

Tarleton darted forward and stopped the 
horses. 

Do you want to earn five dollars for an 
hour's ride ?" he said, " if so, strike up 
Broadway, and follow a dark carriage drawn 
by two black horses," and he mounted the 
box, and took hia Boat beside the coachman. 



wGoogle 



THE DAW^r, SUNRISE AND DAT. 



131 



The latter gentleman wikiog up from, 
half slumber, and vsry wroth at the man 
m which his horses had been stopped, 
his box invaded, forthwith ranaigned Tarle- 
ton to a place which it is not needful to 
name, adding signi&cantlj, — 

" An' if jec don't git down, I'll mash yer 
head, — if I don't, — " etc, etc 

"Pshaw! don't you know me?" cried 
Tarleton, lifting his cap.— "follow the car- 
riage yonder, and I'll make it ten dollars for 
half an hour's ride." 

" Why, it is the colonel !" responded the 
mollified hackman. — " ily team is blowed, 
colonel, but you're a brick, and here goes ! 
Up Broadway did you say ? — let her rip ■" 

He applied the whip to his wearied horses, 
and away they dashed, passing Union Square, 
and entering upper Broadway. 

" That the carriage, colonel ?" asked the 
driver, as they heard the sound of wheels in 
front of them, " that concern as looks blacker 
than a stack of black cats ?' 

" It ia. Follow it. Do not let the ooaoh- 
mau know that we are in pursuit. Follow 
it carefully, and at a proper distance." 

And the hackney coach followed the car- 
riage of the unknown, until they passed from 
the shadows of the houses into the open 
country. Some four miles, at least from the 
city hall, the carriage turned from one of the 






' latl 






a hill and down toward the 



the rooks, 
North Bivor. 

The colonel jumped from the bos. 

■' Wait for me here,— I'll not be long. 
Drive a little piece up the avenue, so that 
you will not be noticed, in case this carriage 
should return. Wait for me, I say,— for 
every hour I will give you ten dollars." 

With these words he hurried up the hill, 
in pursuit of the retreating carriage. The 
ground was frosted and broken, — huge rocks 
blocked up the path on either hand, and on 
the hill-fop stood a clump of leafless trees. 
Pausing beneath those trees, the colonel en- 
deavored to discern the carrii^e through the 
darkness, but in vain. But he heard the 
sound of the wheels as they rolled over the 
hard ground in the valley below. 

" It cannot go far. This lane terminates 
at tha river, only two or three hundred yards 
ftway. Ah ! I remember,— half-way between 



the hill and the river there is an old man- 
sion which I noticed last summer, and which 
has aot been occupied for years." 

The sound of the wheels suddenly ceased. 
The colonel drew the cord of his cloak 
about his neck, so as to permit his arms full 
play. Then from one pocket of his over- 
coat he drew forth a revolver, and from the 
other a bowie-knife. Grasping a weapon 
firmly in each hand, he stealthily descended 
the hill, and on tip-toe approached the car- 
riage, which had indeed halted in front of the 
old mansion. 

The mansion, a strange and incongruons 
atructnre, built of atone, and brick, and wood, 
and enlarged from the original block house, 
which it hail been two hundred years before, 
by the additions made by five or sis genera- 
tions, stood in a garden, apart from the road, 
its roofs swept by the leafless branches of gi- 
gantic forest-trees. In summer, tjuaint and 
incongruous as were the outlines of the huge 
edifice, it put on a beautiful look, fur it was 
embowered in foliage, and its many roofs and 
walls of brick, and wood and stone, were 
hidden in a garment of vines and flowers. 
But now, in the blackness of this drear win- 
ter daybreak, it was black and desolate 
gh. Not a single light shed a cheerful 
ray, from any of the windows. 

Gliding behind tha trunk of a sycamore, 
the colonel heard the voice of the unknown 
as he conducted the boy, Gulian, from 
■arrii^e along the garden walk toward 
the hall door. 

Jeve you will be safe from all intrusion. 
I must return to the city at once, hut I will 

back early in the morning. Meanwhile, 

u can take a quiet sleep. You are not 
afraid to sleep in the old house, are you ?" , 

" Oh, no, no, — afraid of nothing but Ma 
persecution," was the answer. 

The colonel heard these words, and watched 
the figures of the unknown and Gulian, aa 
they passed from the garden walk under th» 
shadow of the porch, and into the hall door. 

And then he waited, — how earnestly and 
with what a tide of hopes, suspicions, fears! — 
Cor the re-appearance of the unknown ! 

Five minutes passed. 

"The boy has not had time to confess tM 
j«TS(,"— the thought almost rose ta the col- 
onel's lips. — " If this unknown man returns 



b.Google 



THE DAWS', STJNETSB AND DAT. 



to town, leaviag Guliau hero, all will yet be 

The hall-door opened i^ain, waa locked, 
and the form of the unknown, in cloak and 
sombrero, once more appeared upon the gar- 
den wiilk. 

" To town, Felix, as fast as you can drive. 
I must be back within two hours." 

"Yes, ray lord." 

He entered the carriage, — it turned, — and 
the horses dashed up the narrow road at full 

" Two hours !" ejaculated Tarleton, as the 
sound of the wheels died aivay. " In two 
hours, ' my lord '.' you will Snd the nest rob- 
bed of its bird." 

Determined at all hazards to rescue the 
person of the boy, Gillian, and bear him from 
the oUl mansion, he opened the wicket gate, 
and, passing along the garden walk, ap- 
proached the silent mansion. The wind sighed 
mournfuUj' among the leafless branches, and 
not a single ray of light ill m d h f nt 
of the gloomy pile. 

The colonel passed und h p h d 
tried the hall door ; it was 1 k d W h i 
half-mutterad curse, ha a n m d f m 
the porch, and from the d n 11 e 

more surveyed the mansion. 

Could he believe his eyes ? From a 
narrow window, in the second story of the 
western wing, a ray of light stole out upon 
the gloom — stole out from an aperture in the 
window curtains — and trembled like a golden 
thread along the garden walk. 

" The window ia low, — the room is a part 
of the olden portion of the mansion, — that 
lattice work, intended for the vines, will beaj 
my weight ; one blow at the wlndow-saah, 
and I am in the chamber!" 

Thus reflecting, the colonel, ere he began 
to mount the lattice work, looked cautiously 
around and listened. All was dark ; no 
sound was heard, save the low moan of the 
wind among the trees. Tarleton placed the 
revolver in one pocket, and buried the bowie- 
knife in its sheath. Then ho began cautiously 
to ascend the lattice work, along which, iu 
summer time, crept a green and flowering 
vine ; it creaked beneath his weight, but did 
not break, — in a moment he was on a level 
with the narrow window. Besting hia arms 
upon the deep window-sill, he placed his eye 



to the aperture in the curtains, and looke 

He t)eheld a small room, with tow ceiling, 
and wainscoted walls; a door, which evi- 
dently opened upon the corridor leading to 
the body of the mansion ; a couch, with a 
canopy of faded tapestry ; the floor of dark 
wood, uncirpeted, and its once polished sur- 
face thick with dust ; a bureau of ebony, 
surmounted by an ova! mirror in a frame of 
tarnished gilt. The light stood upon the 
bureau ; and, in front of the light, an alabas- 
ter image of the crucified. 

Before this image, with head bowed upon 
his clasped hands, knelt the boy, Gulian. 
The light shone upon his glossy hair, which 
fell to hia shoulders, and over the outlines 
of his graceful shape. He was evidently 
absorbed in voiceless prayer. 

Altogether, it was a singular — yes, a beau- 
tiful picture. But the Colonel had no time 
to waste on pictures, however beautiful. 

He placed his arm against the sash — it 
yielded — and the colonel sprang through the 
window into the room. 

Gulian heard the crash, and started up, 
and beheld the colonel standing near him, 
his arms folded on his breast, and his face 
stamped with a look of fiendish triumph. 

"Oh, toy God!" he ejaculated, and stood 
as if apell-bound by terror. 

" You see it is all in vain," said the Colo- 
nel, showing his white teeth in a smile. 
" You cannot escape from me. You must 
do my will. Come, my child, we roust be 

He placed Gulian's cap upon his chesnut 
curls, and pointed to the door. 

The eves of the poor youth were wild 
with affright. He evidently stood in mortal 
terror oC Tarleton. His glance roved from 
side to side, and he ejaculated — 

" In his power again ; just as I thought 
myself forever safe from his persecution!" 

"Answer me — where did you meet the 
man who brought you to this house ?' 

As he spoke, Tarleton seized tha boy by 
the wrist. 

" In the street ; I had fainted on the side- 
walk," was the ansiver, in a tremulous voice. 

"And how came you in the street at such 
an unusual hour ?" 

" When you left Mr. Somers' house, yoa 



noseab.GoOl^lc 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAY. 



193 



Gillian, eliiaping his hands over his breast. 
" I "iis detennined to avoid seeing yo" again, 
at all hazards. I left the house, and ivan- 
dered forth, uncertain whither to direct my 
aceps. Yes — oh yes ! I had one purpose 
plainly in my mind," — he smiled, and his 
eyes brightened up with a strange light, — "I 
resolved to bond my steps to the river." 

" To the river ?" 

" Yes, to the river," answered the boy, 
with a singular smile : " for you know that 
if I WM drowned, I would be safe from you 

"And you would become a — suicide I" 
said Tarleton, with a sneer; "you, so finely 
brought up ! Have you no fear of the here- 

Qidian'3 pale face lighted with a faint 
glow. — "There are some deeds which are 
worse than suicide," he answered quietly, yet 
with a significant glance. "It was to avoid 
the commission of one of these deeds, that, 
scarcely an hour ago, I left the house of JMr. 
Somers and bent my steps to the river." 

"And you fainted, and thia man came 
across you while you were Insensible — eh ? 
Who is be ? and what was it that led him 
from his carriage, along the street where bo 
found you?" 

"An impulse, or presentiment, as he told 
me, which he could not resist, and whicjji 
impressed him that he might save the life 
of a fellow-being. He left his carriage ; he 
arrived before it was too late. In a little 
while I should have been frozen to death." 

Again Tarleton seized the boy by the 
wrist ; and his bi-ow grew dark, his eyes 
fierce and threatening. 

"And you confessed ihe secret to this 
man ?" he exclaimed. " Nay, deny it not !" 
He tightened his grasp. " You did confess — 
did you not ?" 

" Oh, pity !— do not harm me !" and Go- 
lian shrunic before Tarlelon's gaze. "I did 
not confess the secret — indeed I did not," 

" Swear you did not !" 

"I swear I did not!" 

"I will not believeyon, unless you will 
place your hand upon this crucifix, and swear 
by the Savior, that you did not reveal (Se 

The boy placed his hand upon the alabas- 



image, and said solemnly, " By the nama 
of the Savior, I swear that I did not reveal 
(/« secret of which you speak." 

Tarleton bunt into a laugh. 

"I breathe freer!" he cried. "You are 
superstitious ; and, with your hand upon an 
image like that, I know you cannot lie. The 
secret is safe, and all viill ye^be well. Come, 

" Oh, you do not want me now I" cried 
Gulian, shrinking away from hia grasp — 
"now that you are assured of the security 
of the secret f" 

" Worse than ever, my boy," cried Tarle- 
ton, with a tone of mocking gayety. " I am 
positively starving to death for your company. 
To-day and to-morrow you must be with me 
all the time, and never for an instant quit 
my sight. After that you are free 1" 

The countenance of Gulian, in which a 
masculine vigor of thought was tempered by 
an almost woman-like roundness of outline 
and softness of expression, underwent a sud- 
den and peculiar change. 

" I will not go with you," he said, slowly 
and firmly, hia eyes shining vividly, while 
his face was unnaturally pale. 

" You will not go with me ?" and Tarle- 
ton advanced with a scowling brow — " We'll 

" I will not go with you," repeated Gulian. 
"You call me superstitious. It may be su- 
perstition which makes my blood run cold 
with loathing, when you ate near me ; or it 
may be some voiceless warning from the 
dead, who, while In thia life, were deeply 
injured by you. But it is not supersti- 
tion which induces me to place my hand 
upOQ this crucifix, and tell you, that yon 
cannot drag me from it, save at peril of your 
life. Ah, you sneer ! The house is deserted: — 
true. The cruoiSs of frail alabaster: — true. 
But you are fairiy warned. The moment 
that cnicifix breaks, to you is one of peril." 

Tarleton knew not what to make of the 
expression and words of the boy. At first 
there was something in the look of Gulian 
which touched him, i^ainst his will ; but, as 
the closing words fell on his ear, he burst 
into a laugh. " Come,j;hild, we'll leave the 
house by the hall door," he said ; and, as he 
passed an arm around Gulian's waist, ha 
placed the other hand upon the door which 



noseab.GoOl^lc 



THE DAWN', SUNRISE A>rD DAY. 



" Say, you need 
Come ! I'll endure 



thif 

The alabaster i 
grasp of Gulian, at 



U3lied i 



,t the colonel opened the 

Gillian, struggling in the grasp of Tarle- 
ton, clapped his hands twice, and cried aloud: 
" Cain ! Cain !" 

The next moment it seemed aa though a 
crushing weight had bounded, or been hurled, 
against the colonel's back ; he was dashed to 
the Boor; he found himself struggling in 
the fangs of a huge dog, witb short, shaggy 
hair, black aa jet, short ears, and formidable 
jawa. As the dog uttered a low growl, his 
teeth sank deep into the back of Tarleton'; 
neck, and Tarletoa uttered a groan of intol- 
erable agony. Tarleton was dragged along 
the Boor, by the ferocious beast, which raised 
him by the neck, and then dashed hii 
the floor ^ain ; treating him as the tiger 
treats the prey which be is about to straflgli 
and kill. 

Cain was indeed a ferocious beasL He 
had accompanied the unknown over half the 
globe : and was obedient to his slightest 
defending those ivhom he wished defended, 
and attacking those whom he wished 
tacked. Before lea ring the mansion, 
unknown had placed Cain before the door 
of Gulian'g room, and given Gulian into its 
charge. "Guard him, Cain ! obey him, Cain !" 
And, as Tarleton opened the door, at a aign 
and a word from Gulian, the dog proved 
faithful to uis master's bidding. In the 
grasp of this formidable animal, Tarli 
now found himself writhing — his blood 
spurting over the floor, as he was dragged 

As Gulian beheld this scene, and heard 
the cries of Tarleton mingling with the low 
growl of the dog, his heart relented. He 
forgot all that Tarleton bad made him 

" Cain ! Cain 1 — here, Cain ! — here !" he 
cried; but in vaia, Cain had tasted blood. 
His teeth twined deep in his victim's neck ; 
and his jaws reddened with Tarleton's blood; 
□e did not hear the voice of Gulian. 

It was a terrible moment for Tarleton. 
tittering frightful imprecations between his 



howls of pain, he made a last and desperate 
effort — an effort strengthened by despair and 
by pain, which seemed as the pang of 
death,— he turned, even as the teeth of the 
dog were in his neck; he clenched the infu- 
riated animal by the throat. Then took place 
a brief but horrible contest, in which the dog 
and the man rolled over each other, the man 
clutching, as with a death-grasp, the throat 
of the dog, and the dog burying his teeth in 
the man's shoulder. 

Gulian could bear the sight no longer ; he 
sank, half fainting, against the bureau, and 
bid his eyes from the lighL 

Presently, the uproar of the combat — the 
growl of the dog, and the cries of Tarle- 
ton — were succeeded by a dead stillness. 
Gulian raised his eyes. 
Tarleton stood in the center of the room, 
his face and white coat bathed in blood — his 
bowie-knife, also dripping with blood, held 
aloft in hia right hand. He presented a 
frightful spectacle. His coat was rent over 
right shoulder, and his mangled flesh 
discernible. And that face, whose death- 
like pallor was streaked with blood, bore 
1 expression of anguish and of madness, 
hich chilled Gulian's heart but to be- 
hold. 

At his feet was stretched the huge carcass 
of the dog. The gash across bis throat, from 
wiich the blood was streaming over the 
had been inflicted by the hand of the 
colonel, in the eitremest moment of his 
ilr. Cain had fought his last battle. As 
Tarleton shook the bloody knife over his 
head, the brave old dog uttered his last moan 
and died. 

It will not do, my child — it will not do," 
Tarleton burst into a loud and unnatural 
laugh. "You must go with me ! With me, 
or dead." He rushed towards Gulian, 

brandishing the knife. " Oh, you d d 

wretch ! do you know that I've a notion to 

it you into pieces, limb by limb?" 

" Mercy ! mercy !" shrieked the boy, fall- 

g on his knees, as that face, dabbled in 

blood, and writhing, aa with madness, in 

every feature, glowered over him. 

But Tarleton did not strike. Ha placed 
bis hand upon his forehead, and made n des- 
perate eflbrt to recall his shattered senses.. 
Suffering intolerable physical agony, ha was 



..ogle 



THE DAW^T, SUNRISE A>TD DAT. 



yet firm in the purpose which had led him 
to the old maDsion. 

" If I can get this boy to the carriage, all 
will yet l>e Weill" he muttered. "I'll faint 
soon from loss of blood ; bat not until thia 
boy is in my power. Brain, do not fail me 

He dropped the bloody knife upon the 
carcass of the dog ; and, taking a handker- 
chief from his pocket, he bound it tightly 
around his throat. Then, lifting his cloak 
from the floor, he wound it about him, and 
writhed ivith pain, as it touched the wound 
on his shoulder. 

"Now will you go with me alive, or 
dead ?" He lifted the knife again, and ad- 
vanced to Guiian. " Take your choice. If 
vour choice is life," — be could not refiuin a 
cry of pain — " take the light and go on before 

Trembling in every limb, his gaze riveted 
to the face of Tarleton, Guiian took the 
light, and crossed the threshold of the room. 
Tarleton followed him with measured step, 
still clutching the knife in his right band. 

" On— <m \" muttered Tarleton ; " attempt 
to escape, and I strike, — on — ," and he 
reeled like a drunken man, and fell insensi- 
ble at Guiian' s feet. 



iieyl halloo! what's this ?" he cried, 
starting up in the bed, and surveying the 
oua apartment, — sti 






'■Wher 



Q !?■ 



The hour of dawn drew near, '. 
doiph was in his own chamber, seated by his 
bed, watching the face of the sleeper, who 
was slumbering there. 

A singular look passed over Randolph's 
visage, as he held the candle over the sleep- 
er's face, — a look hard to define or analyze, 
for it seemed to indicate a struggle between 
widely different emotions. There was ■ 
passion and revenge, brotherly love and 
■tal hatred in that look. 

For the sleeper was Harry Roynlton, of 
Hill Royal. 

The candle burned near ind nearer to its 
socket, — the morning light began to mingle 
with its fading rays, — and still Harvv slept 
on, and still Randolph watched, his eyes 
filed' on his brother's visage and his own 
face disturbed by opposing ^motions 
. It was near morning when Harry woke. 



His gaze fell upon Randolph, who was 
seated by the bed. 

" You here ?' and his countenance fell. — 
What in the devil does all this mean ? " 

Randolph did not reply. There was a 
slight trerohling of his nether lip, and bis 
brighter as he fiied his gaze on 
his brother's face. 

Where's my coat?" cried Harry, sur- 
veying his shirt sleeves, " and my cravat," — 
he passed his hands over his muscular throat, 
— " and — you, — what in the devil are i/ou 
doing here ?" 

Randolph, still keeping his gaze on his 
brother's face, said in a low voice, — "I am 
in my own house, brother." 

"Your house?" ejaculated Hatty, and 
then burst into a laugh, — " come, now, — 
don't, — that's too good." 

" My own house, to which I brought you 
some hours ago, after I had rescued you from 
the persons in the cellar " 

"Beacued me?" and an inctedulous smile 
passed over Harry's face as he pulled at his 
bushy whiskers. " Better yet, — ha 1 ha ! — 
You don't think to stuff me with any such 
damned nonsense ?" 

Randolph grexv paler, but his eye flashed 
with deeper light. 

" Brother,, I did rescue you," he said, in 
the same low voice, as he bent forward. — 
" As we were about to engage in conflict, you 
fell like a dead man on the floor. I took you 
in my arms ; I defended you ftora the ne- 
groes who wete clamorous for your blood ; 
I bore you to upper air, and I, brother, then 
brought you in a carriage to my home ; and 
I laid you 01) my bed, brother ; and when 
you awoke from your swoon, — awoka with 
the ravings of delirium on your tongue, — I 
soothed you, until you fell in a sound sleep. 
This is the simple ttuth, brother." 

Harry groiv red in che face, then pale, — bit 
his Up, — pulled his whiskers, and then with- 
out turning bis head, regarded Randolph 
with a sidelong glance. To tell the simple 
truth, Harry did not know what to say. He 
■ fell a swelling of the heart, a warmth in his 
I veins, as though the magnetic gaze of 



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THE DAWK, SUNRISE AND DAY. 



Handoiph had influenced him even against 
his will. 

"You (lid ail this?"- — there was a faint 

"I did, brother," — Randolph's voice ' 

"Why, — why,— did not you kill i 
when you had me in jour power ?" 
"Brother, the blood of John Augus 



ivalto 






like a Rojaltoa to strike a fallen foe." 

"And yon could have put poison in my 
drink," hesitated Harry, impressed i\gainst 
his will by the manner of his brother. 

" I never heard of a Royaltou who became 
a poi-sonor." 

"A Soijalton ? and you call younelf a 
Royalton?" said Harry, still regarding his 
brothar with a sidelong gaze. 

Randolph bit his lip, and folded his arms 
upon his chest, as if to choke down the 
strong emotions which were struggling within 
him. He did cot reply. 

" I suppose I am your prisoner f " asked 
Harry, intently regarding Randolph's face. 
You can keep me secluded until the twenty- 
fifth of December has passed. Is that the 
dodge ?" 

" Brother, the door is open, and the way 
is free, whenever you wish to leave this 
house," was Randolph's calm reply. 

" Well, if I can make you out, may I be 

1" cried Harry, and the next moment 

uttered a groan of agony, for his back was 
7ery painful, "Why did you not take me 
to my hotel ?" he said, in a, peevish, impa- 
tient tone. 

" You foi^et that I did not know the name 
of your hotel," replied Randolph, " and be- 
side, what place so fitting for a sick man as 
his brother's home ?' 

Harry grew red in the face, and then burat 
into 1 laugh. — "We've been such good broth- 
era to each other !" 

The thought which had been working at 
Randolph's heart for hours, now found utter- 

" Brother, 0, bi'other ! why can wa not 
indeed be brothers ?" his eyes flashed, his 
voice was deep and impassioned. " Children 
of one father, let us forget the past ; let us 
bury all bitter memories, all feelings of ha- 
tred, — let us forget, forgive, and bo as broth- 



ers lo each other. Hairy Hoyalto 
brother, there is my hand." 



He 1 



chest 1 



dimmed by tears, — and reached forth his 
hand. 

Harry, completely overwhelmed by this 
unespected appeal, reached forth his hand, 
but drew it back again. 

" No," he cried, as his face was Bushed, — 
" not with a nigger." The contempt, tho 
scorn, the rage which convulsed his face, as 
he said these words, cannot be depicted. 

CHAPTER III 



Thk boat was upon h bom a d 

verthe wintery wave d h h he 3 at- 
ig ice, by the stron ■trm w d 



Behind, like a hug b ack w was h 
city, a faint line of li h par oo 

from the bleak sky Ad h 

waves, loaded with p fl 

which crashed togeth w h p 

roar; and through th m h bo 

onward, bearing one m p h n 

Eugene and Robert, muffled in their cloaks, 
sat side by side on the stem ; Beverly and 
his friend, the major, also muffled in their 
cloaks, sat side by side in the bow. 

Eugene had drawn his cloak over his face 
as if to hide even from the faint light, the 
agony which was gniwing at his heart- 
strings. 

" In case anything should happen," whis- 
pered Robert, "have you any message to 



oherV 



"None,' 



s the reply, uttered in a chok- 



Damn her!" said Robert, between his 
teeth. 

Meanwhile, in the bow of the boat, Bev- 
erly, shuddering within his thick cloak, not 

□fuch from cold as from a mental cause, 
said to his friend, the major, — 

"No way to get out o' this, I suppose, 

" None," said the major. 

"I'd give a horse for a mouthful of good 

brandy " 

" Here it is," and the major drew a 



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THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAY. 



197 



wicker flask from ths folds of hia clonk. " 1 
always carr}' a pocket-pistol; touch her ii;|ht." 
It mLiy be that Beverly " toiiciisd her 
ligbt,'' but he held the fl;isk to his mouth for 
3, Ion;; time, and did not return it to the ma- 
jor until its contents were coDsiderably dim- 

"A cursed scrape." ho muttered. "If 
anything happens, what 'II become ot my 
dau''hter?" It seems he had a motherless 
child, — "and then there's the Van lluyUan 
estate. If he wings me, all my hope of 
that is gone, — of course it is." 

At length the broad river was crossed, and 
the oarsmen ran the boat into a sholCored 
cove, some three miles above Hohoken. 

The first glimpse of the coming morn stole 
over the broad river, the distant city, and tha 
magni Scent bay. 

"Wait for us, — you know what I tolil 
you ?" said Robert to the oar^meo, who were 
stout fellows, \a rough overcoats, and tarpau- 

"Ay, ay sir," they responded in a breath. 

" Major, you lead the way," said Robert, 
"up the heights we'll find a quiet place," 

The Major took Beverly by the arm, and 
began to climb the steep ascent, over wildly 
scattered rocks, and among leafless trees. 

They were followed by Robert and Eugene 

After much diffi h 

reached the summit h h 

time to catch the firs h 

as it shot upward, am h ad 

of the eastern horizo 



June pervades the place. And looking to 
the e;ist, or south-east, you see the broad 
river dotted with snowy sails, the great city, 
with its steeples glittering in the light, and 
with the calm, clear, vast Heaven arching 
overhead. The Bay gleams in the distance, 
white with sails, or shadowed here and there 
by the steamer's cloud of smoke, and far 
away Stalen Island closes the horizon like a 
wall. Standing by one of these huge rocks, 
encircled by the trees, and steeped in the 
quiet of the place, you gaze upon the distant 
city, like one contemplating a fur off battle- 
flull ■ h- 1 m'll- I dtl 

fate f mp h k A dd 

battl fl Id 1 p I th 

Emp C t h h mil big 

eve y m m t f tl h and b t 1 11 

life 1 f I m f 1th 1 b d f 

life Som t m h q k th 

thel I f h ppy hid h h 

to St t h th m 1 p th -la d 

gath 11 re m th k d d 

the ks i h d Id 

r dff h d 

win 11 t II 

they 1 1 1 to m t th 

.dbl k kj Ih k 1 id 



Allal 



■e the si 



the glow, and the d ta d d 

let and gold on every 

Among the heights, — may be some three 
miles above Hoboken, — there is a quiet nook, 
imbosomed, in the summer time, in foii;ige, 
and opening to the south-east, in a view of 
the Empire City, and Manhattan Bay. A 
place as level ns a floor, bounded on all sides 
save one, by oak, and chestnut and cedar, 
with great rocUs piled like monuments of a 
long passed age, among the massive trunks. 
It is green in summer lime, with n carpet-like 
sward, and then the tree branches j 
together by fragrant vines ; there a 
about the rocks and around tha roots of the 
old trees, — a balmy, drowsy atmosphere of 



d ts I! 1 g 1 d w 

ad f i d db 

mbl th h th 1 fl SI 



d f II 



f 



eerlul gleam. 

And in the light of the rising sun, in sight 
river, city, and distant bay, two men 
stand ready for the work of death. 

The ground is measured ; the seconds 
stand apart; before the fatal word is given, 
the combatants survey each other. 

Eugene, with bared head, stands on the 
north, his slender form enveloped in a closely 
buttoned frock-coat. He is lividly pale, but 
the hand which grasps the pistol does not 
tremble. Notwithstanding the bitter cold, 
tliere is moisture on his forehead ; the fire 
which bums iu his eyes, fells you that his 
1 emotion is anything but fear. One glance 
toward the city, — one thought perhaps of 
other days, — and he is ready. 



wGoogle 



THE DAWS', SUNRISE AND DAY. 



Opposite, in the south, hia hnt driwn over 
his flixen curls, hia tall form envelopeil in a 
close fltting frock-co:il, Beverly with in uo- 
certain eye and trembling hand, is nerving 
himself for the fatal moment. He is afraid. 
As he catches .i glimpse of the face of Eu- 
gene, hia heart dies within him. Ail color 
has forsook his usually florid face. 

" Gentlemen, you will Bre when I give the 
word, — " cries Major Barton from the back- 
ground of withered shrubbery. "Are you 

But at this moment the voice of Beverly 
is heard — " Eugene ! Eugene !" he cries, and 
atarta forward, rapidly diminishing the ten 
paces, which lie between them — " Eugene ! 
Eugene ! my friend — can I make no apology. 

Both Robert and the Major, saw Eugene's 
face, as he turned toward the seducer. The 
sun, which had been obscured by a passing 
cloud, shone out again, and shone full upon 
the face of Eugene. The look which stamp, 
ed every line of that bronzed visage, was 
never forgotten by those who beheld iL 
0, the withering scorn of the lip, the concen- 
trated hatred of the dark eyes, the utter 
loathing which impressed every lineament ! 

"FiUnd!" he echoed, as for a moment he 
looked Beverly in the face — and then turn- 
ing to Barton, he said quietly : " Major take 
your man away. If he is a coward as well 
as a scoundrel, let us know it." 

The look appalled Beverly; he receded 
step by step, unable to take his eyes from 
Eugene's face ; — 

" Be a man, curse you," whispered Barton 
who had glided to his side — " D'ye hear ?" 
and he clutched him by the arm, with a 
grasp, that made Bererly writhe with pain — 
"Take your place, and fire as Igive the word." 

In a moment, Beverly was in his place, 
his right hand grasping his pistol, dropped 
by bis side, which was presented toward 
Eugene, who, ten paces off, stood in a corres- 
ponding position. 

Barton retired to the background, taking 
his place beside Robert. " Gentlemen, I am 
about to give the word !" said Barton, and 
then there was a pause like death, — " One — 
two — three ! Fire ! 

They wheeled and fired, Eugene with a 
filed and decided aim ; Beverly with eyes 



terror, and hand trembling 
with fright. The smoke of the pistols 
curled gracefully through the wintery air. 
Beverly stumbled as he fired, and fell on 
one knee; Eugene stood bolt upright for a 
moment, the pistol in his extended hand, 
and then fell flat upon his face. 

Eugene's bullet sank into the cedar tree, 
directly behmd where Beverly's head had 
been, only a moment before. Beverly was 
uninjured No doubt the false step ivhich 
he had made m wheeling' had saved his life. 

Eu,-ene lay flat upon his face, the pistol 
still clutched in his extended hand. 

The brother of Joanna rushed forward 
and raised him to his feet, — there was a red 
wound between hia eyea, — he waa dead. 

The husband had been killed by the se- 



!r of his 



'ife. 



lehold the justice of the Law of Duel ! ' 
The damned fool," was the commentary 
of the phlegmatic Eoberti as with tears 
jushing from his eyes, he held the body of 
the dead husband, and at the same time 
igarded Beverly, who pale with fright, 
inged against a tree, — " If he'd a-taken my 
Ivice, he'd a-killed you like a dog, last 
ight. He'd a-pitched you from the third 
story window, — he would, — and mashed 
your brains out against the pavement." 

The sun came out from behind a cloud, 
and lighted the face of Eugene Livingston, 
with the red wound lie twee n his fixed eyeballs. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Israel Yobbb left, the Temple, accom- 
panied by Ninety-One and followed by the 
in. Israel, clad once more in his every- 
day practical dresa, with his hat drawn over 
bald head, and his diminutive form 
enveloped in a .loose sack of dark cloth, 
looked like a dwarf beside the almost gigan- 
frame of Ninety-One. Yet Ninety-One, 
with creditable politeness, gave his arm to 
the Financier, and urged him onward in the 
darkness, toward Broadway, something in 
aanner that you may have seen a very 
ig boy, assist the progress of a very un- 
willing dog, — the boy's hand being attached 
me end of a string, and the dog's neck 
the .other. And Nrnety-Ona cheered 



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THE DAWS'. SUNRISE AND DAT. 



Israel with various remarks of a consolatory 
character, such as, "go in gold specks ! let 
her went my darlin' ! don't give it u]) bo 
easy ! — '' and so-forth. 

"It's so dark, and I'm so devilish cold," 
whined Isiael, in vain endeavoring to keep 
pace with the giant strides of his huge com- 
panion, — "Where the deuce are we going 

" Come along feller sinners," said Ninoty- 
One, looking over his shoulders at the eleven 
who followed sturdily in the rear. The 
eleven did not deign to express themselves 
in words, hut manifested 
their feelings, by bringing their clnbs upon 
the pavement, with something of the force 
of thnnder, and more of the 
snddenly dammed door. " 



leadin' you to ? To 
Isr'el, — one of yer tenai 
ample of all the ohrist'i 
" To one of my tenan 
"To one of yer tenan 
One, and he crossf 
gave Israel's arm r 



le of yer tenants, 
!, you pertikler os- 



' echoed Israel, 
enants," repeated Nincty- 
i a curb as he spoke, and 
wrench which nearly 



the arm from Israel's body. — " You know 
you've got to pay cash for your hank notes 
to-day, an' you'll need all the money you 
can take and scrape. To-day's rent day, — 
isn't it 1 Well we're goin' on a colleetin* 
. (oicer among yer tenants, Aint we feller 

He turned his head over his shoulder, and ' 
again the clubs thundered their applause. 

"I'll be deuced if I can make you out," 
said Israel arranging his 'specks.' which had 
been displaced by one of the eccentric move- 
ments of Ninety-One, — and Israel felt very 
much like the man who, finding himself late 
at night, very unexpectedly in the same 
bod-room with a bear, desired exceedingly 
to get out of the room, but thought it no 
more than proper to be civil to the bear until 
he did got out. 

" Don't you own a four story house in 
street?" asked Ninety-One. ' 

" I do. Four stories, — two to four rooms 
on a floor, — besides the cellar and the gar- 
ret, — a fine property, — and, to-day is rent 



ringly, — added in an under tone, "Moses! 
How I'd like to have the picklin' of you !" 
Thus conversing, they entered Broadway, 
along which they passed for some distance, 
and at last turned down a by-streel, the 
eleven following them closely all the while. 
They st<K)d in front of a huge edifice, four 
stories high, formerly the residence of a 
Wall street nabob, but now the abode of, — 
we are afraid to say how many families. 
The basement was, of course, occupied as a 
manufactory of New York politics, — in sim- 
ple phrase, it was a grog'shop ; and although 
the hour was exceedingly late, its door was 
wide open, and the sound of drunken voices 
and the fragrance of bad turn, ascended to- 
gether upon the frosty air. Save the base- 
ment, the entire front of the mansion was 
dark as ink ; the poor wretches who bur- 
rowed in its many rooms, were doubtless 
sleeping after the toil of the winter's day. 

In the fourth story you have a tenant 
named ?" whispered Ninety- 
One. 

Yes; a poor devil," responded Israel 
Yorke. 

go up an' see the poor devil," said 

Ninety-One, and grasping Israel firmly by 

le arm, he passed through the front door 

id up the narrow stairway. 

The eleven followed in silence, supporting 

Israel firmly in the rear. 

As they reached the head of the fourth 
stairway, Ninety-One put forth his brawny 
hand, and, — in the darkness, — felt along tha 

"Here's the door," he whispered, "in a 
minnit we'll buiit in u]K)n your tenant like a 
thousand o' brick." 

Israel felt himself devoured by curiosity, 
suspense, and fear. 

As for the eleven gathering around Israel 
closely in the darkness, they preserved a dead 
silence, only broken for a moment by the ei- 
clamation of one of their number, — " What 
ud be to pitoh this liere cuas down 



" Hush, boys ! hark !" said Ninety-One^ 

and laid his hand upon the latch of the doon 

Before we entor the door and gaze upon 

"You stow 'em away like maggots in a the scene which Ninety-One disclosed to tho 

»tale cheese, — do you ?" and Ninety-One gaze of Israel Yorke, our history must rft. 

stopped, and regarded the little man admi- trace its steps. 

13 



,/Googlc 



flOO 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAT. 



It was nightfall, and the light of the knipa 
glittering among the lesifless trees of the 
Park, mingled with the last flush of the de- 
parted day, and the mild, tremulous rays of 
the first etars of evening. At the comer of 
Broadway and Chambers street, two young 
men held each other by the hand, as they 
talked together. The contrast between their 
faces and general appearance was most re- 
markable, even for this world of contrasts. 
One tall in stature, with florid cheeks, and' 
blue eyes glittering with life and hope, was 
the very picture of health. He was dressed 
at the top of the fashion, A sleekly-brushed 
beaver aat jauntily upon his chesnut curls ; 
an overcoat of fine gray cloth fitted closely to 
his vigorous frame, and by its tolling collar, 
suffered his blue scarf and diamond pin to be 
visible ; his hands were gloved, and he car- 
ried a delicate cane, adorned with a head of 
amber; and his voice and laugh rung out so 
cheerily npon the frosty air! 

The other, — alas I for the contrast, — dress- 
ed in a long overcoat of faded brown cloth, 
resembled a living skeleton. His face was 
terribly emaciated ; his cheeks sunken ; his 
eyes hollow. His voice was low and husky. 
As he spoke, his eyes lighted up like fire- 
coals, and seemed to bum in his sallow and 
withered face. His hair, black as jet, and 
straight and long, only made his countenance 
seem more pule and death-like. Ho was 
evidently in the last stage of consumption, 
and his dress, neat as it was, — the faded 
Drown coat, and much-worn hat carefully 
brushed, — betokened poverty, and the sad- 
dest poverty of all, — that which tries, and 
vainly, to hide itself under a "decent" ex- 

And thus they met, at the comer of Cham- 
bers street and Broadway, Lewis Harding, 
the rich broker and nian of fashion, and 
John Martin, the poor artist and — dying 
man. They had been playmates and school- 
fellows in other years. Five years ago, they 
left the academy, in a country t«wn, to try 
their fortunes in the world ; both orphans, 
both young, both full of life and hope, and — 
poor. Harding had taken the world a* Ae 
jtunii it, adopted its philosophy, — " Success 
it ths only test of merit," — and became a 
rich teaker tmd a man of fashion. John 
Martin had taken the world as it tniyht to 



have been, — believed in the goodness of man- 
kind, and in the certainty of honest success 
following honest labor — of hand and brain, — 
steadily devoted to the elevation of man. 
He became an artist, and, — we see him be- 

"Why, Jack, my dear fellow, what are 
you doing out in the cold air?" said Har- 
ding, in his kindly voice. "You oi^ht to 
bo more careful of yourself, " 

" I am out in the cold air, because I cannot 
breathe freely in the house," answered the 
artist, with a smile on his cadaverous lips. 

" But you have no cough, — you'll be bat- 
ter in spring." 

" True, I have no cough, but the doot«r 
informed me to day that my tight lung was 
entirely gone, and my left hard after it ; the 
simple truth is, I am wasting to death ; and I 
hate the idea of dying in bed. I want to keep 
on my feet, — I want to keep in the air, — I 
want to die on my feet." 

Harding had rapidly giown into a man of 
the world, but somehow the tears started 
into his eyes. 

"But you must keep np your spirits, 
Jack, — in the spring you will be " 

"In my grave, Harding; there','* no use 
of lying about it." 

And his eyes flared up, and a bitter smile 
moved his lips. 

"0, how's the wife and children?" said 
Harding, as though anxious to change the 

" They are well," said John, and a singu- 
lar look passed over his face. 

"And your sister ?" 

" Eleanor is well," — and the vivid bright- 
ness of his eyes was fc^ a moment vaJled in 



"0, by-the-bye, I met Nelly the other 
day," said Harding. " Bless my soul ! what 
a handsome little girl she has grown ! It 
was in a store where they sell embroidered 
work. I was pricing a est of regalia, — thirty 
dollars they said was the price, — and little 
Nell had worked on it about three weeks fot 
five dollars Great worid, Jack 1" 

"Good night, Harding," said the artist, 
quietly. 

"But let me accompany you hoDW, " 

" I'd rather you would not. Good DisU, 
Harding." 



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THE DAWN, StINBISE AND DAT. 



aoi 



" But God bless you, John, can't I do 
anything for you ?' 

" Why, why aft<r I am dead," — and tlie 
words seemed to stick in his throat, — " after 

X am dead, — my wife, — my sister, " he 

could say no more. 

" I swear that I will protect them," said 
Harding, warmly. John quietly pressed hi, 
hand, and turned his face away. After i 
moment they parted, Harding down Broad 
way on his way to the theater, and John up 
Broadway, on his way home. And Harding 
gazed after John for a moment, — " I'm glad 
he didn't want to borrow money 1 Neli is 
quit* a beauty !" 

Walking slowly, and pausing every now 
and then to breathe, John gazed in the 
bright shop- windows, and into the contrasted 
faces of the hurfyjug ciDwd as he passed 

" Soon this will be all over for me," he 
muttered, with a. huslty laugh. " I'm afraid, 
friend John, that you are taking your last 

An arm was gently thrust through his 
own, and a voice light and trilling as the 
notes of a bird, said quietly, — 

"I'ra so glad I've caught up with you 
John," — and he leaned upon that gentle 
4irm, and turned to look upon the face of 
the speaker. It was his sister Eleanor, a very 
pretty child of some fourteen years, dressed 
in a faded cloak, and with a hood on her 
dark hair. Her complexion ivaa a rich 
brown, tinged with red in the cheeks; her 
eyes, brows and hair, all black as midnight. 
And by turns, over that face, in which the 
woman began to mingle H'ith the child, thero 
flitted a look of the brightest joyousness, and 
aft expression of the most touching melan- 

" I've just been taking my u*orfc home, 
John. They paid me half a dollar for what 
I have done this week, (and that, you know, 
John, will keep us in bread and coal to- 
morrow,) and 0; I am so glad you've got 
eight dollars saved for the rent. I am 3o 
gla4l The rent is due to-raormw, and the 
landlord is such a hard man." 

" Yes, I have eight dollars," John said, 
utd tkere was an indefinable accent marking 
every word. " Yes, Nelly, dear, I have eight 



"John, do tell me, who are those good 
ladies who pass us every moment, dressed to 
richly, — all in velvet, and satin, and jewels ; 
who are they, John ?" 

John stopped, — bent upon his cane, — 
looked for a moment upon the crowd which 
whirled past him, — and then into the happy, 
innocent face of his sisUr, And then bU 
shrunken chest heaved with a sigh. "0 
God !" he said, in a low voice. 

" Who are they, John, — do tell me, — they 
must be very, 0, ever so rich." 

"Those handsome ladies, dressed so gaud' 
ily, Nelly, are sisters and daughters. Once 
they had brothers and fathers who protected 
them, and now their fathers and brothers ar* 
dead. The world takes care of them cow, 
Nelly." 

The poor girl heard his words, but did not 
guess their hidden meaning. Still suppordng 
her brother on her arm, she continued, — 

"Do you know, John, that your band' 
some friend, Mr. Harding, met me in the 
store the other day, and said he took such 
an interest in me, and that if I chose I 
might be dressed as rich and gayly as theM 
grand ladies, who pass us every moment." 

John started as though he had trodden 
u^xin a snake. " And only a m.oment aga 
he promised to protect her when I am gone," 
he muttered, — " Protection !" 

And thus they passed along until tuniiiig 
into a by-street, they came near their home, 
which was composed of a single room, np 
four pairs of stairs, in a four-storied edificfc 
At the street door they were met by a young 
woman, plainly, — moagerly clad, but with k 
fiuely'rounded form, and a countenance, tich, 
rtot only in loveliness, but in all the goodneM 
of womanly affection. It was the artiit^ 
wife. 

" 0, John, I have been so aniious about 
you," she said, and took him by the vm ; 
and while Nelly held the other, she gently 
led him through the doorway «iid up tbe 
dark stairs. "Why will you go ont when U 
is so cold 1" 

" I want air, Annie, ai'r," he Tetunied in 
his boik>w voice, — ''and I will <tie on 117 
feeL" , 

And the wife and sister h«lp«d the dying 
artist gently up the itun; gently, «Ioiriy, 
step by step, and led hits at lait «TWr &m 



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THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAY, 



threshold, into that room wliich i 

Abodt an hour afterward, John was seated 
in an arm-chair, in the center of that home, 
whose poverty was concealed as much as 
might be, by the careful exertions of his 
wife and sister. lu the arm-chair, hia death- 
like face looking ghastly in the candle- 
light, — his wife, a woman of Umde counte- 
nance, blue eyes, and cheanut-hair, on one 
side ; his sister, with her dark hair, and clear, 
deep eyes, on the other ; each holding a hand 
of the husband and the brother. A boy of 
four years, sat on a stool, looking up quietly 
with his big eyes into hia father's face ; and 
near, a little girl of three years, who took 
her brother by the hand, and also looked in 
the face of the djin;^ artist Very beautiful 
children ; plainly clad, it is true, but beauti- 
ful ; the girl with light hair and blue eyes, 
reSecting the mother, while the hoy, dark- 
haired and black-eyed, was the im^e of the 

The table, spread with the i^mains of the 
scanty meal, stood near; the grate was filled 
with lighted coals; a bed with a carefully 
patched coverlet stood in one comer ; be- 
tween the two windows was placed an old- 
faahioned bureau ; and two pictures adorned 
the neatly whitewashed walls. 

Such was the picture, and such the artist's 

The stillness which had prevailed since 
Bupper, was at length broken by the voico of 

"Annie, I'll leave you soon," he said, qui- 
etly, and his eyes lighted up. — " 0, wouldn't 
it be a good thing if we could all die togeth- 
er ! To die, I do not fear, hut to leave you 
all, — and in such a world ! 0, my God I 
such a world !" 

Annie buried her face in her hands, and 
rested her hands against the arm of the chair. 
Nelly, her large eyes brimful of tears, quietly 
put his hand to her lips. And the little boy, 
in his childish way, asked what "to die" 
meant. 

"Bring me that picture, Nelly," — he 
pointed to a picture on the wall. She went 
Wid bronght it quietly. "Now let down the 
window a little, for I fee! the want of air, 
Kud come and sit by me again." 

He took the picture and gazed upon it 



earnestly and long. It was a picture of him- 
self, in the prime of young manhood, the 
cheeks rounded, the eyes full of hope, the 
brow, shaded by glossy black hair, stamped 
with genius. A picture taken only sixteen 
months before. 

" Only sixteen months ago, Nelly," he 
sdd. Only sixteen months ago, Annie ; and 
now — well, there's a crayon sketch on the 
bureau, which I took of myself the other 
day, as I looked in the glass. Bring it, 
Nelly." ; ■ 

His sister brought the crayon sketch ; and, j 
with a sad smile, he held it beside the other ■ 
picture. It was all too fiUthful. His promi- 
nent cheek bones, hollow cheeks, colorless 
lips, and sunken eyes, all were copied there ; 
only the deathly fire of the eyes was 
lacking. 

"A sad contrast, isn't it, Annie ? When 
this picture waa taken, sixteen months i^, 
re all doing well. My pictures sold ; 
lithographs which I executed, met 
also with toady sale. I had as much as I 
could do, and everything was bright before 
ven thought of a tour to Italy ! 
Don't you remember our nice little cottage 
out in the country, Nell ? But I was taken \ 
sick — sick ; — I couldn't work any longer, - 
Our money was soon spent ; and yoti, Annie, 
made shirts ; and you, Nelly, you embroi- 
dered ; and that kept us thus far — and — ," 
he stopped, and gazed upon his wife and sis- 

■, who were weeping silently; and then 
upon his children. "And now I must go 
and leave you in this world. — Oh, my God ! . 
such a world !" 

"Don't think of us, John," said his wife. 
If you could only live, — " 

"Oh, you will — you will get better, as the 
spring comes on," exclaimed Nelly; "and 
nto the country, on the first sunny 
day, and gather flowers there." 

John drew forth from his vc-t pocket cer 
in pieces of paper, which he spread forth 
upon his knee. Bank notes, etch marked 
with the figure 2, and signtd by the name 
of Israel Yorke, (a promintnt btnk^ of the 
stamp,) in ahold hand There nere 
four in all. 

"This is the eight dollars, Annie, which I 
saved to pay our rent," said the artist. 

The wife and sister gazed upon the hank 






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THE DA\VN, SDNRISE A5ID DAT. 



notes earnestly — for those bank notes were 
their last hope. Those bank notes were 
"rent money;" and of all money on the 
earth of God, none is bo bitterly earned by 
Poverty, nor so pitilessly torn from its grasp 
by the hand of Avarice, as "rent money." 

"Well, — w^l ;" — and John paused, as if 
the words choked him. "These notes are 
not worth one penny. All of Israel Yorke's 
banks broke to-day." 

There was not a word spoken for five 
minutes, or more. This news went like 
ice-bolt through the hearls of the wife and 

"And to-morrow we'll be put into the 
street by this same Israel Yorke, who is also 
our landlord ;" said John, breaking the long 
pause. "Put the window a little lower, 
Nelly — it feels close — I want air," 

Nelly obeyed ; and resum"d her seat at 
her brother's face, which now glowed on the 
cheeks and shone in the eyes with an ex- 
pression which she could not deHne. 

" Oh, would n't it be good, Annie — would 
not it be glorious, Nelly— if I could gather 
you all up in my arms and take you ivith 
me, whither I am going ?" he said, with 3 
sort of r5.pture, looking from his children to 
his wife and sister. And then, in a gentler 
tone : " Kneel down, Nelly, and say a prayer, 
; and ask God to forgive us all our sins — all, 
remember, — and to smooth the way for us, so 
that we may all go to Him." 

Neither Kelly nor AumB remarked the 
eingular emphasis which accompanied those 

Nelly knelt in their midst, and prayed. 
As she uttered that simple and child-tike 

■ prayer, John fixed his eyes upon her face, 

■ and muttered, "And so he took a great I'n- 
i tereat in you, and would dress you gayly, 
, would he 1" 

' Then he said, aloud, in a kind of wild and 
wandering way — "Now we've had oiir last 
supper, and our last prayer. It will soon be 
time for us to go. Call me, love, in time for 



the. 

He paused, and raised hia hand to his 
forehead, — 

"Don't cry, Annie; my mind wanders a 
little — that's all. I want rest. I'll take a 
little sleep iu the chair, and you and Nelly, 
and the children, lay down in the bed. And 



let me kiss the children, and do you all kiss 

The young mother lifted the little boy 
and girl, aJid they pressed their klas upon the 
lips of the dying man. Then the wife and 
the sister ; their tears mingling on his face, 
as their lips were pressed by turns to his lips 
and brow. 

" Come, Nellj'," whispered the wife, "we'll 
lay down, but we will not sleep. He will 
take a little rest if he thinks we are 
sleeping. 

Presently the sister and the wife, with the 
children near them, were resting oh the bed, 
their hands silently joined. They conversed 
in low tones, while the children fell gently 
asleep. But gradually their conversation 
died away in inarticulate whispers; and they 
also slept. 

And the artist — did he sleep? By no 
means. Bitting erect in his arm-chair, hid 
back toward the bed, and his eyes every 
instant glittering bright and brighter, be 
listened intently to the low whispers of his 
wife and sister, " At last they sleep !" he 
cried, as the sound of their calm, Tegular 
breathing struck his ears. "They sleep — 
they sleep 1 They sleep — wife, sister, chil- 
dren ; Annie, Nelly, little John, and little 
Annie, — they all sleep." 
And he burst into tears. 
But his death-stricken face was radiant 
through his tears: — radiant with ihtense joy. 
John sat silently contemplating a small 
nage of white marble, which he had taken 
om one of the drawers of the bureau. It 
ipresented the Master on the cross. 
"Better go to God, and trust him, than 
trust to the mercy of man," he frequently 
murmured. 
After much silent thought he rose, and, from 
beneath the bureau drew forth two obje.^ 
the light — a sack and a small plastei 
furnace. He placed the furnace in the cen- 
ter of the floor, and lialf filled it with lighted 
coals from tHb grate. Then he poured the 
contents of the sack upon the burning coals; 
hand^ trembling, and bis eyes, fiery as 
they were, suddenly dimmed by moisture. 

Charcoal, good charcoal — such a bless- 
ing to the poor ! Nelly didn't know what 
it was, when I sent her for it this 
afternoon — that is, yesterday aftatnootu U 



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204 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAT. 






1^^ 



B U 1. 1 tly ta p 1 
1 t U! th 

m ha^oard d 



ly 



— it burns — such a mild, rich blue 
Opium and charcoal are tbe poor 
man's best friends. They cost so little, and 
they save one from so much," — as he knelt 
on the floor, ho cost his gaee over his shoul- 
der toward the bed — " so very much ! They 
will save us all from so much [" 

Neliy murmured ia her sleep, and rose in 
bed, and, opening her eyea, gsied at her 
brother, kneeling by the lighted furnace, with 
a wild dre my t 1h hlydw 

and slept a^ 

The cha al b 
Uue fiame ast 
face of th k 1 
death-strick 1i 

fill the ro m J 
unsteady t p t t 

inhaled thfhaiRt h mp 
the sash, h f It th Id po h h k 
and looked out and upward, — there was the 
dark blue sky set with stars. 

"In which of them, I wonder, will we all 
meet again?" he said, in a wandering way. 
Then he tottered from the window to the 
bed. Tha air was stifling. He breathed only 
in gBSpa. 

By the bed again, gazing upon them all, — 
wife, sister, children, — so beautiful in their 
slumber. 

And they began to move restlessly in their 
sleep, and mutter half-coherent words, and — 
"In the spring time, John, we'll gather 
flowers," said Neliy ; " You'll be better soon, 
John," whispered the wife ; and all was still 
again. 

Back to the window, with unsteady steps, 
to inhale another mouthful of fresh air — to 
take another look at the cold, cold winter 

Brighter bums the charcoal ; the pale blue 
flame hovers there, in the center of the room 
Kka au infernal halo. And there is Death 
in the air. 

Breathing ia gasps, John tottered from the 
window again. lie took the image in one 
hand, the candle in the other ; and thus, on 
tip-toe, ho approached the bed. 

A very beautiful sight. little John and 
little Annie sleeping side by side, a glow 
upon their cheeks, — Nelly and Annie sleep- 
ing hand Joined in hand ; their beautiful faces 
tovested ^th a smile that was all quietness 






and peace. They did not i\ 
sleep this time. 

John's eyes glared strangely as he stood 
gaiing upon them. "And did you think, 
Annie, he said softly, putting his hand upon 
her head, " that I'd leave yon in this world, 
to work and to slave, and to,^ar our chil- 
dren up to work and to slave, and eat the 
bitter bread of poverty f And you, Nelly, 
did you think I'd leave you to slave here, 
ntil your soul was sick ; and then, some 
diy, when work failed, and starvation looked . 
at the window, to sell yourself to some ', 
oh scoundrel for bread ? No, wife — no sis- ] 
r — no, children : / Itave gathered yon up in ■ 
y arms, and we're all going together !" 
He kissed them one by one, and then tot- 
t red back toward the lighted furnace — 
■ ward his chair — the light which he held, 
hining fully over his withered face and 
fioming eyes. In one hand he still grasped 
the marble image. He had gained half the 
Gce to his chair, when the door opened. 
i.a of middle age, clad in sober black, 
his hair gray, and his hooked nose sup- 
porting gold spectacles, appeared on the 
threshold. 

"Ah, Doctor, is that you?" cried John, 
I thought it was the landlord; — you've 
Dme too late, Doctor, too tate." 
" Too late ? What mean you, Mr. Mar- 
n ;" said the doctor, advancing into the 
>om — but starting back again, as he encoun- 
tered the poisoned air. 

Too late — too late I" cried John, the can- 
dle trembling in his unsteady grasp, as he 
raised his skeleton-like form to its full 
height — " We're all cured, — " 

Cured? What mean you? How cured?" 
Cured of — life !" said John ; and, step- 
ping quickly forward, he fell at the doctor's 
feet. 

The doctor seized the light as he fell, and 
ittempted to raise him from the floor, — but 
John was dead in his arms. 

Odr history now returns to Israel Torke, 
whom, with Ninety-One and the eleven, we 
waiting in the dark, outsida the artist's 

Hush, boys ! hush !" whispered Sinetv 
, and laid his hand upon the latch 
iter, Isr'el, and talk to yer tenant," 



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THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAY. 



305 



The door opened, a d I ra I e te ed, fol- 
lowed by Ninety-One d the le e all of 
whom preserved » dead 1 11 ess 

A single light was lu n d mly n the 
artist's humble room. It ast ts avs over 
the humble details of tl e pla — o or the 
bed, which was cov d by wh te sheet. 
The place was deathly Gtill. 

"What does all this mean ?" cried Israel. 
"There is no one here." Ninety-One took 
the light from the table, and led Israel 
silently to the bed. The eleven gathered 
round in silence ; you could hear their 
hard breathing through the dead stillness of 
the room. Ninety-One lifted the sheet, 
slowly; his harsh features quivering in every 
fiber. 

"That's what it means," he said hoarsely. 

They were there, side by side ; the hus- 
band and the wife, the sister and the 
cSildren — there, cold and dead. The light, 
as it fell upon them, revealed the wasted 
face of the artist, his closed eyelids, sunken 
farin their sockets, his dark hair glued to her 
forehead by the moisture of death ; and the 
face of his young wife, with her fair cheek 
and sunny hair ; and the sad, beautiful face 
of his sister, whose dark hair lay loosely 
upon her neck, while the long fringes of her 
eyelashes rested darkly upon her cheek. 
There was a look of anguish upon the face 
of John, as though Poverty had struck its 
iron seal upon him as he died ; but the faces 
of Annie and Nelly In n I — 

veryfull of peace. Th I ttl hid — h 
dark-haired hoy, and b j,ht h d gi ! — 
slept quietly, their ha d las[ d and tl 
cheeks laid close togetl ih po art 

in the last wild hour f his 1 f h d d d 
gathered them up in hi m d tal Oiet 
viiik Mm, They had II to i 

The furnace, with ti h p t t t II 
remained in the cente f th m 

Such was the seen h h th 1 ht d s- 
doeed ; a scene incred bl ly to th h 

unfamiliar with the u of th 1 
city, do not know that alt the boasted tri- 
umphs of our modern civilization but mise- 
rably compensate for the tovertt which it 
has created, and which stalks side by side 
with it, at every step of its progress, like a 
skeleton beside a painted harlot ; — a poverty 
which gives to the phrase, "/ am poor !" a 



despair unknown even in the darkest ages 
of the most barbarous past 

"They are asleep, — asleep, certainly," 
cried Israel, falling back, " they can't be 

The truth is, that Israel felt esceedingly_ 
uncomfortable. . . 

"They aint asleep, — they are dead," 
hoarsely replied Ninety-One, and he grasped 
Israel fiercely by the wrist. " They ate dead, 
you dog. Look thar! That man owed you 
eight dollars for rent ; heknow'd if he didn't 
pay you this momin' he'd ba pitched into 
the street, dyin' as he was, with wife and 
children and sister at his heels. But he'd 
saved eight dollars, Israel, an' last night he 
crawled out to take a walk, an' found that 
his eight dollars was so much trash — found 
out that yer banks had broke, an' his eight 
dollars in yer hank notes, was wuss thau 
nothin'. An' from yer bankin' house he 
went to a drug store, an' from a friend he got 
a quick an' quiet p'ison. He came home; 
hep ft' th ff II th Udank 
of i p h h fi d umace 

with h ted «n hey 

siep h b — h h out 

h d g— o y h II- 

hou — to k gd m com 

h tch ho 

little man groaned with pain. 

" But how do you know he poisoned him- 
elf and those ?' faltered Israel. 

He left a scrap o' paper in which he told 

bout it an' the reason for doin' it. The 

[ tor who came in when it was too late, 

aw the charcoal burnin', an' found the p'ison 

t the bottom of the cups. An' this man," 

h pointed to one of the eleven, a sturdy 

f How with a frank, honest face, "this man 

his wife live in the next room. He was 

last eveniu', but she was in, an' she baard 

po r Martin ravin' about you an' his ^igbt 

d tiars, an' his wife, an' sister, an' children, 

starvation, death, an' the cold dark street. 

Sh heered him, I say, but didn't suspec' 

there was p'ison in the case until the dootoi 

called her in, an' then it was too late." 

But how did you know of all this ? 
What have you to do with it ?" 

fou see the doctor went an' told the 
E, who has jimt been tryin' you, — told 
him hours ago, you mind, — an' thk IVStQZ 



"X 



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THE DAWN, SUNBISB AND DAT. 



sent me liere with you, in order to show you 
some of yer work. How d'ye like it Isr'el 

Ninety-One's features were harsh and bc; 
red, but now they quivered with an almost 
child-like emotion. With his brawny hand 
he pointed to the bodies of the dead, — 

"Thar's eight dollars worth o' yer n 
Isr'el," ho said. " Thar's Chow Bunk, Muddy 
Run, an' Tarrapin Holler! Look at 'em 
Don't you think that some day God Al- 
mighty will ax you to change them notes ?*■ 

Andlsrael shrank back appalled front th: 
bed. Ninety-One clutched his wrist with e 
firmer grasp ; the eleven gathered closely in 
his rear, their ominous murmur growing 
more distinct ; and the light, held in the 
convict's hand, shed its calm rays over the 
faces of the dead family. 

Thia death-scene in the artist's home, calls 
np certain thoughts. 

Poverty ! Did you ever think of the full 
meaning of that word ? The curse of pover- 
ty is tho cowardice which it breeds, coward- 
ice of body and soul. Many a man who 
would in full possession of hia faculties, 
pour out his lifo-blood for a friend, or even 
for a stranger, will, when it becomes a con- 
teat for a cniat of bread, — for the last means 
of a bare subsistence, — steal that crust from 
the very lips of his starving friend, and 
would, were it possible, drain the last life- 
drop in the veins of nnothor, m order to 
keep life in his own wretched carcass The 
savage, starving m the snow, m the center 
of hia desolate prairie, knows nothing of the 
poverty of the civilized savage, much less of 
that poverty, which takes the man or woman 
of refined education, nod kills every noblo 
fiieulty of the soul, before it does its last work 
on the body. Poverty in the city, is not 
BtBTB want of bread, but it is the lack of the 
tnsans to supply innumerable wants, oroated 
by civiliz^ion, — and that lack is slow moral 
and physical death. Talk of tho bravery of 
the hero, who, on the battle-field stands up 
to be shot at, with the chance of glory, on 
the one hand, and » quick death on the 
other! How will his heroism compare with 
that brave man, who in the large city, year 
after year, and day by day, expends the very 
life-stringB of his soul, in battling against the 
ftings of want, in keeping Bome roof-shelter 
over his wife and children, or those who are | 



as dependent upon him as wife and children? 
Proud lady, sitting on your sofa, in your 
luxurious parlor, you regard with a quiet 
sneer, that paragraph in the paper (you hold 
it in your hand), which tells how a virtuous 
girl, sold her person into the grasp of 
wealthy lust for — broad ! You sneer, — virtue, 
refined education, beauty, innocence, chastity, 
all gone to the devil for a — bit of bread ! 
Sneer on ! but were you to try the experi- 
ment of living two days without — not your 
carriage and opera-box, — but without bread 
or fire in the dead of winter, working mean- 
while at your needle, with half-frozen fin- 
gers for just sixteen pennies per day, you 
would, I am afraid, think differently of the 
matter. Instead of two days, read two 
years, and let your trial bo one of perpetual 
work and want, that never for a moment 
cease to bite, — I am afraid, beautiful one, 
were this your case, you would somctimfi 
find yourself thinking of a comfortable life, 
and a bed of down, purchased by the sale of 
your hody, and the damnation of your soul. 
And yoH, friend, now from the quiet of some 
itry village, railing bravely against south- 
slavery, and finding no word bitter 
igh to express your hatred of tho slave 
market, in which black men and black wo- 
n are sold — just look a moment from the 
idow of your quiet home, and behold 
yonder huge building, blazing out upon the 
night from its hundred windows. That is a 
factory. Yes. Have you no pity for the 
white men, (nearer to you in equality of 
organization certainly than black men,) who 
chained in hopeless slavery, to the iron 
wheels of yonder factory's machinery ? Have 
10 thought of the white woman, (love- 
lier to look upon certiunly than black women, 
in color, in oi^anization, in education! 
resembling very much your own wife, sister, 
mother,) who very often are driven by want, 
from yonder factory to the grave, or to the— 
brothels of New York ? You mourn over 
black children, sold at the slave block, — 
have you no tear for white children, who in 
yonder factory, ore deprived of education, 
converted into mere working machines (with- 
ne tithe of the food and comfort of the 
black slave), and transformed intti precocious 
nen and women, before they tave ever 
ce free pulse of childhood ? 



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THE DAWN, SUNBISB AND DAY. 



Ah' th- 
do btl sa 



t J. ■ wh" hf rm th "rap ! 



G d — b t th p th 
1 tt d th h 
6 p t b 11 



. p d f th II d 



1 p t 1 — th bl d f h 



CHAPTER T. 



., CORNELIUS. 



L bo 



1 



f 1 f 



f n 



(th 



1 t 



te port 



■will th f t wh 
liz d by th f d th 
th pi J cal k f th 
the eiitiro race of man,— -but until that future 
arrives, labor-saving rnachinerj will send 
more milHona down to death, than any three 
centuries of battle-fields, that over cursed 
the earth. Yes, modem civilizafion, is v 
m«oh like the locomotive, rolling along 
iron track, at sixty miles per hour, with hot 
coals at its iieiirt, and a cloud of smoke and 
flame above it. Look at it, as it thunders 
on ! What a magnificent impersonation of 
power ; of brute force ch;unod by the mind 
of man ! All true, — but woe, woe to the 
■weak or helpless, who linger on its iron 
track ! and woe to the weak, the crippled, 
Of the poor, whom the locomotive of modern 
civilization finds lingering in its way. Why 
should it care ? It has no heart. Its work 
is to move onward, and to cut down all, 
■whom poverty and misfortune have left in 

There is one phase of poverty which hath 
no parallel in its unspeakable 
n of genius with a good heart, 



Leaving Frank to writhe alone in her 
a^ ny. Nameless and Mary pursued their 
w V througli the dark atreets, as the morning 
d V near. They arrived at length, in 
f t of that huge mansion, in Greenwich 
t et, which once the palace of ease and 
p Icnce, w(ft iioiv, from the garret to the 
liar, the palace of rags, disease and poverty, 
H V Mary's heart thrilled as she led Name- 
less throiii'h the dirkuess up the marble 



A f wh 



1 Y 



those 



altho gh d k 
poverty d 
-th fut 



At tl h < 
fourth t M 
darkn '.s, 1 d N 



f th 



d d 



the 

the 

th th h Id 

Myhomi.. she whi.percd, and !ij,hted 

the candle, which hours ago, in the moment 

of her deepest despair, she had extinguished. 

As the light stole around the place, Name- 

is at a glance beheld the miserable garret, 

th its sloping roof walls of rough boards, 

and scanty furniture, a mattress in one cor- 

sheet-iron stove, a table, and in tha 

of the huge garret window aii old arm- 



thing of the all-overarching spirit of Christ | " This your home !" he ejaculated and at 
in him, looks around the world, sees the) the same time beheld the occupant of the 



■vast sum of human misery, and feels like 
this, 'with hut a moderate portion of money, 
what good might not be accomptislied P and 
yet that little sum is as much beyond him, — 
as far beyond his grasp, as the planet Jupiter, 
That forth from the womb of the present 
chaos, a nobler era will be born, no one can 
doubt, who feels the force of these four 
words, 'there ia a Ood.' And that the pres- 
ent 1^0 with its deification of the money 
power, is one of the basest the world oversaw, 



arm-chair, — in that man prematurely old, 
his skeleton form incased in a loose wrap- 
per, his emaciated hands resting on the arms, 
and one side of his corpse-like face on the 
back of the chair,' — he after a lotg. pause, 
recognized the wreck of his master, Corneliua 
Berman. 

"0, my master!" he cried in & tone of 
inexpressible emotion, Md sank on his knees 
before the sleeping man, and pressed his 
emaciated hand reverently to his lips. "Is 



cannot be disproved, although it may be Sit thus I find you!" and profoundly affected, 
bitterly denied. There is something pitiful I he remained kneeling there, his gaze fixed 
in the thought that a world once deemed 'upon that countenance, which despite its pre- 
worthy of the tread of Satan, is now become mature wrinkles, and dead apathetic expres- 
tlie crawling ground of Mammon. eion, still bore upon its forehead, — half hid by 



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THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAY. 



BEOw-ivhito hair, — some traces of the intellect 
of Cornelius Berman. 

"While Nameless knelt there in silence, 
Marv glided fforn the room and after eoi 
mm ) pp d h Id basket 

m wh 1 th th h Id ticta 

fw<3L hhhd h 

t h f th r- f t I L It fi 
th h t t d be t p P^^^ 

th first m 1 h h 1 h d list d thi 
CO n, f tw ty h rs C t d cite 
m t h d k pt h p thiL f h t her 
b be t wdydhhdto 

t rati At 1 th th h t 1 th was 
p d th tabl d th h f ranee 
f IT t 1 th h th t ph e of 
th d 1 f Th b q t M p ead, 

bdbttt pfff— orry 

t f b q e y — b t J t f nee, 
tyth pmtft tyt hours, 
without food, and you'll change your opin- 

The first f^nt gleam of the winter morn- 
ing began to steal through the garret win- 

"Come, Carl,"— she glided softly to his 
side, and tapped him gently on the shoulder, 
"breatfast is ready. While fathw sleeps, 
just come and see what a good housekeeper 



la 

He looked up and beheld her smiling, 
ulthongh there were tears in her eyes. 

He rose and took his seat beside her at 
the table. Now the garret was rude and 
lonely, and the banquet by no means luxu- 
rious, and yet Nameless could not help 
being profoundly agitated, as he took his 
Beat by the side of Mary. 

It was the first time, in all hia memory, 
that he had sat down to a table, encircled 
by the sanctity which clusters round the 
word — Home. 

His wife was by hia aide, — this waa his — 
Borne. 

Breakfast over, he once more knelt at the 
feet of the sleeping man. And Mary knelt 
Iw his aide, gazin|^siIontly into hia face, 
while his gaze waa riveted upon her father's 
countenance. Thus they were, as the morn- 
ing I'glit grew brighter on the window-pane. 
At length Mary rested bar head upon his 
bosom, and slept, — he gtrdled her form in 
hia cloak, and held her in bis arms, while 



her bosom, heaving gently with the calm 
pulsation of slumber, waa close against his 
heart. The morning light grew brighter on 
the window-pane, and touched the white 
hairs of the father, and shone upon the 
glowing cheek of the sleeping girl. 

Nameless, wide awake, his eyea large and 
full, and glittering with thought, gazed now 
upon the face of his old master, and bow 
upon the countenanoo of his young wife. 
And then his whole life rose up before him. 
He was lost in a maze of absorbing thought. 
His friendless childhood, the day when 
Cornelius first met him, his student life, in 
the studies of the artist, the pleasant home 
of the artist on the river, the hour when he 
had reddened his hand with blood, his trial, 
sentence, the day of esecution, the burial, 
the life in the mad-house, — these scenea and 
passed before him, with living 
and hues and voices. And after all, 
Mary, his wife waa in his arms I The sun 
)w came up, and his first ray shone rosily 
fer the cheeks of the sleeping girl. 
Nameless remembered the letter which 
Frank had given him, and now took it from 
the side pocket of his coat, 
attentively. It bore hia nan 

HUYDEN." 

What does it contain ? 
self the question mentally, little dreaming 
of the fatal burden which the letter bore. 

The sleeping man awoke, andgazed around 

apartment with large, lack-luster eyes. 
At the same time, with his emaciatod hand, 
he tried to clutoh the sunbeam which trem- 
bled over his shoulder. Nameless felt hia 
heart leap to his throat at the sight of thia 
pitiful wreck of genius. 

Do you not know me, master?" ei- 
claimed Nameless, pressing the hand of the 
afliicted man, and fixing his gaze earnestly 
upon his face. 

Was it an idle fancy ? Nameless thought 
he saw something like a ray of intelligence 
flit across that stricken face. 

"It is I, Carl Raphael, your pupil, your 

Aa though the sound of that voice had pene- 
trated even the sealed consciousness of hope- 
less idiocy, the aged artist sligTitly Inclined 
his head, and there was a strange tremulous- 
nesE ib bis glance. 



He Eucveyed it 
, "GuLiAN Van 



e asked bin 



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THE DAWN, SUNRISE ASO DAT. 



" Carl Raphael, your son !" repeated Name- 
less, and clutched the hands of the artist. 

Again that tremuloustiess in the glance of 
the artist, and then, — as though a film had 
fallen from hia eyea, — his gaze wa 
bright, and clear. It was like the 
of a blind man to sight. His gaze traversed 
the room, and at length rested on the face 
of Nameless. 

" Car! !" he cried, like one, who, awaking 
from a troubled dream, finds, unexpectedly, 
by his bed a familiar and beloved face — 
"Carl, my son!" 

Mary heard that voice ; it roused her from 
her slumber. Starting up, eho pressed her 
father's hands. 

"0, Carl, Carl, he knows you! Thank 
God ! thank God !" 

" Mary," said the father, gazing upon her 
earnestly, like one who tries to separate the 
reality of his waking hours from the images 
of a paat dream. 

Fifst upon one face, then upon the other, 
he turned his gaze, meanwhile, in an absent 
manner, joining the hand ot Mary and the 
hand of Carl. 

" Carl ! Mary !" he repeated the names in 
B low voice, and laid his hands gently on 
their heads. — " I thought I had lost you, my 
children. Carl and Mary," he repeated their 
names again, — " Carl and Mary ! God bless 
you, my children ; and now " he sur- 
veyed them with his large, bright eyes, " and 

His head fell gently forward on his breast, 
and he fell asleep to wake no more in this 
world. Hia mind bad made its last effort 
in the recognition of Mary and Nameless. 
For a moment it flashed brightly in its sock- 
Bt, and then wentout forever. He was dead. 
Nay, not dead, but he was, — to use that in- 
esprossibly touching thought, in whicb the 
Tery soul and hope of Christianity is embo- 
died, — "asleep in Christ." 

"When Mary raised his head from his 
breast, his eyes were vailed in the glassy film 
of death. Leaning upon the arm which 
never yet failed to support the weary head 
and the tired heart, gazing upon the face 
which always looks its ineffable consolation, 
into the face of the dying, Cornelius had 
puaed away m calmly as a child sinking to 
•loep upon a mother"! faithful breast 



Mary and Nameless, on their knees before 
the corse, clasped those death-chilled hands, 
and wept in silence. 

And the winter sun, shining bright upon 
the windo\v-pane, fell upon their bowed 
heads, and upon the tranquil face of the 
dead father, around whose lips a smile was 
playing, as though some word of "good 
cheer" had been whispered to him, by 
an gel. tongues, in the moment ere be passed' 

And thou art dead, brave artist, and life's 
battle with thee is over, — the eyes that used 
to look so manfully upon every phase of 
sorrow and adversity, are all cold and luster- 
less now, — the heart that generous emotions 
filled and lofty conceptions warmed, sleeps 
pulseless in the lifeless bosom. Thou art 
dead ! — dead in the dreary home of Want, 
with cold winter light upon thy gray hiurs. 
Dead! Ah, no, — not dead, for there is a 
Pbbsehce in the dismal garret, invisible to 
external eyes, which puts Death to shame, 
the gates of the grave writes, in 
letters of undying light : — Zn all the uni- 
qf Odd there is no such thirty as death, but 
simphj a Irartsilion /rom one life, or state of 
life, to another. Not dead, brave artist. 
Thou hast not, in a long life, cherished af- 
fections, gathered experience Svota the bitter 
of adversity, and developed, in storm as 
as sunshine, thy clear, beautiful intel- 
lect, merely to bury them all in the dull 
grave at last. No, — thou haat borne affec- 
tions, experience, and intellect, to the genial 
sunshine of the better land. The coffin-lid 
of this life has Ijcon lifted from thy soul, — 
thou art risen, indeed, — at last, in truth, 

THOU LIVEST ! 

And the Pbesenck which fills thy dark 
chamber now, although often mocked by the 
intorpretations of a brutal theology, 
often hid from the world by the Gehenna 
smoke of conflicting creeds, is a living Pres- 
always living, always loving, always 
bringing the baptism of consolation to the 
way-worn children of 1^ life, even as it did 
the hour when, embodied in a humaa 
form, face to face and eye to sya, it spoke to 

The f 



and bis 



n is high in the wintery heavens, 
fht, streaming through the window- 



ana nis iigni, streaming inrougn ine winaow- 
pnne, falls upon the mattress, whereon, cov- 



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210 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAY. 



etei teverentl b th wh t heet, the corse 
ie laid. M u h there, one hand 

supporting h f h d th other resting 
upon the op ho k wh h s placed upon 
her knee. Th 11 d j 1 he watches hy 
the dead. At la_ th !i h of evening is 
upon the winter sky. 

Nameless, standing hy the window, tears 
open the letter of Frank, and reads it by the 
winlery light. The three hours have passed. 

Why does hla face change color, as he 
reads ? The look of grief which his coun- 
ten[ince wears is succeeded by one of utter 

"The poison vial!" ha ejaculates, and 
places the fatal letter in Mary's hand. 



CHAPTER VI. 

A LOOK JSTO THE RED BOOK. 

Madau Hbstmes was w.titing in the little 
room iip-stairs, — waiting and watching in 
that most secret chamber of her mansion, — 
her cheek resting on her hand, her eyes 
fixed upon the drawer from which the Red 
Book had heen stolen. The day was bright 
without, but in the closed apartment, the 
Madam watched hy the light of a candle, 
which was burning fast to the sociiet. The 
Madam had not slept. Her eyes were rest- 
less and feverish. Her cheeks, instead of 
their usual'florid hues, were marked with al- 
ternate Bpots of white and red. Sitting in 
the arm-chair, (which her capacious form, 
dad in the chintz wrapper, filled to overflow- 
ing), the Madam beats the carpet nervously 
with her foot, and then her small black eyes , 
assume a wicked, a vixenish look. [ 

Daylight is bright upon the city and river ; 
tec o'clock is near, — the hour at which Der- 
moyne intended to return, — and yet the Mad- 
am has no word of the bullies whom last 
night she set upon Dermoyne's track. Near 
ten o'clock, and no news of Dirk, Slung-Shot, 
or— the Red Book! 

"Why rfon'i they <^me !" exclaimed the 
Hadam, for the fiftieth time, and she beat 
the carpet wickedly with her foot. 

And from the shadows of the apartment, 
a voice, most lugubrious in its tone, uttered 
tiie solitary word, — " Why T" , 

"If they don't come, what shall wo do 1" , 



the Madam's eyes grew wickeder, and ahe 
began to " crack" the joints of her fingers, 
" What ?" echoed the lugubrious voice, 
" I'll tell you what it is, Corkins," said the 
Madam, turning fiercely in her chair, "I 
wish the devil ■had you, — I do 1 Sittin' there 
in your chair, croakin' like a raven. — 'What 1 
Why ! ' " and she mimicked him wickedly ; 
" when you should bo doin' somethin' to 
stave off the trouble that's gatherin' round 
us. Now you know, that unless we get 
back the Red Book, we're ruined, — you 

"Cora-pletcly mined!" echoed Corkins, 
who Bat in the background, on the edge of 
a chair, his elbows on hia knees, and hia chin 
on his hands. Corkins, you will remember, 
is ft little, slender man, clad in black, with a 
white cravat about his neck, a top-knot on 
his low forehead, a "goatee" on his chin, 
and gold spectacles on his nose. And aa 
Corkins sits on the edge of his chair, he looks 
very much like a strange bird on its perch, — 
a bird of evil omen, meditating all sprts of 
calamities sure to happen to quite a number 
of people, at some time not definitely ascar- 
t^ned. 

" It's near ton o'clock," glancing at the gold 
watch which lay on the table before her, "and 
no word of Barnhurat, not even a hint of 
Dirk or Slung ! And at ten, that villain who 
stole the book will come back, — that is, un- 
less Dirk and Slung have taken care of him ! 
I never was in such a fever in all my life ! 
Corkins, what i« to be done ? And your pa- 
tient, — how isuhe ?" 

" As for the patient up-stairs," Corkins be- 
gan, but the words died away on his lips. 

The sound of a bell rang clearly, although 
gloomily throughout the mansion. 

"Go to the front door, — quick!" — in her 
impatience the Madam bounded from her 
chair. " See who's (hero. Open the door, 
but don't undo the chain ; and don't, — do 
you hear ? — don't let anybody in until you 
hear from me ! Quick, I say !" 

" But it isn't the front door bell," hesita- 
ted Corkins. 

Again the sound of the bell was heard, 

" It's the bell of the secret passage," ejac- 
ulated Madam, changing color, — "the pas- 
sage which leads to a back street, and of the 
existence of which, only four persons in the 



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THE DAWN, SUNIIISE AND DAT. 



311 



world know anything. There it goes again ! 
who can it be ?" 

The Madam was evidently very much 
perplexed. Corkins, who had risen from his 
perch, stood as though rooted to the floor; 
and the bell pealed loud and louder, in dis- 
mal echoes throughout the mansion. 

" "Who can it be ? " again asked the Mad- 
am, while a thousand vague suspicions float- 
ed through her brain. 

" Who can it be ? " echoed Corkins, shak- 
ing like a dry leaf in the wind. 

Here lot ua leave them awhile in their per- 
plexity, wililo we retrace our steps, and take 
up again the adventures of Barnhurst and 
Dermoyne, We left them in the dimly- 
lighted bed-ohambor, at the moment when 
the faithful wife, awaking from her slumber, 
, welcomed the return of her liusband in these 
words, — "Husband ! have you come at last ? 
I have waited for yon so long ! " 

" Husband ! " said the wife, awaking from 
her sleep, and stretching forth her arms, 
" have jou come at last ? I have waited for 
you so long ! " 

" Dearest, I was detained by an unexpected 
circumstance," answered Barnhurst, and first 
turning to Dermoyne with an imploring ges- 
ture, he approached the bed, and kissed his 
wife and sleeping child. Then back to Der 
moyne again with a stealthy step, — " Take 
Tour revenge ! " ho whispered ; " advance, 
and tell everything to my wife." 

Dermoyne's face showed the contest otoppo 
sing emotions ; now clouded with a hatred as 
remorseless as death, now tonched with some 
thing like pity. At a rapid glance he sur- 
veyed the face of the trembling culprit, — 
the boy sleeping on his couch, — the mother 
resting on the bed, with her babe upon her 
bent arm, — and then uttered in a whisper, a 
single word, — " Come ! " 

He led Barnhurst over the threshold, out 
upon the landing, and carefully closed the 
door of the bed-chamber. ' 

"Kow, sir," he whispered, fixing his stem 
gaze upon Barnhurst's face, which was lighted 
by the rays of the lamp in the hall below, — 
" what have you to propose ?" 

Barnhurst's lilcmde visage was corpse-like 
in its pallor. 

" Nothing," he said, folding his arms with ' 
the air of a man who has lost all hope, and 



made up his mind to the worst. " I am iu 
your power." 

Dermoyne, with his finger to his lip, re- 
mained for a moment buried in profound 
thonght. Once his eyes, glancing sidelong, 
rested upon Barnhurst with a sort of fero- 
cious glare. When he spoke again, it was 
in these words ; — 

" Enter yonr bed-chamber, and sleep be- 
side your faithful wife, and, — think of Alice, 
As for myself, I will watch for the morning, 
on the sofa, down stairs. Enter, I say ! " he 
pointed sternly to the door, — " and remem- 
Ijer '. at morning we take up our march 
^ain. I Itnow that you will cot escape from 
me, — and as for your wife, if you do not 
wish her to see me, you will make your ap- 
pearance at an early hour." 

Barnhurst, without a word, glided silently 
into the bed-chamber, closing the door after 
him. Dermoyne, listening for a moment, 
heard the voices of the husband and the 
wife, mingling in conversation. Then he 
went quietly down stain, took down the hang- 
mg lamp and with it in his hand, entered a 
room on the Ion er floor 

It nas aneativ furnished apulmtnt with 
a scfi, a puno, and a porfriit of Barnhurst 
on the wall The remains cf i wood-fire 
were Emouldenng on the hparth Near the 
puno strod in em ptv cradle It was very 
much like — home It was, in a word, the 
room through whose curtiined windows, we 
gizod in our brief episode and saw the 
pure wife with her children, awaiting the 
return of the husband and father 

Dermoyne lit a candle which stood on a 
table near the sofa and then replaced the 
hinging hmp This done, he came into tha 
quiet parlor again, — without once pausing to 
notice that the front door was ajar. Had ha 
but remarked this little fact, he might have 
saved himself a world of trouble. He flung 
his cloak upon the table, and placed his CHp 
and the iron bar beside it. Then seating 
himself on the sofa, he drew the Bed Boot 
from under his left ai*i, where for hoi^Biie 
had securely carried it, — and spread it fi>|^ 
upon his knees. Drawing the light nearer 
to him, he began to examine the contents of 
that massive volume. How his countenance 
underwent all changes of expression, as pag^ 
after page was disclosed to hU gaze 1 At 



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212 



THE DAWN, SUNBISB AND DAY. 



first his !ip cnrled, and his brow grew dark, 
there was doubtless much to move contempt 
and hatred in those pages, — but as he read 
on, his large gray eyes, dilating in their 
sockets, shone with steady light; every lin- 
eament of his countenance, manifeated pro- 
found, absorbing interest. 

The Red Book ! 

Of all the singnlar volumes, ever seen, this 
certainly was one of the most Eingular. It 
comprised perchance, one thousand manu- 
script pages, written by at least a hnndred 
hands. There were original letiera, and 
copies of letters; some of them traced by 
the tremulous hand of the dying. There 
were histories and fragments of histories, — 
the darkest record of the criminal court is 
not so hlaclc, as many a, history comprised 
within the compass of this volume. It con- 
tained the history, sometimes complete some- 
times in fragmentary shape, of ail who had 
ever sought the aid of Madam Resimer, or, — 
suffered beneath her hands. And there 
were letters there, and histories there, which 
the Madam had evidently gathered, with a 
view of extorting money from certain per- 
sons, who had never passed into the circle 
of her infernal influence. AU the crimes 
that can spring from unholy marriages, from 
violation of the marriage vow, from the se- 
ducUon of innocent maidenhood, from the 
conflict between poor chastity and rich 
temptation, stood out upon those pages, in 
forms of terrible life. That book was a rev- 
elation of the civilization of a large city, — 
a glittering mask with a death's head behind 
it, — a living body chained to a lepetona 
corpse. Instead of being called the Red 
Book, it should have been called the Black 
Book, or the Death. Book, or the Mysteries of 
the Social Worid. 

How the aristocracy of the money power 
was set forth in those pages ! That aristoc- 
racy which the French know es the "Bour- 
geoiae," which the English Ktylo the "Mid- 
dle Caasses," and which the Devil knows 
tea his "own," — the aune of whose god the 
Savior pranouDced, when he uttered the 
word " Mammon," — whose loftiest aspiration 
it embodied in the word "Respectable 
How this modern aristocracy of the money 
powst, Blood ont in oaked life, showy and 
mean, flittering and beartlen, upon (he 



pages of the Red Booli I Stood out in colors, 
painted, not by an enemy, but by its own hand, 
the mark of its baseness stamped upon its 
forehead, by its own peculiar seal. 

One history was there, which, written in 
different hands, in an especial manner, riveted 
the interest of Arthur Dermoyne. Bending 
forward, with the light of the candle upon 
hia brow, he read it page by page, his face 
manifesting every contrast of emotion as he 
read. For a title it bore a single name, 
written in a delicate womanly hand, — 
"Marion Merlin." The greater portion 
of the history was written in the same 

Leaning upon the shoulder of Arthur 
Dermoyne, let us, with Mm, read this sad, 
dark history. 



CHAPTER Vn 



At the ag f i,ht 
Walter Howard j 



a b troth a t 
fpl 



f N 



t d 
Y k 



with one of th first f 
I was beautif 1 so th Id d — e ht 
and an heirea> M f th as f th 

wealthiest m ht fNwYkwtha 
princely man t d as p la 

mansion, for mm d th 

try. I had 1 t my m th t ■jg 
eariy, that I b t d mly m mb h 

pallid face. At eighteen, I waa my father's 
only and idolized child. 

Returning from boarding-school, where, 
apart from the busy world, I had passed 
four years of a life, which afterward was to 
be marked by deeds so singular, yes, un- 
natural, I was invested by my father, with 
the keys of his city mansion, and installed 
as its mistress. Still kept apart from the 
world, — for my father guarded me from its 
wiles and temptations, with an eye of sleep- 
less jealousy, — I was left to form ideas of toy 
future life, from the fancies of my day- 
dreams, ot from what kriowledge I had 
gleaned from hooks. Walter was my fa- 
ther's bead clerh. In that capacity he often 
visited OUT mansion. To see him wia to 
love him. His form was graceful, and ynl 
manly ; hia complesion a rich brooio ; hie 
eyes dark, penetrating wid melancholy. As 



i 



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THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAT. 



213 



for myself, a pioturo which, amid all i 
changing fortunes, I have preserved at 
relic of happy and innocent days, shows 
girl of eighteen, with a form that may well 
be called Tolwptuoua, and a face, (shaded by 
masses of ravoii hair,) which, with 
bronzed complexion, large hazel eyes, and 
arching brows, telli the story of my descent 
on my mother's side, — she was a West-Indian, 
and there is Spanish blood in my veins. My 
aoqn^ntance with Walter, ripened into wi 
and passionate love, and ono day, my father 
surprised me, as I hung upon my lover 
breast, and instead of chiding us, said with 
look of unmistakable affection : 

"Eight, Walter. You have won m 
daoghter's love. When you return from the 
West Indies, you shall be married; and 
once married, instead of my head clerk, you 
shall be my partner." 

My father was a venerable man, with a 
kindly face and snow-white hair : as he 
spoke the tears ran down his cheeks, for (as 
I afterward ascertained,) my marriage with 
Walter, the orphan of one of the dearest 
friends of his boyhood, had been the most 
treasured hope of his life for years. 

Walter left for Havanna, intrusted with 
an important and secret commission from 
my father. He was to be absent only a 
month. Why was it, on the day of his de- 
parture, as he strained me to his breast and 
covered my face with his passionate kisses, 
that a deep presentiment chilled my blood ? 
had he never left my side, what a world 
of agony, of despair, — yes of crime, — would 
Jiave been spared to me ! 

" Be true to me, Marion !" these were his 
last words, — "in a month I will return — " 

" True to you ! can you donbt it Walter ? 
True until death, — " and we parted. 

I was once more alone, in my father's 
splendid-mansion. One evening he came 
home, but not with his iiaual kindly smile. 
He was pale and troubled, and seemed to 
avoid my gaze. Without entering the sit- 
ting-room, he went at once M> his library, 
and locked himself in, having first dipected 
the servant to call him, in case a Mr, Issacbar 
Burley inquired for him. It w.is after eight 
when Mr. Burley called, and was shown into 
the parlor, while the servant went to an- 
nounce him to my father. 



"Miss Marion, I believe !" he said, as he 
beheld me by the light of the sstral-Ump, — 
and then a singular look passed over his face ; 
a look which at that time I could not define, 
but which afterward was made terribly clear 
to me. Tliis Mr. Burley, who thus for the 
first time entered my father's house, was by 
no means preposs s ng n h s e^te ior. Over 
fifty years of a e co p lent n form, bald- 
headed, his flor d face bore the indeniable 
traces of a life, exhausted o se sual indul- 
gences. 

While I was taking a survey of this sin- 
gular visitor, the servant entered the par- 
lor,— 

"Mr. Burley will please walk up into the 
library," he said. 

" Good night, dear," said Mr. Buriey with 
a bow, and a gesture that had as much of 
insolence as of politeness in it, — "By-by, — 

He went up stairs, and my father and he, 
were closeted together for at least two hours. 
At ten o'clock I was sent for, I entered the 
library, trembling, I know not why ; and 
found my father and Mr. Burley, seated 
on opposite slJea of a table overspread with 
papers, — a hanging lamp, suspended over 
the table, gave light to the scene. My fa- 
ther was deadly pale. 

" Sit down. Marion," he said, in a voice 
so broken and changed, that I would not 
have recognized it, had I not seen bis face, — 
"Mr. Burley has something to say to you." 

"Mr. Burley !" I ejaculated, — "What can 
he have to say to ms ?" 

" Speak to her, — sj^ak," sdd my father, — 
"speak, for I cannot, — " and resting his hands 
on the table, his head dropped on his breast. 

" Sit down, my dear," exclwmed Burley, 
in a tone of easy familiarity, — "I have a 
little matter of business with your father. 
There's no use of mincing words. Tour fa- 
ther, my dear, is a nlioed man." 

I sank into a chair, and my father'* 

oan confirmed Burley's words. 

" Hopelessly involved," continued Mr. 

hurley, — "Unless he can raise three hun» 

dred thousand dollars by to-morrow noon, 

is n dialuraoTei man. Do you hear me, 

dear 1 Dishonored 1" 

Dishonored!" groaned my father burying 

his head in bis hands. 



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214 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAT. 



"And more than this," continued Burley, 
"Your father, among hia many mercantile 
speculations, has dabbled a liltle, — yes more 
than a little, — in the Afrkan slave-trade. 
He has relations with certain gentlemen at 
Havaiiiia, which once known to our govern- 
ment, would consign him to the convict's 
cell." 

The words of the man filled me with in- 
dignation, and with horror. Half fainting as 
I was, I felt the blood boil in my veins. 
"Father, rebuke the liar," — I said 
placed my hand on his shoulder. — "Hdse 
your face, and tell him that he is the coiner 
of a falsehood, as atrodons as it h foolish — " 
My father did not reply. 
"And more than this," — Burley went on, 
Its though he had not heard me, — " I have it 
in my power, either to relieve your father 
from his financial embarrassments, or, — " he 
paused and surveyed me from head to foot, 
— "orfo denounce him to the government 
as one guilty, of something which It calls 
■piracy, — to wit, an intimate relationship with 
the African slave trade." 

Again my father groaned, but did not 
raise hia face. 

The full truth burst upon me. My father 
was ruined, and in this man's power. Con- 
fused, — half maddened, I flung myself upon 
fny. knees, and clasped Burley by the hands. 
" 0, you will not ruin my father," I shriek- 
ed. — " You will save him." 

Bnrley took my hands within his own, 
aod bent down, until I felt his breath upon 
my cheeks — 

"Yea, I will save him," he whispered, — 
"That is, for a price, — your hand, my 

His look could not be mistaken. At the 
same moment, my father raised his face from 
his hands, — It was pallid, distorted, stamped 
with deapair. 

"It is the only way, Marion," he aaid in 
a fooken voice, — "Otherwise your father 
must rot in a felon'a cell." 

Amid all the misfortunea of a varied and 
changefid life, the agony of that moment has 
never once been forgotten. I felt the blood 
nuh to my head — ■ 

"Be it so," I. cried, — and fell like a dead 
woman on the floor, at the feet of Mr. Issa- 
ohar Burley. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



The next day we were married. In the 
dusk of the evening four figures stood in the 
spacious parlor of my father's mansion, by the 
light of a single waxen-candle. There was 
the clergyman, gazing in dumb surprise upon 
the parties to this ill-assorted marriage, there 
was my father, his countenance ■vacant almost 
to imbecility, — for the blow bad stricken 
his intellect — there was the bridegroom, hia 
countenance glowing with sensual triumph ; 
and there the bride, pale as the bridal-dress 
which enveloped her form, about to be sacn- 
ficed on the altar of an unholy marriage. 
We were married, and between the parlor 
and the bridal chamber, one hope remained. 
Eather than submit to the embrace of the 
unworthy sensualist, I had determined to 
die, e\en upon the threeliold of the bridal 
chamber I had provided mjseif with a 
poniard But ala'j ' aglasa of wine, drugged 
my husband's hand, benumbed myreason, 
and when morning light broke upon me 
again, I found myself in his arms. 

The history of the nest three months may 
! rapidly told, for they were months of 
agony and shame, 

I have directed Walter by letter, to pro- 
ceed from Havanna to the city of Mexico," 
said my father to me, the second day after 
the marriage^" He will not return for six 
iths, and certainly until his return, shall 
hear of this, — thia, — marriage." 
"y father's mind was broken, and from 
that hour, he surrendered himself to Lisa- 
chat's control. Burley took charge of hia 
business, made our house his home, — he was 
y father's master and mine. The course 
which he pursued to blunt my feelings, and 
deaden every faculty of my better i^ature, by 
all that was sensual within me, was 
worthy of him. He gave parties at our 
home, to the profligate of both sexes, selected 
from a certain class of the so-called " fhah- 
ionables," of New York. Revels, prolonged 
from midnight until dawn, distiitbed the 
quiet of our mansion ; and in tlu wiiw-oup, 
and amid the excitement of those fashion- 
able, but unholy or^es, I soon learned to 
forget the pure hopes of my maidenhood. 



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THE DAWF, SUNRISE AND DAY. 



215 



Tliroo months passed, and no word of 
Walter; my father, ineauwiiilo, was sinliing 
deeper every day into hopeless imbecility. 
At length, the early part of lummer, my hus- 
band th d t th p t f h fail li- 
able f d d d 1 t d t to 
Niag ra F 11 p th 1 k d h I ng 
the St. L d t M 1 At 

Niag P lis p t 1 t th H tel, 

and th "^66 h h h d d d my 

fathe man m d lly 

fathe b d 1 ft t h h fa 

wel!-t d d f thf I to mer 

even ^,1 d fth wl h t k rl oe 

in our parlors, at the hotel, I put on a bonnet 
and vail, and alone pursued my way, across 
the bridge to Iris Island, and from Iris to 
Luna Island. The night was beautiful ; from 
aclearsi^y the moon shoneover the falls; and 
the roar of waters, alone disturbed the silence 
of the scene. Crossiog the narrow bridge which 
separates Iris Island!^ from Luna Island, I took 
my way through the deep shadows of the 
thicket, until I emei^ed in the moonlight, 
upon the verge of the falls. Leaning against 
a, small beech tree, which stands there, I 
clasped my hands upon my bosom, and 
wept. That scone, full of the grandeur and 
purity of nature, awoke the memory of my 
pure and happier days. 

"0 I d ir '" th th ht 

fla^h d _ I n d h a 



of the falls than the one against which I 
leaned. His face was in profile, the lower 
partof it covered with a thick moustache and 
heard; and his gaze was lifted absently to 
the moonlight sky. As I dropped my vail 
over my face, and gazed at him freely, mj-- 
self unperceived, I felt my limbs bend 
beneath me, and the blood rush in a torrent 
to my head. 

I had only strength to frame one word — 
" Walter !" and fell fainting on his breast, 
i When I recovered my consciousness, I 
I found m3'»!lf resting in his arms, while he 

covered my I&ce with burning kisses. 
i '■ You hhe, Marion !" he cried. " This is 
indeed an unexpected pleasure 1" 



14 



He had not heard of my marriage ! 

" I am here, with some friends," I faltered. 
" My father could not come with me — and — " 

Between the kisses which he planted upon 
the lips of his betrothed — (so he thought) — 
he explained his unexpected appearance at 
Niagara. At Havanna he had received the 
letter from my father, desiring him to hasten, 
on important business, to the city of Mesico, 
He had obeyed, and accomplished his mis- 
sion sooner than he anticipated ; had left 
Vera Cruz for New Orleans; taken steamboat 
for Cincinnati, and from thence to Cleveland, 
and across the lake to Buffalo and Niagara 
Falls. 

" And now I'm on my way home, Marion," 
he concluded. " What a pleasaot surprise it 
will be for father !" 

"I am married, Walter." — The words 
were on my lips, but I could Dot speak 

We rose, and, arm in arm," wandered over 
the bridge, up the steep, and through the 
inding walks of Gfoat Island. Leaning ou 
arm of Walter, I forgot everything but 
that he loved me and that he was with me. 
I did not dare to think that to-morrow's 
light would disclose to him the truth — that 
I was married, and to another. At length, 
as we approached the bridge which leads 
from the Island to the shore, I said — " Leave 
me Walter ; we must not he seen lo return 
together. To-morrow you can call upon me, 
when I am in presence of my — friends." 

One passionate embrace was exchanged, 
and I watched him, as he crossed the bridge 
alone, until he was out of sight. Why, I 
knew not, but an impulse for which I could . 

ccount, induced me to retrace my steps 

to Luna Island. In a few moments I had 

ed the bridge (connecting Iris with Luna 

Island,) and stood once more on the Cata- 

: brink, under the same tree where an 

hour before I had discovered Walrer, Oh, 

the j^ony ot that moment, as, gazing over 

the falls, I called np my whole life, my 

blighted piTjapeot, and my future without 

le ray of hope ! Should I advance, but a 

igle step, and bury my shame and my sor- 

ws beneath the cataract ? Once dead, Wal- 

r would at least respect my memory, while 

ring he could only despise' f^d abhor me. 

While thoughts like tfltse dashed ov» mj 



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THE DAWK, SUNRISE AND DAY. 



hnin, my ear was saluted with the chori 
of B drinking song, hummed in an uneve 
and tremulous voice ; and, in a, moment m 
husband passed before me, with an unsteady 
step. He was confused and excited by the 
futnea of champagne. Approaching thi 
verge of the island — but a few feet from thi 
verge of the cataract — where the waters look 
smooth and glassy, as they are about to take 
the last plunge, he stood gazing, now s 
torrent, now at the moon, with a vague, half- 
drutiken stare. 
That moment decided my life 1 
Ilis attitude, the cataract so near, my 
1 t a d h p 1 iit all rushed upon 

me VI y fa<? I d rted forward and 

utto d h k Starll d by the unexpected 
a dht dlth balance, and fell 
backward t th torr t Bui, aa he 
h 1 tch d 1 h h h overhung the 
w t Tl ly t yards from thi 

b k h t 1 d m dly for' his life, his 
f^ pt m d t th m I advanced and 

u CO d mj f H knew me, for the 

hkhd b dhm 

Mar s. me 1" he cried. 

I az d p h nv t! out a word, my 
amis folded on my breast, and saw hi 
struggle, and heard the branch snap, and- 
heard his death-howl, as he was swept ov 
the falls. Then, pale as death, and shudder- 
ing aa with mortal cold, I dragged my steps 
frQiin the Island, over the bridge — shrieking 
madly for help. Soon, I heard footsteps 
and voices. " Help ! help !" I shrieked, aa I 
was sunouaded by a group of faces, mor 
■women. " My husband ! ray husband ! the 
falls !" and sank, fainting, in their midst. 

CHAPTER IX. 



Morning came, and no suspicion Bttachod 
to me. A murderess — if not in deed, in 
thought, certainly — I was looked upon as 
the inconsolable widow. Walter left Niagara 
without seeing me. How did he regard me? 
I could not tell. The death of Burley broke 
up our traveling party, and we returned to 
New York. I returned in time to attend my 
father's funeral ; and found myself the 
heiress, in my owft right, of three hundred 
thoQMnd doUarg, >*An heiress and a widow, 



certainly life began to brighten ! Burley 
removed, the incubus which sat upon my 
father's wealth was gone; and I was beauti- 
ful, and free, and rich — immensely rich. 

But where was Walter? Months passed, 
and I did not see him. As he was the head 
clerk of my father, I hoped to see him, in 
company with legal gentlemen, engaged to 
close up my father's estate. But he settled 
his accounts, closed all conueition with my 
father's estate and business, but did not come 
near me. At length, weary of suspense, and 
heart-sick of the lonelines* »f my desolate 
1, I wrote to him, begging an inter- 



He called in the dusk of the evening, 
when a single candle lighted up the spacious 
and gloomy parlor. He was dressed ia deep 
mourning, and very pale. 

"Madam, you wished to see me," he 
began. i^ 

This cold and formal manner cut me to 
the heart. 

"Walter !" I cried, and fiung myself upon 
hia breast, and passionately, but in broken 
accents, told him how my father's antici- 
pated ruin had forced mo to many Barley, 

Walter was melted. "Marion, I love you, 
and always shall love you, but — but — " 

He paused. In an agony of suspense I 
hung upon his words. 
But—" 
But you are so rich, and I — I — am 

I drowned all further words with kisses, 
id in a moment we were betrothed agdn. 
We were married. Walter was the mas- 
ter of my fortune, my pepon and my future. 
We lived happily together, content with 
each other's society, and seeking, in the en- 
dearments of a pure marriage, to blot out the 
memory of an unholy one.' My husband, 
truly my husband, was all that 1 could de- 
■0 ; and by me, he became the possessor of 
princely revenue, free to gr»6ify hia taste 
for all that is beautifuf in the arta, in paint- 
ig and sculpture, without hinderaBO|| or con- 
trol. Devoted lo me, always kiMl,S*fer to 
gratify my slightest wish, Walter was all 
that I could desire. We lived to ourtelves, 
and forgot the miserable mockery callali "the 
fashionable world," into which Bdrley had 
introduced me. Thos a year pawed away, 



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THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAT. 



217 



and present bappiiiesB banished the memory 
of n gloomy pasti Aftor a year, Walter 
began to have 'important engagements, on 
pressing business, in Philadelphia, Boston, 
Baltimore and Washington. His aliaence 
was death to me ; but, having full confidence 
in him, ft 4*« '1 t h business ttiust he 
of vital mpo tan assu ediy he would not 

leave m la hmdprt, time and again, 
with gr f to d p words, snd always 
hailed h um — h ry echo of his step 
with ft J as d p Od ne occasion, when 
he left m , d , , n a iiusinesa visit to 

Philadelphia, I determined — I scarcely knew 
why — to follow him, and greet him, on his 
arrival in. Philadelphia, with the unexpected 
but welcome surprise of my presence. Cloth- 
ing myself in black — black velvet bonnet, 
and black velvet mantilla, and with a dark 
Vail over my face— I followed him to the 
"eny-boat, crossed to Jersey City, and took 
ny seat near him in tho ears. We arrived 
n Philadelphia late at night. To my sur- 
jrise he did not put up at one of the promi- 
lent hotels, but bent his way to an obscure 
md distant part of the city, I followed him 
o a remote part of Kensington, and saw him 
;nock at the door of an isolated two-story 
louse. After a pause, it was opened, and he 
mtered. I waited from the hour of twcivo 
intil three, but he did not re-appear. Sadly 
nd with heavy steps I bent my way to the 
ity, and took lodgings at a respectable but 
bird-rate tavern, representing myself as a 
ddow from the interior, and taking great 
are Ifl conceal my face from the gaze of tho 
indlord aud servants. Next morning it was 
ay first care to procure a male dress, — it 
latters not how, or with what caution and 
rouble,— ^md, tying it up in a compact bun- 
le, I made my way to the open country and 
ntered a wood. It was the first of autumn, 
nd already the leaves were tinted with riin- 
ow dyes. In the thickest part of the wood 
diap^mid of my female attire, and assumed 
le male dBWs — Hue frock, buttoned to the 
iroat, dar^ pantaloons, and g ter boots. 
[y dark hair I arran^ d be ej h a glazed 
kp with military buttons ( utt ng a switch 
tivirled it jaunt ly n n y hand, and, 
iiious to test 'dty dsuee eeda way- 
ide oottagB-i^ear tke Second St t Road — 
id asked for A* glass of » ater. '^ bile the 



back of tho tenant of the cottage — an aged 
woman — was turned, I gazed in the looking- 
glsiss, and beheld myself, to all appearanoe, 
ft young man of medium stature, with brown 
complexion of exceeding richness, lips of 
cherry red, arched brows, eyes of unusual 
brilliancy, and black hair, arranged in a 
glossy mass beneath a glazed cap. It was 
the image of a handsome boy of nineteen, 
with no down on the lip and no beard on the 
chin. Satisfied with my disguise, and with 
a half-formed idea floating through mj brain, 
I bent my steps to the isolated house, 
which I had seen my husband enter the 
night before. I knocked ; the door was 
opened by a young girl, plainly clad, but of 
surpassing beauty — evidently not more than 
sixteen years old. A sunny complexion, 
blue eye.'i, masses of glossy brown hair, com- 
bined with an expression which mingled 
voluptuous warmth with stainle'ss innocence. 
Such was her face. As to her form, although 
not so tall as mine, it mingled the graceful 
outlines of tho maiden with the ripeness of 
the woman. 



CHAPTER S. 

She gazed upon me with surprise. Obey- 
ing a sudden impulse, I said — '* Excuse me. 
Miss, but I promised to meet him here. Tou 
know," with a polite bow and smile, "you 
■w whom I meaa ?" 
Mr. Barton — " she hesitated. 
Exactly so ; Mr. Barton, my intimata 
friend, who has confided all to me, and who 
desired me to meet him here at this hour." 

My mother is not at home," hesitated 
the young girl, "and, in her absence, I do 
t like 1»~" 

"Receive strangers, you were about to 

d ? Well, Miss, I am not a stranger. As 

the intimate friend of Mr. Barton, who 

especially desired me to meet him here — " 

These words seemed to resolve all her 
doubts. She motioned me to enter, and wo 
passed into a small room, neatly furnished, 
'ith the light which came through the cur- 
tained windows, shining upon a picture, — 
the portrait of Walter Howard, mj husband. 
Capital likeness of Barton," I said, care- 
lessly tapping my switch against my booL 



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THE DAWN-, SUNaiSE AND DAY. 



.' "Yes, — yES," she roplicci as alie took 
«BSt at the oppciaito end of the sofa, — " b 
r.ot so handsome." 

In the course of tivo hours, in whiot with 
a maddened pulse and heaving breast, I 
Wiuted for the appearance of my husband, 
I learned from tho young girl the following 
facts : — She was a poor girl, and her mother 
with whom she lived, a widow in vary mod- 
erate circumstances. Her name was Ada Bul- 
mer. Mr. Lawrence Barton (this, of course 
was the assumed name of my husband,) wai 
B wealthy gentleman of a noble heart, — he 
had saved her life in a railroad accident, 
some months before. He had been unhap. 
py, however, in marriage ; was now divorced 
from a wicked and unfaithful woman ; and 
here was the climax, — "and next week 
are to be married, and mother, Lawrence, and 
myself will proceed to Europe directly after 
our marriage," 

This was Ada's story, which I heard 
with emotions that can scarcely be imagined. 
Every word planted a hell in my heart. At 
length, toward nightfall, a knock was heard, 
and Ada hastened to the door. Presently I 
heard my husband's stop in tho entry, and 
then his voice, — 

" Dearest, " there was the sound of a 

kiss, — "I have got rid of that infamous wo- 
man, who killed her first husband, and have 
turned all my property into ready money. 
On Monday we stort for Europe." 

He entered, and as he entered I glided be- 
hind the door. Thus his back was toward 
me, while his face was toward Ada, and bis 
arms about her waist. 

" On Monday, dearest, we will be married, 
and then " 

I was white with rage, but calm as death. 
Drawing the poniard, (which I had never 
parted with since I first procured it,) I ad- 
vanced and struck him, once, twice, thiice, 
in the back. He never beheld me, but fell 
upon Ada's breast, bathed in blood. She 
uttered a shriek, but laying my hand upon 
her shoulder, I said, sternly, — 

"Not a word! this villain seduced 
my onZy sitter, as he would have seduced 
you !" 

I tore him from her arms, and laid him on 
the sofa ; he was speechless ; the blood flow- 
ed-from his mouth and nostrils, but by his 



glance, I saw that he knew me. Adtt, white 
as a shroud, tottered toward him. 

"Seducer of my sister, have we met at 
last ?" I said aloud, — and then bending my 
face to his, and my bosom close to his breast, 
I whispered, — 

" The viicked woman who killed her first 
husband, gives you this," — and in my rage 
buried tlie poniard in his heart, 

Ada fell faintinc to the floor and I hurried 
f mth 1 se It 13 dark git I 
e d ly b th f th ra 1 t 1 

g d b d ash d th bl d f m my 

h d and es d mj f I att I 

I 33 th h I h I th d p t t 

K t nt d tl cars a d b f 

t 1 d th th h id f mj 

h m m N Y k 

H w I p d th ht — w th wh t m 
t f mrs J 1 -mtt 

n t And f th d > ft d as 1 

a a t d r tl d 1 pme t I was j 






Tb 



t f 



my husband's death filled the papers ; and i 
supposed that be had been killed b^ 
1 unknown man, in revenge, for the se 
duction of a sister. My wild demeanor wa 
attributed to natural grief at his untimel; 

On the fourth day I had his body brough 
I from Philadelphia ; and on the fifth, eel 
ebrated his funeral, following his corpse ti 
the family vault, draped in widow's weeds 
andblinded with tears of grief, or of — despair 
Ada Bulmcr I never saw again, but believ 
she died within a year of consumption or : 
broken heart. 

CHAPTER XL 



Alone in my mansion, secluded from th 
world, I passed many months in barrowin 
meditations on the pa t Oftentimes I sa' 
the face of W 1 d bhled in blqpd, an 
both awake a d n my d ams, I saw, ( 
vividl h s la^t iodk I was still ricl 
(although ^\ It as I d orod, after b 
death, had klessly squand red more tha 
half of my fortune,) but what jjiattere 
riches to one devoured like ffl^»elf hv s 

■gnawing remorse 1 WIm ' 

been had not Burley fon 



.* 



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THE DAWN, SUNBISE AND DAY. 



219 



unholy marriage ? This t[viestiOQ was never 
fiiit of ray mini) for a long year, daring which 
I wore the weeds of widowhood, and kept al- 
most entirely within the lira its of my mansion. 
Toward the close of the year an incident 
occurred which had an important bearing on 
my fate. Near my homo stood a church, 
which a young and eloquent preacher held 
forth to the admiration of a fashionabli 
gregation, every 3abhath-day. On one 
aion I occufied a seit near the pulpit, and 
was muth struck hj his youthful appear- 
ance, combined with eloquence so louchinj 
and enthusiastic His eigle eye, shone from 
his pallid iace with ill the fire of an earnest 
a heartfelt sincLnly I was struck by thi 
entire manner of the man, and more than 
once in hia sermon he soemed to address 
in especial, for our eyes met, as though there 
was a mutual magnetism in our ga^o. When 
I returned home I could not banish his face 
nor his accents from my memoiy ; I felt 
self devoured by opposing 
morse for the past, mingled with 
of interest in the youthful preacher. At 
length, after much thought, I sent him this 
note by the hands of a servant in livery : — 

Ebykrbnd Srn, — 

A lady who heard your eloquent sermon 
on " Conscience," on Sabbath last, desires to 
ask your advice in a matter touching the 

peace of her soul. She resides at No. , 

and will be glad to receive you to-morrow 



This singular note was dispatched, and 
the servant directed to inform the Eov. Her- 
man Bamhurst of my full name. As the 
appointed hour drew nigh, I felt nervous and 
restless. Will he come 1 Shall I unbosom 
myself to him, and obtain at least a portion 
of mental peace by confessing the deeds and 
thoughts which rest so heavy on my soul ? 
At last dusk came ; two candles stood lighted 
on the mantle of the front parlor, and se.ited 
on the sofa I nervously awaited the coming 
of the preacher. 

" I will confess all !" I thought, and rais- 
ing my eyea, surveyed myself in the mirror 
which hung opposite. The past year, with 
all its Bagatft ^»A rather added to, than de- 
tracted fi^, my personal appearance. My 



form was more matured and womanly. And 
the sorrow which I had endured had given a 
grave earnestness to my look, which, in the 
eyes of some, would have been more win- 
ning than the glance of voluptuous languor. 
Dressed in deep black, my bust covered to 
the thro^ and my hair gathered plainly 
aside from my face, I looked the grave, seri- 
ous — ami, I may add, without vanity — the 
beautiful widow. The Bev. Herman Barn- 
hurst was announced at last, — how I trem- 
bled as I heard hia step in the hall ! He 
entered, and greeting him with an extended 
hand, I thanked him warmly for calling in 
answer to my informal note, and motioned 
him to a chair. There was surprise and con- 
straint in his manner, but he never once took 
his eyes from my face. Ha stammered and 
even blushed as ho spoke to me. 

" You spoke, madam, of a case of con- 
science," ho began. 

"A case of conscience about which I 
wished to apeak to you." 

" Surely," he said, fixing his gaze earnestly 
upon me, and his words seemed to be forced 
from him, even E^ainat his will, — " surely 
one so b t'f 1 d so gool cannot hava 

anything Ik po h so 1 ' 

Our g gmt dfmthtm ment we 
talked of jth b t fh of con- 

oc. All h t t h d. His 

flash d 1 11 d d p nd full; 

as el q t d h as t h me. We 
seemed to h be i ted f r years. 

We tilk 1 f h f p t y th beautiful 
atur th w nd f 1 t ind we 

talked wthtffrtasth h r minds 
;led to th th t th aid of 

1 ind J T pi 1 saly, — it 

twelve clock before we thought it 



Her( 






I shall do myself the plea 
again," he said, and his voice faltered. 

I extended my hand ; his band met it in 
a gentle pressure. That touch decided our 
fate. As though my very being and his had 
rushed together and melted into one, in that 
slight pressure of hand to hand, we stood 
silent and confused, — one feeling inourgare, 
— blushing and pale by turns. 

"Woman," he said, in a voice scarcely 
above a whisper, " you will drive me mad," 
and sank balf-fdnting on his knees. 



wGoogle 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAT. 



I bent down and drew him to my breast, 
and covered hia forehead with kisses. Pale, 
hslf-faictlD^, he la^ almost helpless in my 

" Not mad, Herman," I whispered, " but I 
will be your good angel ; I will cheer you 
in your mission of good, I will watch oi 
you as yon ascend, step by step, the dii 
cult steep of fame ; and Herman, I will love 

It was the first time that young brow had 
trembled to a woman's kiss. 

"Nay, — nay, — tempt me not," he mur- 
mured, Hnd unwound my arms from his 
neck, and staggered to the door. 

But as he reached the threshold, he turn- 
ed,— our gaze met, — he rushed forward with 
outspread arms, — 

" I love you ! " he cried, and his face was 
buried on my bosom. 

From that hour the Eev. Herman Barn- 
hurst waa the constant visitor at my house. 
He lived in my presence. His sermons, for- 
merly lofty and somber in their enthnsiasm, 
became colored with a passionate warmth. 
I felt a strange interest in the beautiful boy ; 
a feeling compounded of pure love ; of 
sion; of volupti 
and refined, 

" 0, Marion, do you not think that if I act 
aright in all other respects, that this one sin 
will be for^ven me ?" said Herman, as one 
8 bhath ■ ft th 'as 

w t 1 by d my h It was 

in q t m tl i dra Ii„ht 

ah g f t f rr d h 

dimly nth hth hdw fanl 

00 

Onsi7whtm y Hrm 

"The sin of loving you," — and he blushed 
as his earnest gaze met mine. 

"And is it a sin to love me 7" I answered 
in a low voice, suffering my hand to rest 
upon his forehead. 

"Tes," he stammered, — " to love yon 
thus nnlaw fully." 

" Why unlawfully 1" 

Ha buried his head on my breast, as he 
replied, — "I love you as a husband, and I 
am not your husband." 

"And why — " I exclaimed, seizing him 
in my arms, sdA gently raising his head, so 



that our gaze met, — " and why can you not 
be my husband ? I am rich ; you have ge- 
nius. My wealth, — enough for ua both, — 
shall be linked with your genius, and both 
shall the more Grmly cement our love. 
Say, Herman, why can you not be my hu3- 

He turned pale, and avoided my gaze. 

"You are ashamed of me, — ashamed, be- 
cause I have given you the last proof which 
a woman can give to the man she loves." 

"Ashamed! 0, no, no, — by all that is 
sacred, no, — but Marion " 

And bending nearer to me, in faltering ac- 
cents, he whispered the secret to my ears. 
Ho was betrothed to Fanny Lansdale, the 
daughter of the wealthiest and most influen- 
tial member of his congr^ation. He had 
been betrothed long before he met me. To 
Mr. Lansdale, the father, he owed all that 
ho had acquired in life, both in position and 
fame. That gentleman had taken him when 
a friendless orphan boy, had educated him, 
and after his ordination, had obtained for 
him the pastoral charge of liis large and 
wealthy congregation. Thus, ho was bound 
to the father by every tie of gratitude ; to 
the daughter by an engagement that he 
could not break, without ingratitude and 
disgrace. My heart died ■within mo at 
this revelation. At once I saw that Her- 
man could never be lawfully mine. Be- 
tween him and myself stood Fanny Lans- 
d le, and every tie of "gratitude, and every 
ion of self-respect and honor. . 



CHAPTER XII. 



Not long after this interview, 1 saw Fanny 
Lansdale at church ; made the acquaintance 
of her father — a grave citizen, who regarded 
! as a sincere devotee — and induced Fanny 
become a frequent visitor at my house, 
e confided all to me. She loved Herman 
devotedly, and looked forward to their mar- 
as the most certain event in the world, 
was a very pretty child, with dear blue 
luxuriant hair, and a lo^ «fwpr>tch- 
ing archness. I do not step MJde aim the 
truth, when I state th^^jjjkowi^ lovad 
her; although it v 




oogle 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAT. 



Buffered myself to think of her marriage 
witli Herman as anjtliing but an impossible 
dream. An incident took place one summer 
evening, about a year after Herman's first 
visit to my house, whicli, slight as it was, it 
is just as well to relate. It is such slight 
ineidents which often decide the fate of a 
lifetime, and strike down the harrier between 

I was sitting on the sofa at the back win 
dow of the parlor, and Fannj t th 
stool at my feet. The light f tl t 
sun shone over my shoulders, a d 1 ht 1 up 
her face, as her clasped hands t d n nj 
knees, and her happy, guilel as look was 
centered on my countenance. A I gaz d 
upon thnt innocent face, full f uth a d 
hope, I waa reminded of my oi n early daj 
and at the memory, a tear roll d d n 

"Yes, you shall marry Herman," the 
thought fiaahed over my mind ; " and I will 
aid you, Fanny ; yes, I will resign Herman 

At this moment Herman entered noise- 
lessly, and took his place by my shoulder ; 
and, without a word, gazed first into my fnoe 
and then into the face of Fanny. Oh, that 
look ! It was never forgotten. It was fate. 
For it said, as plainly as a soul, speaking 
through eyes, can say — " Thou, Marion, art 
my mistress, tho companion of my illicit and 
sensual love ■ but Ihou Panny art my wife 
th ji p f y I w! ! 1 

Aft th t look H b d us g d 



df mtl 
m th t h 



H 



d d 



W k pass i d h as t t 

h Athhh dtob 

00 E my f d th 

h rr d t f m th pi Sth 



f 



1 & 



At 1 th, F J 
qnt dhlddmla m 

h man m fest d fl t t fi 

d nm d p Tl t th d d 

me— th t th b f H m t m t 

tho $0 I— m y ai I b raa^ d I [ ass d 
my tim« letween alternations of hope and 
deapair ; now listening, and in vain, for the 
echo 4f Herman's step — and now bathed in 
nnavuling tears. Conscious that my passion 



for Herman was the Iflit link that bound me 
to purity — to life itself — I did not give up 
the hope of seeing him at my feet, as in 
former days, until months had elapsed. Fi- 
nally, grown desperate, and anxious to avoid 
the sting of wounded love, the perpetual 
presence of harrowing memories, I sought 
the society of that class of fashionables, to 
whom my first husband, Issacliar Burley, had 
introduced me. I kept open house for them, 
r vels, from midnight until dawn, in which 
m n and women of tho first class mingled. 
Be ved for a time to banish reflection, and 
sap, tie by tie, every thread of hope which 
h Id me to a purer state of life, The kennel 
i as its orgies, and the hovel, in which igno- 
rance and squalor join in their uncouth de- 
baich; but the orgie of the parlor, in which 
beauty, intellect, fashion and refinement are 
mingled, far surpasses, in unutterable vulgar- 
ity, tho lowest orgie of the kennel. Amid 
the uproar of scenes like these, news reached 
me that the Kev. Herman Barnhurst and 
Miss Fanny Lansdale were shortly to be 
united in marriage. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

AN ITSUTTEHABL? CSIMB. 

OsE evening I was sitting alone, in the 

back parlor, near a table on which stood a 

lighted candle and a wine-glass, (for I now 

at times began to seek oblivion in wine,) 

hen Gerald Dudley was announced. Gerald 

as one of my fashionable friends, over forty 

years, tall in statue, with a florid face, 

hort curling brown hair, and sandy whis- 

k rs. He was a roue, and a gambler, and — 

sa e the mark — one of the first fashionables 

f New York. He entered, dressed in a 

howy style ; blue coat, red velvet Test, 

pi id pants, brims tone- colored gloves, and a 

P fusion of rings and other jewelry — astyle 

dicative of the man. Seating himself oa 

th sofa, he began chatting in his easy way 

bout passing events of fashionable life, and 

f the world at large. 

'By-the-bye, the popular preacher, young 

B rnhurst, ia to be married ; and to such a 

love of a girl — daughter of old Lansdale, tha 

millionaire. Lucky fellow I Do you know that 

I've often noticed her at church — a perfect 

BAe — and followed her home, ouce or twice. 



>'.^' 



,/Googlc 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAT. 



and that I shouldn't mind marrving her aij- 
self if I could get a chance!" 

And ho laughed a laugh which showed 
his white teeth. " Bah 1 But that's it — I 
can't get a chance." 

Perhaps I blushed at the mention of this 
marriage ; but he immediately continued : — 

" On dit, my pretty widow, that thia girl, 
Lansdale, has cut you out, Bamhnrst once 
waa sadly taken with you ; so I're heard. 
How is it ? All talk, I suppose ?" 

I felt myself growing pale, although the 
blood was boiling in my veins. But before 
I couid reply, there was a ring at the front 
door, followed by the sound of a hasty foot- 
step, and the r.est moment, to ray utter sur- 
prise, Panny Lansdale rushed into the toom. 
Without seeming to notice the presence of 
Dudley, she rushed forward^nd fell on her 
knees before me, her bonnet hanging on her 
neck, her hair floating about her face, and 
that face bathed in blushes and tears. 

"Oh, Marion! Marion!" she gasped, — 
" some slanderer has told father a, story about 
you and Herman, — a vile, wicked story, — 
which you can refute, and which I am sure 






«)11! 



For— for— 



She fell fainting oo my knee. The vio- 
lence of her emotions, for the time, deprived 
her of all appearance of life. Her head waa 
on my lap ; one hand sought mine, and was 
joined to it in a convulsive clasp. 

Oh, who shall say that those crimes which 
make the world shudder but to hear told, 
are the Tesult of long and skillful planning, 
of careful and intricate scheming ? No, no; 
the worst crimes — thoso which it would 
seem might make even the heart of a devil, 
contract with horror — are not the result of 
long and deliberate purpose, but of the 
temptation of a moment — of the fatal oppor- 

Ae her head rested on my lap, a voice 
whispered in my ear ; 

"Your rival ! Retire for a few moments, 
in search of hartshorn, or some such restora- 
tive, and leave the fainting one in my care." 

I raised my head and caught the eye of 
Getald Dudley. Only a single look, and the 
fiend was in my heart. I rose; the fainting 
girt fell upon the floor ; I hurried from the 
mom, and did not pause until I had reached 
BT own chunber, 4nd locked the door. 



Pressing my hands now on my burning tem- 
ples, now on my breast, I paced the floor, 
while, perchance, fifteen minutes — they 
seemed an eternity — passed away. 

Then I went slowly down stairs, and 
entered the back parlor. Gerald was there, 
standing near the sofa; his face wearing an 
insolent scowl of triumph. The giri was 
stretched upon the sofa, still insensible, but — 
I dare not write it — opposite Gerald stood 
Herman Bamhun>t, who had followed Fanny 
to the house, and arrived — too late. Hia 
face was bloodless 

"Ob, villain' he groaned, as his mad- 
dened gaze was fixed on Dudley , " you shall 
pay for this with y our blood — ' 

"Softly, Reverend Sir! softly 1 One word 
of this, and the world shall know of your 
amouia with the handsome widow," 



Herman's ga; 

"You,— kno 
a look that can 

"Pardon, He 
I shrieked, flinj 



rested on my face — 
—of — this ?" he began, with 
ever be forgotten, 
lan, pardon ! I was mad," 
:g myself at hia feet, and 
clutching his knees. 

For a moment ho ganed upon me, and 
then, lifting his clenched right hand, he 
struck mo on the forehead, and I fell insen- 
sible on the floor. The curse, which he spoke 
as I fell, rings even yet in my ears. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Three days have passed Mnce then. Such 
days as I will never pass again ! I have 
just learned that Gerald Dudley has fled the 
city. His purpose to obtain Fanny's hand in 
marrii^e by first accomplishing her shame, 
has utterly fjuled. Her father knows alU 
and is now using every engine of his wealth 
to connect my name with the crime which 
has damned every hope of hia idolized child. 
And he will succeed ! I feel it ; I know it ; 
my presentiment cannot prove false. What 
shall I do ? — whither turn ? 

And Herman is a raving lunatic This too 
is my work. Yes, yes, I am resolved. — I am 
resolved. » * * ,* 

To-morrow's dawn will bring disgrace |Ud. 
shame to me ; and, in the future, I sea ffift 
crowded courtrhouse — the mob, 6a^ to 
drink in the story of my gvilt, — asd ths 






THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAY. 



felon's cell. Bat the morrow's diiwn I shall years since, Miss 

never see ! i of old Mr. M , 

I am alone in my chamber — the very ! was, while under ai 
chamber in which I became Burley's, in an with Walter H- 
unholy marriage — Walter's, in the ma 



;eof 



h ts 



f m 



a stainless love — Hi 

And now, Death I 
upon that marriage couch, I am about to wed 

The bra/.ifir stands in the center of the 
bridal chamber; its contei 
half an hour ago ; every 
chamber is carefully closed ; already the 
fumes of the burning charcoal begi 
my temples and my heart. 

This record, written from time to time, 
and now concluded by a hand chilled by 
death, I leave to my only living relative, 
not as an apology for my crimes, bat as 
explanation of the, caiises which led me 
the brink of this awful abyss. 

Air ! air I Buriey, for thee I have 
remorse. Let the branch snap ! — over t 
cataract with thy accursed face ! Thou w 
the cause of all— thou ! But, Walter, thy 
last look kills my soul, — Herman, thy cursi 
is on me ! And poor Fanny ! Air ! Light 
It is so dart— i^ark ! — Oh for one breath oi 
prayer ! 



The preceding confession, signed by th 
tremulous hand of the Aor suicide, wa. 
found in her room, with the senseless cors 
by the relative, to whom she addressed it 
and who adds these concluding pages. Fo 
days afWr the event, the papers were filled 
with paragraphs, in regard to the melancholy 
affair. A single one extracted from a prom 



nent paper, will givi 

of the public mind: 

Extract frm 



3 idea of the ton 



a Jfew York Paper. 



"The town is full of rumors, in regard to 
a mysterious event, or series of events, im- 
plicating a member of one of the first fami- 
lies of New York. These rumors are sin- 
gularly startling, and although they have 
not yatiusamed a deBnite shape, certainly call 
for aiUliicial investigation. As far as we have 
been able to sift the etcries now afloat, the 
plain tntt^ reduced to the briefest possible, 
shape, appeata to be as follows: Some: 



with Mr. fcoachar B m Id h 

to be her father, who, it t t d h d th 
father abaolutcly m his p Th 

riage took place, bat not 1 ft d 

B , while on a iisit t N a„ n as 

precipitated over the Fall t dead f ht 
in ft manner not yet satisf t ly pi d 
Soon afterward the yo d th 

immensely rich, encount d h f rm 
betrothed, and the fashio bl w Id 
soon afterward informed f th m rr 

A year passed, and Walte H th h s- 

band of the former wido f d a 

distant part of the cou t j j t n ly 
murdered, it was not kno by h 1 

though it was rumored at lb t m th t th 
brother of a wronged si t was th t 

avenger of h te h m 

The boautifnl Mrs. H , was once more a 

widow. Here it might seero that her adven- 
tures, connected so strangely with the death 
husbands, had reached Aeir tcrniintl> 
But it seems tihe was soon fascinated' 
by the eloquence of a young man and pop- 
ular divine, Rev. H B . While 

L , daughter 

f his congregation, 
became a visitor at 
th h f th h dow, and finally his 

ff f be t gled, and ha was 

f d t ho bet n sdd widow and 
h b t th d H sa ificed his affection 
f th f m t h olomn engagement 
th th 1 tt Th lighted' widow, en- 
dir d th 1 p of 'despised love,' 

f! 1 th m th very much like 
II I J 1 th jealousy after the 

It 1 I 1 Th bet thed was inveigled 

into a certain house, and her honor sacrificed 
by a gentleman of fashion, known for thirty 
years as a constant promenader, on the west 

ade of Broadway, Mr, Gerald D . The 

idow (strangest freak of a slighted and 

ndictive woman !) is said to have been the 

planner and instigator of this crime. We 

arrived at the sequel of the stoiy. 

Unable to obtain the hand of the Bev. H ■ 

-, and stang by remorse, for het 
the dishonor of bis betrothed, the 



wGoogle 



' , has left 

m, Fanny L- 

m for tlic in. 

IS of the wildest 

e of the most painful 

;o the lot of the press. 



224 

widow put a period 
what manner is not exactly known, although 
conflicting rumors state the knife, 
poison vial was the instrument of her 
death. No coroner's inquest took place. 
Tho body gare no signs of a violent death, 
"Disease ot the heart" was stated in the 
certificate of the physician, (how compliant 
he was to the wishes of rich survivors, 
will not say,) as the cause of her unexpected 
disease. She was quietly buried in the 
family vault, and her imraonse estate de- 
scends to a relative, who was especially 
careful, in cloaking over the fact of the sui- 
cide. The tragedy involved in this affair, 
will bo complete, when we inform the 
reader, that Mr. Gerald 
the city, while his poor vii 
tenants the cell of an asy 
Altogether, this affair 
exaggerations, 
tragedies, that 
to record. Can it be believed that a young 
lady, honorably reared, would put a period 
to the lives of two husbands, then procure 
the dishonor of a rival, who interposed 
lietween her and a third 'husband?' Verily, 
'fact is stranger than fiction,' and every day, 
reality more improbable than the wildest 
dreams of romance. The truth will not be 
known until the Confessiok, said to be left 
by the young widov), inakes its appearance. 
But will it appear ? we shall see." 

So much for the public press. 

The reader can contrast its rumors, with 
the facts of the case, as plainly set forth in 
the previous confession, penned by the hand 
of the unfortunate and guilty Marion Mer- 
lin. 

A few words more will close this painful 
narrative. Marion was quietly and honor- 
ably buried. Her relatives were wealthy 
and powerful. The ' physician's certificate' 
enabled them to avoid the painful formality 
of a coroner's inquest. She sleeps besid*'her 
husband, "Walter Howard, la Greenwood 
Cemetery. 

Soon after her decease, Mr. Lansdale sold 
all his property in New York, and with his 
daughter disappeared completely from pub- 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAY, 



lie v 



Herman Bamhurat remuned in th« Ku- 



natic Asylum for more than a yeai', wheb 
he was released, his intellect restored, but 
his health (it is stated) irretrievably broken. 
After his release, ho left New York, and his 
name was soon forgotten, or if mentioned at 
all, only as that of a person long since dead. 

Gerald Dudley, after various adventures, 
in Tesas and Mexico, suffered at the hands 
of Judge Lynch, near San Antonio. 

Aiiout a year after the death of Marion 
Merlin, a young man in moderate circum- 
stances, accompanied by his wife, (a pale, 
faded, though interesting woman) and her 

aged father took up his residence in 

a pleasant village in south-western Pennsyl- 
vania. They were secluded in their habits, 
and hold but little intercourse with the 
other villagers. The husband passed by the 
name of Wilton, which (for all that the 
villagers knew to the contrary,) was his real 

One winter evening, as the family were 
gathered about the open wood-fire, a sleigh 
halted at the door, and a visitor appeared in 
the person of a middle-aged roan, who 
came unbiddeu into the room, shaking the 
snow from his great coat, and seating himself 
in the midst of the family. Regarding for a 
moment the face of the aged father, and 
then the countenance of the young husband 
and wife, which alike in their pallor, aeoraed 
to bear the tracei^of an irrevocable calamity, 
th/ visitor said qflietly, — 
~ " Herman Barnhurst, I am the relative to 
whom Marion Merlin addressed her confes- 
sion, and whom she invested with the trus- 
teeship of hex estate." 

Had a thunderbolt fallen into the midst of 
the party, it would not have created so much 
consternation, as these few words from tho 
lips ofthe visitor. The young wife shrieked, 
the old man started from his chair ; Herman 
Barnhurst, (otherwise called Mr. Wilton,) 
^ith the blood rushing to his pale face, said 
simply, " That accursed woman !" 

I bold her last Will and Testament in ^ 
my hand," continued the visitor ; " I am hot 
relative, and would inherit her estate, 
hut for this will, by which she names yoa 
afid your wife Fanny, aa the sole lieirs of _ her 

miense property," 

Herman took the Will from tlM vjutot^ 
handa. 



Coo^jlc 



THE DAWN, 8TJNBISE AND DAY. 



"As ftdministratOT of her estate, I am here 
to surrender it into your hands. The will 
was made as a small atonement for the injury 
sho caused yo i^ 

Herman quietly dro^peJ the parchment 
into the fire 

' Her money and her memory are alik(, 
accursed I will haii, lothing to do mtli 

Tlat n„ht the relatue tuned i s fice 
eastwird to talie possesion of the estite of 
Marion Merl n 

jlmi beneath tlis tn a diffeicnt haml tias 
added the folloun iff singular nar atiie 



CHAPTER XV. 



place 
th t m f th 1 b t d D t 

N t t d p th h hts f W 

hk bt mIfmthHd 

B A 1 Ifi t b k larat . 

fro th h h idl g d t as 

d d by tall t h b h 

h t t p f d 1 d by tl 

b k d f th 1 f 1 la d bl 
f tl hird t A pi t pi 

mm was th ra f th 1 b t d 

D t b t 1 ly h d d 1 te 

1 t Ih d t 

night, it looks sad and desolate as the grave. 
The sky above It is leaden, the trees around 
it are leafless, the garden white with s 
and the bitter wind howls dismally 
the waste of snow, which clothes the adjacent 
fields. lu the distance, the Hudson glitters 
dimly, white and cold, with fields of floating 
ice. It is near morning, and hut a single 
room in the vast country mansion is tenanted. 
Tou can see a light trembling faintly through 
the half vailed window yonder ; the wii 
dow near the roof, in the southern wing. 

It is near morning ; but one person by 
solitary light, keeps his vigil in the deserted 
mansion ; a slojgh drawn by a single hoi 
(he has been driven hard, for there is foam 
upon his flanks) and moving noiselessly, 
■ without the sound ot bella stops at the gar. 
den gate. Two persons, whose forms are 
wrapped in thick overcoats, and whose faces 
ue concealed by fur caps, drawn low oyer 



the brows, dismount and pass along the gar- 
den walk, bearing a burden on their shoul- 
ders. They ascend the steps of the porch, 
and stand in front of the hall door, looking 
ily about them, as if to assure them- 
selves, their movements were not observed. 

So far safe enough,—" exclaims one in a 
hoarse voice, "the next thing is to get it up 
And he places a key in the lock of 

Meanwhile the light, which trembling 
outward from yonder window, shines redly 
the frozen snow, shines within upon the 
face fthl lywth Ay gm 
be d t bl d by th 1 ht f 

cloud d 1 mp h h k t g h 
hand d h gaz t d po th 1 

volum p i p b f h m Th 1 ht 
falls b htl p th bool 1 h 

1 If t ! ht b t t II J 
,b tl ea f h f — th th 
f h fi d y — th r»y f h 

h ad bold foiehead. It is a small and com 
f table apartment ; near him a wood-fire is 
b ming, on the open hearth ; opposite him 
ota, and a range of shelves, filled with 
b ks, and upon the green cloth of the table 
b which he is seated, you discover a sort of 
licirola of open volumes, — placed there 
dently for reference, — a mass of carelessly 
t wn manuscripts, and a case of surreal 
trunients. 

Arthur Conroy, the favorite student of the 
celebrated Doctor, — a student, whose organi- 
zation combines the exactness and untiring 
industry of the man of science, with the rich 
enthusiasm of the poet, — is the only tenant of 
the mansion, during the dreary winter. He 
is not seen during the day, but every night, 
arriving from New York, after dark, he 
builds his fire, lights his candle, and com- 
mences his lonely vigil. Sometimes, lata at 
night, he is joined by the grave Doctor him- 
self, and they puraue their researches toge- 
ther. What manner of researches? We can- 
not tell ; but there is a rumor, that one 
apartment of the huge mansion ia used, in 
winter time, as n Dissecting-Roora. And 
the light streaming night after night, from 
the window near the roof, strikes the lonely 
wayfarer with a sensation, in some niamitA', 
associated with ghosts, witches, and dealingi 
i»ith the devil in general. 



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/f^ 



THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAY. 



Arthur is ambitious ; even while his mind 
is wrapt in the miizes of a scientific prob- 
lem, he thinks of his widowed mother and 
orphan sisters far away in the great villagf 
near Seneca lake, and his pulse beats quicker, 
as he looks forward to the day when their 
ears shall be greeted by the tidings of his 
world-wide fame. For he has determined to 
be a surgeon, and a master in his art ; he 
has the will and the genius ; he will accom- 
plish what he wills. 

He raises his eyes from his book, — they 
are glittering with the clear light of intense 
thought, — and unconsciously begins to think 

"Do the dead return ? Are the dead in- 
deed dead f You have nailed down the 
coffin-lid ; you have Been the coffin as it 
sunk into the grave ; yon have heard the 
rattling of the clod, — but is that all ? Is the 
beloved one whom you have given to the 
grave, indeed dead, or only more truly living 
in a new body, formed of refined matter, 
invisible to our gross organs ? Is that which 
■we call soul, only the result of a particular 
OTganiBation of gross matter, or is it the real, 
eternal substance of which all other matter 
is but the servant and the expression ? Do 
the dead return ? Do those whose faces we 
have seen for the last time, ere the coffin-lid 
closed upon them forever, ever como back to 
us, clad in spiritual bodies, and addressing us, 
not through our eiternal oT^ans, but by di- 
rectly impressing that divine substance in us, 
which is like unto them, — that which we call 
our 8ODI1 ?" 

It was a thought which for ages has made 
the hearts of the noblest and tniest of our 
race, alternately combat with despair, and 
swell with h p — I t b ht h" h eks 
to unvail tb m y L ^ ^ ^tl"! 

disclose the h. h p hable 

matter with te d d h cur- 

tain which h d m h p h her 

Arthur felt h h ^h ^ h his 

fioul into its embrace. But his meditations 
were interrupted by the opening of the door, 
and the two men, — whom we saw dismount 
from the sleigh, — entered the room of the 
atadent^ bearing in their arms the burden, 
which was covered by folds of coarse canvas. 

Very ungainly men they were, with their 



brawny forms wrapped in huge gray over- 
coats, adorned with white buttons, and their 
harsh visages half concealed by their coarse 
fur caps. Tliey came into 1^ room without 

I "0, you have come," said Arthur, as if he 
recognized persons by no means strangers to 
him. "Have you the particular subject 
which the doctor desired you to pro- 

" Jist that partikler subject," said one of 
the twain, — " an' a devil of a time we've 
had to git it ! Fust we entered the vault at 
Greenwood, with a false key, and then . 
opened the coffin, so as it '11 never be known 
that it was opened at all. Closed the vault 
ag'in and got the body over the wall, and hid 
it in the bottom of the sleigh. Crossed the 
ferry at Brooklyn — went through the city, 
and then took the ferry for Hoboken, — same 
sleigh, and same subject in the bottom of it ; 
an' druv here with a blast in our face, sharp 
as a dozen butcher knives." 

" But if it had not a-bcen for the storni, 
we wouldn't a-got the body," interrupted the 

"And here we air, and here it is, and 
that's enough. What shall we do with it ?" 

Arthur opened a small door near the book- 
case, and a narrow stdrway (leading up into 
the garret) was disclosed. 

"You know the way," he said. "When 
you get np there place it on the table," 

They obeyed without a word. Bearing 
their burden slowly through the narrow door- 
way, they disappeared, and the echo of their 
heavy boots was heard on the stairway. 
They were not long absent. After a few 
moments they again appeared, and the one 
who had acted as principal spokesman, held 
his open palm toward Arthur, — 
Double allowance to-night, you know," 
laid, — "Doctor generally gives us from 
forty to sixty dollars a job, hut this partikler 
for ten gold pieces, — spread eagles, 
you know, wuth ten dollars apiece, — only a 
hundred dollars in all. Shell out !" 

Arthur quietly placed ten gold pieces In 
the hands of the ruffian.—" The doctor left 
it for you. Now go." 

And shuffling their heary boots, they dis- 
appeared through the same door -by whicli 
they had entered. Looking through tha 



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THE DAWK, SUNRISE AND DAT. 



227 



window after a few moments, he saw the sleigh 
moving noiselessly down the public road. 

"Dangerous experiment for tlie doctor, 
especially if the event of this night should 
happen to be discovered," ejaculated Arthur, 
as ho rebuilt hia fire. " A peculiar case of 
Buicide, and he wished tJie liody at all haa- 
ards. Well ! I must to work." 

He drew on an apron of dark muslin, 
■which was provided with sleeves, and then 
lifting the shade from the lamp, he lighted 
a cigar. Aa tho smoke of the grateful Ha- 
vana rolled through his apartment, he took 
the lamp in one hand, and a case of instrii- 
ments in the other, and ascended the secret 
stairway leading to the garret, | 

"I hafe seen her when living, arrayed in 
all the pride of youth and beauty," he s^d, 
as tho lamp shone upon the vast and gloomy 
garret, — " and now let me look upon the shell 
which BO lately held that , passionate soul." 

It was indeed a vast and gloomy garret. 
It traversed the entire extent of the southern 
wing. The windows at either end were 
carefully darkened. The ceiling was formed 
by the huge rafters and bare shingles of the 
stoop roof To one of these rafters a human 
skeleton was suspended, its white bones 
glaring amid the darkness. In the center 
was a large table, upon which was placed the 
burden which the ruffians had that night 
stolen from the grave. The place was 
silent, lonely, — the wind howled dismally 
among the cliimneys, — and Arthur could 
not repress a slight shudder as his footsteps 
echoed from the naked floor. Arthur placed 
the lamp upon the table, and began to uncover 
the subject. Removing the coarse canvas 
he disclosed the corpse. An ejaculation 
burst from his lips, — a cry half of terror, 
half of surprise. 

The light shone upon the body of a beau- 
tiful woman. From those faultless limbs 
and that snowy bosom the grave-clothes had 
been carefully stripped. A single fragment 
of the shroud fluttered around the right arm. 
Save this fragment the body was completely 
bare, and the dark hair of the dead fell 
loosely on her shoulders. Tho face was very 
beautiful and calm, as though sealed only 
for an hour in a quiet sleep, — the fringes of 
the eyelashes rested darkly upon the cheeks. 
Never had the ligiit shone upon a shape of 



more suipassing loveliness, upon limba more 
like ivory in their snowy whiteness, upon a 
face more like a dreamless slumber, in Jta 
calm, beautiful expression. Dead, and yet 
very beautiful I A proud soul dwelt in this 
casket Once, — the soul has fled, and now tho 
casket must be surrendered to the scalpel, — 
must be cut and rent, shred by shred, by the 
dissector's hand. 

"But the limbs are not rigid with death," 
soliloquized Arthur, — "Decay has not yet 
commenced its work. As I live, there is a 
glow upon the cheek," 

With his scalpel he iofiictcd a gash near 
the right temple, and at the same instant, — 
imagining he heard a footstep, — he turned 
his face over his shoulder. It was only 
imagination, and he turned again to trace the 
result of the incision. 

The dead woman was in a sitting posture, her 
arms were folded over her breast ; her eyv 
were wide open, she was gazing calmly into 
his face. Artliurfellback witha cry of horror. 

"Nay, do not be frightened," said a low, 
although tremulous voice, — " I have simply 
been the victim of an attack of catalepsy." 

And while he stood spell-bound, his eyes 
riveted toherfaoe, and his ears drinking in the 
rich music of her voice, she continued, — 

"Catalepsy, which leaves the soul keenly 
conscious and In possession of all its powers, 
but without the slightest control over the 
body, which appears insensible and dead. 
The agony of that state is beyond all power 
of words ! To hear the voices which apeak 
over your coffin, and yet be unable to frame 
a word, to breathe even a sigh ! I heard 
them talk over my coffin, — I was conscious 
as the lid closed down upon my face, — con- 
scious when they placed me in the vault, 
and locked the door, and left me there 
buried alive. And an eternity seemed to 
pass from the time when they looked the 
door, (I was only buried yesterday,) until 
your men came to-night, to rob' the grave of 
its prey. I heard every word they uttered 
from the moment when they tore the shroud 
from my bosom, until they entered your 
room, and then I heard your voice. And 
when they left me here, I heard your step 
upon the stair, heard your ejaculation is jou 
bent over me, and it seemed to me that my 
soul made its last effort to arouse from this 



%• 



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THE DAWN, SUNRISE AND DAT 



uniittefable limng dmi!i, as you struck tl 
knife into my temple. You have sav d 

Artbur could not utter a word ; lie coul 
not believe the eceno to be real ; ho tliou;^! t 
himself the victim of a terrible although, b 
witching dream. 

"I arise from the grave, but it is to be 
life anew. The name which I bore 1 
buried in the grave vault. It is with a n 
name, and under new auspices, that I « 11 
recommence life. And as for you, I kn 
you to be young, gifted, ambitious. I w 11 
show my gratitude by mating your fot'tiine. 
But you mnst swear, and now, never to re- 
veal the secret of this night 1 " 

"I swear it," ejaculated Arthur, still pale 
and trembling. 

" What, are you still afraid of mo ? Come 
near me, — nearer, — take my hand, — does 
(bat, — " and a bewitching smile crossed hor 
foce, — "does that feel like the hand of a 

With these words the history of Marion 
came to a pause. 

For the firet time, Arthur Dermoyne raised 
his eyes from the pages which recorded the 
life of Marion Merlin. For an hour and 
more he had bent over those pages in pro- 
found and absorbing interest 

" Here, then, is the real secret of the life 
of Herman Bamhurst ! " he ejaculated. " He 
was simply a sincere enthusiast, all his bad 
nature dormant, and all his good in active 
life, until this woman crossed his path. And 
the wife who now slumhers by hia side, is 
none other than Fanny Lansdale, the vic- 
tim of the unutterable crime. Who shall 
say that we are not, in a great measure, 
the sport of circumstance ? How different 
would have been the life of Herman, had 
Marion never crossed his path ? " 

Something hke pity for the crimes of 
Bamhurst began to steal over Dermoyne's 
face, as ho sat thus alone, in the solitude 
of the last hour of the night; but the 
thoughts of Alice, on her bed of shame and 
anguish, started up like a phantom and drove 
every throb of compassion from his soul. 

"If Alice dies, there is but one way," — 
he Hwd moodily, with a fixed light in Lis 
eyes. — " But this Marion,— ah 1 Something 



k f wh 1 



f th d k s. 

b f h 
tamp d h f 

d h d g i.p 
t d as t Tb h w f 

ta t !} d th 11 as bl k s> 

" Not wid de kmfe, Dirk ! Let me fis him 
wid dis, — and do yfer sep to de Red Book ! " 

There was a sound as of a weapon whiz- 
zing through the air, and Dermoyne was 
felled to the floor by a blow from the 
" S lung-shot." 

As the flrst gleam of morning stole into 
the bed-chamber— touching, with rosy light, 
the faces of the sleeping wife and her chil- 
dren, Bamhurst stealthily arose, dressed him- 
self, and stole on tiptoe from the place. In 
the dark he descended the stairway, and all 
the while, — from loss of sleep, combined 
with the excitement of the past night, — ho 
shook in every nerve. His thoughts were 
black and desperate. 

"Ruin wherever I turn ! If I escape this 
man, there remains the villain whom I met 
last night, in Trinity Church. On one side 
exposure, on the other death. What can be 
done ? Cut the matter short, and renouncing 
all my prospects, seek safety in flight ? or 
in, — dare all the chances, — exposure, — 
the death of a dog, — all, — and trust to my 
good fortune ?" 

He paused at the foot of the stairway, and 
a hope shot through his heart, — ^"If 1 couid 
GoDivA all might yet be well I Yea, I 
must, I will see Gomva." 

Uttering the name of Godiva, (new to 
the reader and \o our history,) he approached 
the parlor door. "Now for this man !" he 
said, and shuddered. He opened the door, 
and looked around ; the first rays of morning 
were stealing through the window- curtains, 
but the room was vacant. Dermoyne was 
not there. The carpet wkb torn near the 
Bofa, the table overturned) and there VU 
blood upon the carpet and aofih iBut j9v- 
moyne had disappeared. 



•Google 



I E ¥ YORK: 



UPPER-TEN AND LOWER MILLION. 



PART SIXTH. 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



It was toward evecing, when, amid the 
crowd of Broadway — that crowd of mad 
and impetuoua life — there glided, like 
specter through the mazes of a voluptuo 
dance, a man of sober habit, pallid face, and 
downcast eyes. Beautiful n'omen, wrapped 
in soft attire, passed him every moment 
brushed him with their perfumed garments 
but he heeded them not. There was thi 
free laugh, the buzz of voices, and the tramp 
of footsteps ail about him, but he did not 
raise his eyes, nor bend his ear. Glidi 
along in his dark habit^ he was as much 
alone on that thronged pathway, as though 
he walked the sands of an Arabian desert. A 
man of hollow cheeks, features boldly 
marked, and eyes lar^e and dark, and shi 
ing with the fire of disease, or with th 
restlessness of a soul that had turned ux>on 
itself, and was gnawing ever and ever at it 
own lite-strings. 

His habit — a long black coat, eingl 
breasted, and with a plain white band abo t 
the neck — indicated that he was a Cathol 
Priest. 

He was a Priest. Struck down in his early 
manhood by an irreparable calamity, he had 
looked all around the horizon of his life for 
— peace. Eepose, repose — a quiet life — an 
obscure grave — became the objects of hfs 
soul's desire, instead of the ambitions which 
his young manhood had cherished. 

As there was not peace within him, so he 
searched the world for it, and in vain. 

Heaought it in a money-bound Protestant 
church, behind w^iose pulpit-bible — like a i 
toftd upon an altar — Mammon, holy main- I 



there, h f dm 
ahund f t — b t 

To th C th 1 1 
by the p try f ih t 
word f 1 d 

poetry d 1 



d f 



tful 









with flames 



of the f I 

purpio and ca 

of that h h 

half the globe i 

history of ti 

of persecution, — won by all that is good and 

true in that church, (which he forgot is good 

and true under whatsoever form it occui's,) — 

he Bought repose in its bosom. 

Did he find it ? He found good and true 

m p t d people ; he found 

hi d p m tt the valleys of the 

h h b t I ft h yes to her lofty emU 

h t ftc purpled and mitred 

th t, 1 f m th thrones, made sport 

f h m m J d onverted Christ the 

S t th Ft I of 3. bruUl super- 

H h d b t R m ; in Eome he saw 
th ml f Ch st made a cloak for 

every outrage that can be inflicted upon the 
human race- 
Did he find peace? Yes, when vailing 
s eyes from the atrocides done in the nama 
of the church, turning himself away from 
the scarlet-clad atheists, who too often mount 
er seats of power, he retreated within him- 
ilf, opened the gospels, and from their pages 
,w kindle into life and love, the face of 
Him, whom priests may misinterpret or de- 
fame, but whose name forever, to suflering 

As he passed thus along Broadway, burieS 



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DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



in his thoughts, and utterly 
the scene around him, he Celt a hand press 
bis own. He awoke from his thoughts, 
stopped and looked around him. The crowd 
ivaB hurrying by, but the person v/ho pressed 
hia hand had disiippeafed. Was that pressure 
of the hand a mere freak of the imagina- 
tion ? No ; for the hand ot the unknown 
had left within the hand of the Priest a 
neatly-folded letter, upon which, in a fair 
and ddicatfl hand, was written liia own 

Stepping aside from the crowd, he opened 
and read the letter. It was very brief, but 
its contents called a glow to the pale cheek 
of the Priest. 

He at once retraced his steps, and passed 
down Broadway, with a rapid and eager 
step. Hurrying through the gay crowd, he 
turned, in a few moments, into a street lead- 
ing to the North River, The sun was set- 
ting ind cast the shadow of his skndtr form 
long and bhck oier the pm 
paused in front of a stately n 
once more esaminpd the Itltor and then 
Bur\eyed the mansion 

"It lb the sime he 'aid and ascended 
the lofty steps and rang the bell. " Truly, 
the office of a Priest is a painful one," the 
thought crossed his mind ; '■ he sees so much 
misery that he has not the power to relievi 
Misery, under the rags of the hovel, and 
despair under the velvet of the palace," 

A male servant, in livery, answered thi 
hell, and glanced somewhat Eiiperciliously at 
the faded attire of the Priest, But he in- 
clined his head in involuntary respect, as the 
Priest said, simply — 
" I am Father Luke,—" 
" This way, sir. You arc expected," an- 
swered the servant ; and he led Pather Luke 
along a lofty hall, and into a parlor, over 
whose rich furniture shone dimly the light 
of the setting sun. " Remain here, sir, and 
I will announce your coming." 

He left the Priest alone. Father Luke 
placed his hat upon a table, and seated him- 
self in a chair. In a moment, resting his 
cheek upon his hand, and turning his eyes 
to the light, (which shone through the cur- 
ttuned window,) he was hurled In thought 
again. His singular and remarkable face stood 
forth from the hack-ground of shadow like a 



portrait of another age. His crown was bald, 
but his forehead was encircled by dark hair, 
streaked with silver. As the light shone over 
that broad brow, and upon the great eyes, di- 
lating in their sunken sockets, he seemed not 
like a practical man of the nineteenth century, 
but like one of those penjtenla or enthusi- 
asts, who, in a dark age, shut up the fires of 
their agony, of trampled hope or undying 
remorse, within the shadows of a cloister. 
This way, sir,"— it was the voice of the 
'ant, who touched him respectfully on 
the shoulder as he spoke. 

Father Luke arose and followed him from 
le room, and up a broad stairway, and along 
corridor: "At the end of this passage 
lu will find a door. Open it and enter. 
You are expected there." 

Passing from the corridor, lighted by the 
ndow at its estremity, the Priest entei^ 
narrow passage where all was dark, and 
pursued his way until his progress was ter- 
minated by a door. He opened the door and 
crossed the threshold — but, upon the very 
threshold, stood spell-bound lu surprise. 

It was a large apartment, with lofty walls, 
and, instead of the cheerful rays of the de- 
clining sun, it was illuminated hy a lamp 
with a clouded shade, which, suspended from 
the center of the ceiling, shed around a soft 
and mysterious light. 

The walls were not papered nor panneled, 
but covered with hangings of a dark color. 
One part of the spacious chamber was occu- 
pied by a couch with a high canopy, and 
curtains whose snowy whiteness stood out 
distinctly from the dark back-ground. A 
wood fire was burning under the arch of the 
old-fashioned fire-place ; and a mirror, in a 
frame of dark walnut, reflected the couch 
ih its white canopy, and a table covered 
th a white cloth, which stood directly 
underneath the hanging lamp. Upon the 
white cloth was placed a crucifls, a book, a 
wreath of flowera. 

The place was perfectly still, and the soft 
rays of the lamp, investing all its details 
with mingled light and shadow, gave an 
.tmosphero of mystery to the scene. i 

Father Luke stood on the threshold, hesi- 
tating whether to advance or retre^ when 
<w voice broke the stillness : | 

Come in, sir. I have waitsd for jrotL" j 



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DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



And for the first time Father Luke took 
notice of the presence of the speaker. It was 
a womaa, who, attired in hlack, sat in a 
rocking-chair, near the table, her hands 
folded over her breast. Her head and face 
were covered by a thick vail of while lace, 
which fell to her shoulders, contrasting 
strongly with her somber attire. 

Father Luke entered and seated himself 
in a vacant chair, which stood near the table. 
R t' h' the table,— (ho sat 

d tl h h th lamp, in a circle of 
had ) — d 1 d ng his eyes with hia 
ha d h 1 tlj eyed the woman, over 

wh tl 1 htfU full radiance. There 
as d k h th were bright eyes, be- 
n th th t If Uce ; a young, a richly 
m Id d f rm b th that garb of sable ; 
b t Id ored lo trace the fea- 



f th 



" You received a letter ?' said the lady, 

"Aa I was passing up Broadway, a few 
moments since, a letter was placed in my 
hand, bidding my presence at this house, on 
an errand of life and death." 

She started at the sound of that sonorous 
and hollow voice, and, through her vail, 
seemed to survey him earnestly. 

"I am glad that you have come. I thank 
you ivith all my soul. Although not a mem- 
ber of your church, I have heard of you 
for a long time, and heard of you as 
one who, having suffered much himself, was 
especially fitted to render consolation to the 
heart-broken and despair-stricken. Now I 
am heart-broken and despairing," — she 
paused, — " I am d5'ing, — " 

"Dying?" he echoed. 

" And have sent foryou, believing you to 
be an honest man, not to hear confession of 
my sins, for they are too dark to be told or 
be foi^iven. But to aak you a simple ques- 
tion, which I implore you to answer, not as 
a priest, but as a man ; — to answer, not with 
the set phrases of your vocation, but frankly 
and fully, even aa you wish to have peace 
yourself in the hour of death." 

"And that question, — " tie priest's head 
bont low upon his breast, and he surveyed 
her earnestly with his eyes hidden beneath 
hia down-drawn brows. 

" Do you believe in any Hereafter ? Do 
15 



you believe in another world ? Does the 
death of the body end the story ? Or, after 
the death of the body, does the soul rise and 
live again in a new and diviner life ?" 

"My sister," said the priest, with much 
emotion, " I know that there is a hereafter, — ■ 
I Jcn/mi that the death of the body, is not the 
end of all, but simply the, first step in an 
eternal pilgrimage — " 

"This you say as a man, and not as a 
priest, — this is your true thought, as you wish 
to have peace, in the hour of your death ?" 

"Even GO," said Father Luke. 

" Thank you, 0, bless you with all my 
soul. One question more, — 0, answer me 
with the same frankness. — In the nest world 
shall we meet, and know the friends whom 
we have loved in this ?" 

"We shall meet, we shall know, we shall 
love them in the nest world, as certmnly, as 
we ever met, knew and loved them in this," 
was the answer of Father Luke, given with 
all the force and earnestness of undeniable 
sincerity. "Do you think we gather affec- 
tions to our heart, only to bury them in tha 
grave ?" 

The lady rose from her chair, — 

" I thank you, once more, and with all my 
soul. Your words come from your heart 
They confirm the intuitions of ray own 
heart. For the consolation which these 
words afford, accept the gratitude of a dying 
woman. And now, — " she extended her 
hand, " and now farewell !" 

The priest, who, through this entire inter- 
view, had never ceased to regard her, with 
his eyes almost hidden by his down-drawn 
brows — struggling all the while to repress 
an agitat on which increased every moment, 
and well nigh mastered him, — the priest 
also rose with these words on his lips : 
. " You dymg sifter ' you seora young, and 
full of life, ind with the prospect of long 
years before you." 

It was either the impulse of madness, or 
the force of a calm conviction, which induced 
her to reply ; 

"In one hour I will be dead." 

The priest silently took her otfered hand, 
and at the same instant, emerged from the 
circle of shadow, into the full glow of th«- 
light. There was something like magic itt 
the pressure of their hands. 



wGoogle 



232 DAT, SUBSET, NIGHT. 

And the woman lifted her vnil, disclosin"- and which had beat wiih the throb of sensual 
a heautiful face, which already touched with p tt d h d 



s lighted by da k 
3 almost supci 



I pallor of death, 
eyes, whose brlghti 

Lifting her gaze heaven-ward, she said, as 
though thinking aloud, — 

"In another world, Ernest, I will me t 
I B-ill know, I will love you !" 

But ere the words had passed her lips, — 
yes, as the slowly lifted vail disclosed h 
face, — the priest sank back, as though strick 
by a blow from an iron hand, uttering 
wild and incoherent cry, — sank back as 
though the grave had yielded up its dead 
and confronted him with a form, linked with 
holy and yet accursed memorioE. 

"0, Frank, is it thus wa meet," he cried, 
and fell on his knees, and huried his face in 
his. hands. 

The sound of his voice, at once lifted the 
scales from her eyes, — she knew hi 
vague consciousness of his presence, which 
had agitated her for the past few moments, 
became certainty. She knew that in Father 
Luke, ""^0 knelt before her, she beheld 
Ernest Walworth, her plighted husband. 
Sad and terrible indeed, must have heen the 
change, which had fallen upon his counte- 
nance, that she di.d.not know him, when he 
Bat before her in l^e Shadow ! 

Trembling in every nerve, and yet strong 
with the energy of a soul, that had taken it 
farewell of this lift 
her feelings, in a single word, — his 
pronounced in the soft low tones of other 
days. 

" Ernest '." 

" O, Frank, Frank, is it thus we meet !" he 
cried in wild agony, as ha raised his face. 
"You, — you, — the only woman that I ever 
loved, — you, whose very memory has totn 
my heart, since that fata! hour, when I met 
you in the accursed haunt of death, — " 

"Ernest you will sit by me as 1 die, you 
will press your hand in forgiveneia on my 
forehead, my last look shall encounter 

She opened her dark robe, and disclosed 
the snow-white dress which she wore beneath 
(L That dress was a shroud, Tes, the 
beantiful form, the bosom which had once 
been the home of a pure and stainless love, 



b d 1- 
d fll 



d beh Id th p p rat f 



tl 



Lm 



t beh Id f 
wth bl k 

lit 
t dim 



1 th d 1 1 
E yth 
going. Nay, do not weep, do not attempt to 
touch my hand. I am but a poor polluted 
thing, — a wreck, a misemhle, miserable 
wreck ! My touch would pollute you, — I 

Ernest hid his face in the hangings of the 
couch, — he writhed in agony. 

"You shall not die, — you must be saved!" 
ho wildly eiclaimcd. 

She walked across the floor, with an even 
step ; in a moment she was seated in the 
rocking-chair, with Ernest before her, his 
face hidden in his hands. Her face grew 
paler every moment ; her eyes brighter ; and 
the shroud which enveloped her bosom, 
began to quiver, with the last pulsations of 
her dying heart. As the vail mingled its 
fleecy folds with her raven hwr, she looked 
very beautiful, j'es, beautiful with the touch 
of death. 

And as Ernest, choked with his agony, sat 
before her, hiding his face, she talked in a 

b ! life ! you have heen a bitter 
draught to me, and now I nm about to leave 
All day I have heen thinking of my 
shame, of ray crimes, — I have summoned up 
of my life,— the images of the past 
have walked before me in a sad funeral pro- 
0, Thou, who didst forgive the 
Magdalene. — Thou who hadst compassion : 
the poor wretch, whose cross arose beside | 
ne own, — Thou who doat know all my | 
life, my temptatiops, and my erimea, — for- 
forgive ! It is a wandering child, uck 
of wand«ring, who now, — 0, Thou, all-mei- 



..Google 



DAT, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



233 



citul ! — gathers up the wreck of a miserabli 
life, and lays it, with all its siiia and ahame, at 
Thy feet. 

As fiho uttered thin simple, yet 
prayer, Ernest did not raise his face. The 
:^ony which shook him was too deep for 

Her voice grew faint and fainter, as she 
went on, in a vague and rambling way — 

"And I was so innocent once, and did not 
know what sorrow was, and felt such glad, 
ness, at the sight of the sky, of the stars, of 
the flowers, — at the very breath of spring 
upon my cheek ! 0, I wonder if the old 
home stands there yet, — and the nook in the 
forest, don't you remember, Ernest ? I 
■o happy, so happy then ! And now I 
dying — dying, — but you are near. You 
forgive me, Ernest, do you not ?" 

"Forgive you!" ho echoed, raising his 
face, and spreading forth his clasped hands, 
■God's blessing and His consolation be upon 
you now and forever ! And His curse, — " 
a look of hatred, which stamped every linea- 
ment of his face, revealed the intensity of 
his soul, — "and His curse be upon those, 
who brought you lo this !" 

As he spoke, the death damps began to 
glisten on her forehead ; a glassy look began 
to vaii the intense brightness of her eyes. 

" Your hand, sit by mo, — " she said faintly, 
"I shall sleep soon." 

He drew bis chair to her side, and softly 
put his hand upon her forehead, — it was 
cold as marble. 

" It is good io go thus, — with Ernest by 
me, — and in token of forgiveness too, with 
his hand ujion my forehead — " 

Her words were interrupted by a footstep 

" Frank ! Prank ! where are you ! I hav« 
triumphed ! — triumphed ! The one child is 
outofmyway,and the other is in my power!" 

It was Colonel Tarieton, who rushed to 
the light, his face lividly pale, and disfigured 
by wounds, his right arm carried in a sling. 
He had not seen his daughter since the hour 
when he left the Temple, before the break 
of day. And now, faint with loss of blood, 
and yet Btrong iu the consciousness of his 
triumph, he rushed into the death-room of 
his child. 

"I have had » hard time, Frank, hut the 



game is won! The estate ia ours! Tha 
other son of Oulian Van Huyden b in my 

The words died on his lipa. He beheld 
the dark form of the stranger, and the fiwe 
of his dying child. The young form clad id 
a shroud ; the countenance pale with death ; 
the large eyes, whose brightaesa was vailed 
in a glassy film, — he saw this sad picture at 
a glance, but could not believe the evidence 

"Why, Frank, what's all this ?" he cried, 
with his pale face, marked by wounds, he 
stood before his daughter. 

She slowly raised her eyes, and regarded 
him with a sad smile. 

poison, father, — I drank it myself; 
forth from this house safe from all 

Her voice failed. 

Tarlcton uttered a frightful cry, and fell 
like a dead man on the Hoot, his face against 
carpet. The reality of the scene had 
burst upon him ; in the hour of his Iriumpb 
he saw his schemes,— -the plans woven 
through the long course of twenty-one years 
and darkened by hideous crimes, — leveled 

a moment to the dust, 

Frank slowly turned her head, and fixed 
her glassy eyes upon the face of Ernest, — 
0, the intensity of that long and yearning 

weary and cold," she gasped, " but 
it is light yonder." 

And that was all. Eer eyes became 
fixed, — she liud her head gently on her 
shoulder, and fell aaleep. 

She was dead ! 

Ernest knelt bcaido her, and ivith his ejea 
flashing from theirsunkon sockets, he clasped 

s hands and uttered a, prayer for the dead. 

There were footsteps in the paagoge and 
presently into the death-room came Mary 
Berman and Nameless, their faces stamped 
with the same look in which hope and ter- 
gled. Nameless bore the last letter 
of Frank in his hand ; it had hurried hidi 

id Mary from the corpse of the arti« fo the 

)me of Frank, and they arrived only in 
time to behold her dead. 

She died to save my life!" said Kame- 
less solemnly, as he surveyed that face whioh 
looked so beautiful in death. That U»M 



,/Googlc 



DAY, 8UN8ET, HIGHT. 



were strong emotions tugging at his heart, — 
emotions such aa are not felt twice in a life- 
time, — need not be told. 

And Mary, with tears upon her pare and 
beautiful face, stole silently to the side of the 
dead woman, and smoothed her dark hair, 
aod put her kiss upon her clammy forehead, 
and closed those eyes which had looked their 
last upon this world. 

The prayer was said, and Ernest, resting 

his hands upon the arm of the chair in which 

the dead woman sat, hid once more his face 

iim the light, and Burrendored himself to 

,■ tt^ fnll sway of his agony, 

' :i~ voice broke the dead stillness, and a 
livid face was uplifted from the floor. 

" It'8 an infernal dream, Frank. Tou 
could not have been bo foolish ! The estate 

He saw at the same glance the face of 
Nameless and the face of his dead child. 



Here let U3 return for a moment to Mary- 
vale, the old mansion in the country, to 
which, this morning before break of day, the 
Unsbowh, (in whom you doubtless recognize 
Caspar Manuel, or the Legate,) had con- 
ducted the boy, Gullan, the private secretary 
of Evelyn Somets, Sr. 

The contest between Tarleton and the dog 
Cain, in the presence of young Gulian, will 
be remembered ; as well as the fact, that 
even as Tarleton, suffering from his wounds, 
attempted to bear Gulian from the house, he 
fell insensible at his victim's fceL 

An hour afterward, when the light of day 
■ «hone on the old mansion, the Legate re- 
turned and eagerly sought the chamber of 
young Gulian. The floor was stained with 
blood, the dead body of Cain was stretched at 
his feet, but the boy had disappeared. The 
Legate wae a man, who, through the course 
of long years had learned to restrain all ex- 
ternal signf*of emotion, hut when he became 
conscious that young Guliaa was gone, — he 
knew not whither, — his agitation broke forth 
in the wildest expressions 'of despair. 

" But I will again Teacne him from his 
persecutor, Yes, before the day is over, he 
will be safe under my protection." 

And himself and his numerous agents 
sought the city through all day long ; and 
(ought in Toin. 



CHAPTER 11. 



OiTR history now returns to Madam Hcsi- 
mer, whom we left in her most secret cham- 
ber, near ten o'clock, on the 24th of Decom- 
be, listening to the sound of the bell, which 
resounded through her mansion. 

It was the bell of the secret passage. 

"Who can it be?" again ejaculated tbo 
Madam, as she stood in the center of the 
room, with the light of the candle on one 
side of her florid face. 

To which Corkins, who stood behind her, 
his slender form lost in her capacious sha- 
dow, responded in a quivering voice, " Who 

Much troubled and very angry, and not 
knowing upon whom l« vent her anger, the . 
Madam turned upon her trembling satellite, 
and addressing him by nuraeroua titles, not 
one of which but was more vigorous than 
elegant or complimentary, she bade him, — 

" Run for your life. Answer the bell of 
the secret passage ! Don't be foolin' away 
your time, when the very devil's to pay and 
no pitch hot. Cut !" 

Corkins accordingly " cirf," or, to speak in 
a less classical phrase, he glided from the 

How anxiously the Madam waited there, 
in her most secret chamber, with her finger 
to her lip, and the candle-light on one side 
of her face ! 

"Who can it be ? Only four persons in 
the world know of this secret piissage. It 
can't be this devil from Philadelphia ? 0, I 
shall do somebody a mischief. I can't en- 
dure this any longer, — " 

Hark ! There are footsteps in the corri- 
dor ; they approach the Madam's room. She 
her small black eyes upon the door, 
with the intensity of a — cat, contemplating 

This way," cries the voice of Corldns, 
and he enters the room, followed by two per- 
sons, one of whom is taller than the other, 
and both of whom wear caps and cloaks. 

" Has he come back 1" cries the taller of 
the two, in a voice that trembles with anxi- 
ety and fear, — he lifts his cap, and discloses 
the face of Herman Barnhui^t. 



wGooi^le 



II 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



235 



" No,— no,- — ^I haven't laid eyes upon hi 
since last night," nini she clutched Barnhurst 
by the arm, — " Where did yon leave him 
" He went home with me," replied Bai 
hurst, and stopped to gaze around that roo 
dimly lighted by a single candle, as though 
he was afraid that Dermoyne was concealed 
in its shadows. — " I left him in the park 
down stairs. IIo was determined to wait ft 
me until morn'ing, and then come with m 
to this house. But this morning, when I 
came down stairB, he was not there." 

" He was not there ?" echoed the Madam, 
breathless wittf impatience. 

"He wasn't there; there was blood npon 
the Eofa and the carpet, and marks of a 
Struggle." 

The Madaro uttered a round oath and a 
cry of joy. 

"Good, — capital! My boys have doie 
their work, youfee, Herman, I sent Dirk 
and SlunK after him, and they've laid him 
out. It's a sure thing." 

EJcrmanj even in his fright, could not but 
help shuddering, as he heard the cool 
in wliioh. she spoke of Dermoyno's death. The 
nest instant the idea of his own safety rose 
uppermost in his mind. 

" Do you think that your follows have 
taken good care of him ?" he asked. 

"Don't doubt it, — don't doubt it," and she 
rubbed her hands joyfully together. " It's a 

A raven-like voice, behind her, echoed, 
" Sure thing !" It was Corkins, of course, 

"And elie, — how is slie?" — Herman low- 
ered his voice, and pointed upward. 

" She is well !" was the emphatic response 
of the Madam, — "But how did yon know 
of the secret bell ? Only four persona in the 
world know of it, and you are cot one of 

Herman pointed to the person who had 
entered witb liim, and who now stood in the 
darkness at his back, — "Godiva!" he said. 

The Madam gave a start, echoing "Go- 
diva," and Corkins, behind the Madam, as 
in duty boand, re-echoed "Godiva!" 

The person called by this name, — the name 
of the beautiful lady, famed in ancient story, 
for the sacrifice which she made of her mo- 
desty in order to achieve a noble purpose, — 
advanced from the shadows into the light, 



saying, " This boy came '.o me this morning, 
in a world of trouble ; he confided all his 
sorrows to me. It appears he is in a deril 
of ascrape. I came here to get him out of it." 
And removing cap and cloak, Godiva stood 
disclosed in the candle-light. Godiva was a 
woman of some twenty-flve years, with a 
rounded form, brown complexion, large eyes 
that were hazel in the sun, and Mack by 
night ; and Godiva wore her raven hair in 
rich masses on oithur side of, her warm, trop- 
ica! face, Godiva was dressed, not in those 
flowing garments which give spch bewitch- 
ing mystery to the form of a lovely woman, 
but, in male costume front head to fool, — a 
shirt, with open collar, dark satin vest, blue 
frock oat bl k pantaloons a d boots of 
patent Icathe Alth ^h look n„ si o t n 
stitu e bes de the tail Barnhurst she was 
tall fo a Oman ad 1 er m^l costume 
1 oh d d full just ce to her th oat her 
ami '^^ '"'^'i ^^^ rounded 1 mbs became her 
exceedingly. 

With her cloak on her right arm, her cap 
in her right hand, she rested her left hand on . 
her hip, and looked in the face of the Mad- 
am with an air of insolent condescension 
that was quite refreshing. 

"How do you do, my dear child?" — and 
the Madam offered her hand. Godiva waved 
her back. 

Don't be impertinent, woman," was tha 

" The few days that I once passed 

house, by no means give you the 

right to be familiar. I am here, simply, for 

I reasons, — I wish, in the first place, to 

the boy (she pointed to Barnhurst,) out 

of his ' scrape ;' and, in the second place, to 

certain manuscript which, it seems, 

I left in this house when I was here." 

The Madam was an essentially vulgar, aa 
well as wicked woman, but she, could not 
help feeling the cutting insolence which 
marked the tone of the queenly Godiva. 

There is no iicli manuscript here," she 
said, tartly, and her thoughts reverted to tha 
Red Book. 

Hadn't you better wait to know what 
kiud of manuscript it was, before mak- 
ing such a flat denial ?" coolly responded 
Godiva, "But now let's talk of this boy l_ 
What's the amount of his entanglemontg ? . 
How's the girl ?" 



wGoogle 



236 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



" She ia well," add the Madam, emphati- 

"Well !" croaked Corkiiis from the back- 
ground. 

"And this fetlow from Philadelphia— was 
he really such 3 desperate creature ?" asked 
Qodiva. 

"A devil incarnate," replied the Madara. 

"What's that?'' cried Kerman, with a 
Btftrt, as the souDd of a bell onca more rang 
through the manBion. 

"It's the bell of the door in the alley. 
Run, Corkins ! It's Dii-k and Slung. Bring 
'em np, — ' put', I say !" 

Corkina "put," and the party waited for 
hia return in evident anxiety. It was not 
long before there was the tramp of heavy 
steps in the passage, and two men, roughly 
clad — one, short, thick-set, and bow-legged, 
the other, tall and bony — stumbled into the 
room, bringing with them the perfume of 
very bad liquor. 

"Where's de ole woman?" cried Dirk; 
"What in dc thunder de yer have candles 
a-humin' in daylight for — s-a-y?" 

"Ole lady, I'll finger dat pewter— I will," 
said Slung-shot. " We laid yer man out — 
we did. Dat cool hundred, ef yer please." 

And while Herman and Godiva glided into 
the shadows, the two ruESans recounted the 
incidents of the night, in their peculiar pa- 
lais ; the Madam interrupting them with 
questions, at every step of the narrative. 

The story of these savages of city life, 
(and we believe that only the English and 
American cities produce such ruffians in a 
perfect slate of brute- and-devil complete- 
ness,) reduced to the briefest compass, and 
stripped of all its oaths, read thus : — They 
had followed Dermoyne and Bamhurst all 
night long. Entering the house of Bam- 
hui»^<tha door had been left ajar,) they had 
found Dermoyne seated on the sofa, his eyes 
fixed upon a book. As one struck him with 
the slung-shot, the other extinguished the 
light, and a brief but terrible contest took 
place in the dark. Finally, they had borne 
the insensible form of Dermoyne from the 
house, and fiung him into the gutter of a 
dark and deserted street. 

" All' dere he'd freeze to death, ef he gefa 
orer d« dirk and de slung-shot — he would," 
Added the thick-set ruffian. 



They 



" And where have you been over since ?" 
asked the Madam, whose little eyes sparkled 

" Gittin' drunk," tersely I'emarked Dirk. 

"The book — you have it?" she said 
eagerly. 

To which Dirk replied, in his own way, 
that if he had, he hoped his ej"es and liver 
might be made tmeomfortable for an indefi- 
nite length of time, 

" Fact, is, it slid under de sofar in de muss, 
an' I couldn't find it in de dark." 

The Madam burst into a transport of fury, 
and in her rage administered the back of her 
hand somewhat freely to the faces of Dirk 
and Slung. "Out of my sight — out of my 
sight ! Fools ! Devils ! That book was all . 
that I sect you after !" and she fairly drove 
them from the room. They were heard 
shuffling in t 
curbing as they went down 

" The miserable knaves ! What tnist can 
you put in human natnr" arter this !" and she 
fretted and fumed along the room. 

"The book ia safe in my house," said 
Bamhurst, advancing, his face glowing with 
satisfaction. "This fellow, it appears, is safe. 
I pledge my word to have that book io this 
room before an hour." 

Godiva, looking over his shoulder, mut- 
tered in atone inaudible to the others ; "And 
my manuscript is in the book, and I pledge 
my word to have that within an hour." 

"It you do tfeat, Herman, I'll sell my 
soul for you !" cried the Madara, warmly. 

" Suppose we look at the — (A« patiaii," 
whispered Herman. 

"Tip-stairs in the same room ;" and Her- 
man and Godiva left her room together, and 
directed their steps toward the chamber of 

" The book is safe ; he'll keep his word — 
don't you think, BO, Corkins?" said the 
Ma5am, as she found herself once more alone 
with her familiar spirit. 

" Safe — perfectly," returned Corkins, when 
his words were interrupted by the ring of a 
bell. It was the front door bell thi» time. 
Corkins hurried from the room, and in a few 
moments returned, and placed a card in the 
hands of the Madam : 

" This person wants to see you." 

Drawing near the candle, the Uadam read 



byCOO' 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



237 



upon the card this name — "Db Akthur 
CONBOr." A name, you will reniLmber, aa- 
EOciated with the history of Manon Merim. 
It was Arthur Couroj, who, in the dissecting 
room, saw the corpse before him start sud- 
denly into life. 

" Dr. Conroy!" — it seemed a famUiar name 
to the Madam. "I wonder if he wants a 
subject ? Show him up, Corkins." 

Through the bowed window- shutters and 
the drawn curKuns, the winter sunlight stole 
into the chamber of Alice, lighting up the 
bed d t b tl f Id j th 

f f th ^ r" M y th 11 

E rm and G d to d by th bed 
th ba k t d th d d th 

f f th 1 ht. Ih y dd t p k 

Th m b thleissly til 

Al IS tl t g tl b d th 



1 t draw 4lp I 



k 

p d a„ t tl p II th 
f t th Ight. U h d 



h k 



pii I 

1 htly p 
I wh h h 1 pt f l 

g A b ht J h t f 



d 1 1 kp 1 



thro t 



tl 



f 1 
be f Itl 
heart had long since ceased 



nlk h 
Godiva, 

to feel, was awed into silence. As for Hi 
man, he could not take his eyes away, but 
stood there with his gaze chained to the face 
of the sleeping girl ; for she was sleeping — 
sleeping that dear, quictsleep, which, in this 
world, never knows an awakening hour. In 
the language of the woman-fiend, she in- 
deed "was xoell!" Dead, with the second 
life which she bore, dead within her. Poor 
Alice 1 She had oqIj opened her wings in 
the world, to fold them again and die. 

"HennaD," whispered Qodiva, "look at 
that I Are you not proud of your work ?" 

"Don't taunt me, Marion," he answered. 
"Had I never met you — had you never 
made my life but one continued dream of 
sensuality — I would not stand here at this 
Lour, gazing upon this murdered girl. 

"Sweet boy! And so, when I first met 



\ou, you believed all that you preached in 
the pulpit J' 

" If I did not believe it, I certainly did not 
wibh to doubt it. You, and the life I've led 
since first I knew you, have made me dread 
the very mention of (iie existence of a God, 
or of the immortality of the sou!." 

"Pretty boy! How sadly I've used jou! 
But don't call me Marlon ^ain; — that name 
I left in the grave. Leave off preaching, and 
let us see what you intend to do 1" 

"Godiva, whichever way I look is ruin. 
I am rid of this Dermoyne ; but there are 
th se persona who, conscious of (Ae event of 
iluit niglU in November, 1842, will expose ma 
t the world, unless I become their tool, in 
ard to the heirs of Anreke Jans and 
T nity Church. I am sick of this life of 
pense and dread ! Let us fly, Godiva ; I 
w U change my name, and, in some distant 
pi ce, begin life anew." , 

' What, and leave your wife ?" 
' Take care, Godiva, take care ! Don't 
p ess me too hard ! You know who it was 
thit planned the dishonor of that wife, when 
he was a maiden, and betrothed to me. 
T ke care !'' 

' You needn't look so black at me with 
hose devilish eyes," said Godiva, as her face 
1 t that bitter sneer, which, for the last few 
m ments, had made her resemble a beautiful 
fl nd. " You mustn't be angry at my jests. 
Well — let Its travel ! I have money enough 
for both, and we can enjoy ourselves with mo- 
ney anywhere. But the Van Hnyden estate?" 

"I cannot call my share my own, even if 
a share should happen to fall to me. These ; 
people who knew of iJie event in 1842, and 
who are now playing conspirator between 
Trinity Church and the heirs of Anraks 
Jans, will demand my share as the price of 
theit silence. I cannot live in this state of 
dread. Listen Godiva ! A vessel sails this 
afternoon for one of the West India Islands^ 
What think you of' a life in the tropics, far 
away from this deviliish practical world ? 
Why, we can make an Eden to ourselves, 
and forget that we ever lived before? I hav« 
engaged passage for two on board this vessel. 
It makes my heart bound ! Groves of palm — 
a cloudless sky — good wine — days all drean^ 
and nights ! — ahj Godiva ! Flight, God 
flight I" 



,/Goo<^lc 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



" Flight be it, ami to-night !" cried Go- 
diva, wiuding hur arm about Herman's neck. 

They wero disturbed by a, aoTind, low and 
scarcely audible — it resembled the sound of 
a footstep. Herman turned his head, and 
gaw, between him and the doorway, the hag- 
gard face of — Arthur Dermojne, whose cheek 
was marked with a hideous gash, but whose 
eyes shone with a clear unfaltering light. 
Herman read his death in those eyes. 

Let U3 turn from this scene, and enter once 
more the secret chamber of the Madam. 

" Why, Doctor, I am glad to see you !" 
she cried, as Doctor Arthur Conroy entered 
herroom ; " I haven't clapped eyes upon y^ 
for a dog's age. "Why, bless me, how changed 

As Conroy flung his cloak upon a chair, 
and advancing to the light, seated himself 
opposite the Madam, it waa evident that he 
was indeed changed. His eyes were dull 
and heavy, his cheeks bloated ; the marks 
of days and nights spent in sensual excess, 
were upon every lineament of his once noble 
face. A sad} a terrible change ! Can this 
man who sita before us, with his coat but- 
toned to the chin, and his heavy eyes rolling 
vacantly in his bloated countenance, be the 
same Arthur Conroy whom we first beheld 
in the lonely hour of his student vigil, his 
eyes dilating with a noble ambition, his fore- 
head stamped with thought, .with genius ? 

" I am changed," he said sullenly and with 
a thick utterance ; " let me have some 
brandy." 

The Madam, without a word, produced a 
bottle and a glass. Conroy filled the glass 
half-full, and drank it, undiluted with water, 
and without removing the glass from his 

And then his faded eyes began to flash 
and his cheek to glow. 

It was the moat melancholy kind of in- 
ten^terance — that which, drinks alone, and 
drinks in silence, and, instead of rousing the 
social feelings, or the grotesijue fancies ot 
drunken mirth, calls up thy images of tho 
past, and bids them feed upon the soul. 

" Good brandy that '. It warms the blood!" 

"Why, Conroy, I have not seen you since 
you brought Godiva hero, and that is a year 
M^'I don't know how many months ago." 



" Slay God," — he ended tho sentence with 
an uwfiil imprecation upon the very name 
of Godiva. And his face giew wild with 
hatred. 

"Why I thought she>as a favorite of 
yours, or you of hers," swd tho Madam. 

"By I I wish I had buried my knife 

in her heart, as she lay on the dissecting 
table before me !"#he cried, his voice hoarse 
with emotion. Look at mo ! When first I 
met that woman I was studious, ambitious ; 
(he thought of my mother and two sisters, 
who depended upon my efforts, stirred me 
into superhuman exertion. Well ! — It is not 
qmle a century since I met that woman, and 
look at me now — a gambler — a drunkard ; 
yes," he struck the tabic with his Hst — "Ar- 
thur Conroy is como to that ! My mother 
dead, ot a broken heart, and my sisters, well ! 
— my sisters — " 

As he tried to choke dowif his emotion, 
his fcatiires worked as with a spasm. 

"Weil! never mind! — and the accursed 
woman, whom I brought to your house, in 
order to kill the fruits of her passion, — she is 
e cause of all,—" 

Tlie light which left the greater part of 

e room in shadow, fell strongly over the 

florid face of the Madam, manifesting vague 

astonishment ; and the flushed visage of 

Conroy, working with violent emotions. 

Yes," he said, as though thinking aloud, 
while his eyes shone with the brilliancy of a 
lighted coal, — "she was to make my fortune ; 
iaa to aid me, as I ascended that diffi- 
cult path, which ambition treads in pursuit 
of fame. How smooth her words ! I 
called her back from the dead, — she recovered 
from her relative a large portion of her prop- 
erty, sacrificing the rest, on condition that he 
concealed the fact of her enistence from the 
world, — and I loved her, became the habi- 
of her mansion, the companion of her 
voluptuous hours. The she-dovil ! look to 
hat she has brought me !'■ 
" I wonder if he wants to borrow money 1" 
bid the Madam, in a sort of stage-whisper. 
" No he doe^ not," returned Conroy, with 
scowl, — "He wants to do you a senice, 
good ladj This morning about daybreak, 
was returning from Ihe Club-Koom, I 
across a poor deiil m the streets, who 
loen ahockmgly abused by ruffians, — '' 



wGooi^lc 



DAT. SUNSET, NIG/'hT, 



"Ah !" 



ind the Miidam si 



chair. 

"I could not let hi» die there, so I dig- 
ged him to the house of a, clergyman, hard 
by, and laid him on the sofa. Then, assisted 
by the wife of the clorgymen, a good sort of 
woman, — I drossed the wounds of the poor 
devil, and brought him to." 

"The name of the clei^ynBin ?" asked the 
Madam, biting her lips. 

"Barnct, or Barnhurst, or soma such name." 

"Ah !" and the Madam changed color, 
" and you left this man there ?" 

" He must have had a, constitution of iron, 
to stand all those knocks I Do you know in 
a little while he was on his feet, explaining 
to the clergyman's lady, that he had come 
home with her husband, the night before, 
and had been dragged by unknown ruESans, 
from that very house, — " 

" The dev-i-1 !" and Madam clutched the 
arms of her chair, as she tried to restrain the 
rage, which filled every atom of her bulky 

"And now, he's down stairs at the door — " 
"Down staii^ at the door I" she bounded 
from hor chair. 

"He has a book an<ler his ann, bound in 
red morocco," continued Dr. Conroy, — "and 
he desires to see you on particular business," 
and Conroy filled another glass, half full of 
braijdy. 

Once more to the death-room of Alice. 

Dormoyne, who was as white as a sheet, 
stood but one step from the threshold, Godi- 
va was by the bed, Herman near the head of 
the bed ; thus Godiva was between the 
avenger and his victim. 

Herman read his death in the eyes of 
Dermoyne, and looked to the window, as 
though he thought of raising the sashing, 
and dashing himself to pieces upon the 
pavement. « 

Godiva also caught the eye of Dermoyne, — 
she saw, that weak as he was from his 
wounds, and the loss of blood, that ha was 
nerved by his emotions, by his purpose, with 
superhuman strength, — she saw the pistol in 
his hand. And all the craft of her dark and 
depraved nature, came in a moment lo her 
aid. She resolved to save Herman, — that is, 
if her craft could save him. I 



1 her "Hush! hush!" she whispered, "do not 
awake the sleeping girl ! She has had a 
hard night, but bow all is well. Hushl 
tread lighUy,— lightly !— " 

"Then she lives!" cried Dermoyne, and 
his savage eyes lit up with Joy. 

"Lives, and is doing well, don't you see 
how sweet she sleeps ?" said Godiva advan- 
cing to him, on tip-toe, "Generous man! 
How can I thank you for your kindness to 
my cousin, poor, dear Alice ?" 

"Your cousin?" without another word, 
she fiung herself upon Dermoyne's breast, 
wound her arms tightly about his neck, and 
hung there lilie a tigress upon the neck of her 
victim. 

Now'a yonr time, Herman !" she cried, — 
and Dermoyne struggled madly in her em- 
brace, but her arms wound closer about his 
neck, and he struggled in vain. His pistol 
fell to the floor. 

Herman rushed by him, and the next in- 
stant, Dcrmoyno had unwound the arms of 
Godiva, and flung her violently to the floor. 
Ha turned to the door, — it was closed and 
locked, — Herman had escaped. 

"Villiun, you shall pay for this with your 
fe !" he cried, as with flaming oyes, ho ad- 
vanced upon the prostrate Godiva. 

Dont be rash, my dear," she said, as 

seated on the floor, she was coollj- engaged 

arranging her disheveled hair, " You 

'A woman ?" he echoed incredulously, 
' Yes, — and a very good looking one, — 
I't j-ou think so ?" and she looked at him 
insolent composure, while her vest, — 
torn open in the struggle, — displayed a 
impse of her neck and bosom. 
Who, in this calm shameless thing, — 
proud at once of her beauty, and her shame, 
would recognize the innocent Marion Merlin 
of other years ? With an ejaculation of con- 
tempt and anger, Dermoyne turned away 
from her, and approached the bed of Alice. . 

Alice was indeed sleeping there, her cheek 
upon the pillow, her lips apart, and with a 
of sunshine upon her closed eyelids, and 
sunny hiur. 

Dermoyne felt his heart die within him at 
the sight. There are emotions upon which 
it is best to drop the vail, for words are too 
weak to picture their awful intensity. 



,/Googlc 



S40 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



He called her name, "Alice !" and gpread- 
iog forth his arras, he felt insenaible upon 
the bed, hia lips pressing the forehead of the 
dead girl. 

Godiva rose, closed her vest, and calmly 
surveyed the scene, with her eyes shadowed 
by her uplifted hand : — 

" I believe upon my sonl, he did love 
her !" was her comment, and a tear shone 

The key turned in the lock, and presently 
a man with flushed face, and unsteady step, 
appeared upon the threshold. It was Arthm 
Conroy. 

"Halloo! what's up?" he cried, with 
thick utterance. — "That yon Diry?" and 
sta^ering over the floor, he attempted to put 
his arm about her neck. 

" Beast !" she cried, and struck him in 
tte face. And ere he had recovered from 
the surprise of the blow, she glided from the 

Seating himself on the foot of the bed, his 
eyes rolling in the vacancy i 
he began to mutter words like these,- 
.. " I'd a-better have cut you up, when I had 
you on the disseotin' table — I had. ' Beast,' 
You've served the devil for very small 
wages, Arthur Conroy ! Ha, ha, — ila a 
queer world." 

Shall we ever see Herman and Godiva, 
Conroy and Dermoyne again 7 

CHAPTER III. 

The Twenty-Fourth of December was a 
happy day with Randolph Koyalton. One 
happy day, after a long month devoted to 
agony and despair ! Early morning light, 
found him in an upper chamber of the man- 
moo, near the window, his form half concealed 
among the curtains, but his pale countenance, 
fully disclosed. There was thought upon his 
broad white forehead, relieved by the jet-black 
hair, an emotion of unspeakable tenderness, — 
passion, — in h laro- 1 a blu -eyes, and all 
the while upo h 1 ps a expression in 
■which hatred mid th ntempt. For 
three images l>ef e h m — his future, 

knd that waa ha d t dad buried him 

in thought, — El y u g and beautiful, 

and willing to become hii. own, and that 



filled his eyes with the light of passion, — 
his Brother, whom he had left helpless and 
insensible in a distant chamber, and who had 
met all his offers of fraternal love with with- 
ering scorn, and that thought curled his lip 
with mingled hatred and contempL 

In his hand he held a letter, which had 
just been delivered by Mr. Hicks, and before 
him were two huge trunks, one bearing the 
name of "Randolph Royalton, Heidleberg," 
and the other the name of " Esther Royalton, 
Hill-Royal, S. C." These trunks which 
had just arrived in a mysterious manner, had 
been placed in his room by the hand of a 
servant. 

On his way south, about a month before, 
Rand Iph h d 1 ft h Iru k n "tt aih gt 
and h d h m t h f th 

Whe E th a= b ht to Vl aah t n 
by h broth d h pur has h t k 
was b ht th h f m R y It n Ad 
whei R I Iph d E th ca[ d f m 

Wasl tl y t k th t k th 

them as f as Ph I d Iph i, h th y 1 ft 
them th to j. f m tl 

And th tru k — ta II 

that th y th th Id— tad 

by som k p h, be b ht t 

louse m Broadway, and delivered into 
ervant's hands, accompanied by the note 
which Randolph held. 

Brother!" ejaculated Randolph, thinking 
of Harry Royalton, ^ora he had left weak 
and helpless in a distant chamber, — a cham- 
er which Randolph had given up to him — 
Brother ! I am afraid our accounts draw to 
close, I'm afraid that your nature cannot 
be changed. Shall I have to fight you with 
own "weapons ? Last night I saved 
your life, — I brought you to my own home ; 
I Jaid vou on my oivn bed ; I watched over 
you, and when you woke, held out to you a 
biother's hand. That hand you struck 
down in scorn ! So much the worse for you, 
dear brother. Your condition will not allow 
« leave this house for a day or two, — 
at least not until to-mmrovi is over. And 
io-morrtni! past, brother, you will forfeit all 
interest in the Van Hnyden Estate. 

Randolph was a generous and a noblo m 
but there were desperate elements witl 
which the events of the last month had 



,yC00«^IC 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



241 



begun to develop. He now felt that his 
fate would be decided and foreve 
course of the next twenty-four hours. And 
every power of his soul, all the strength, the 
good, — shall WB say evil ? — began to ris< 
within him to meet the crisis. There was 
energy in his look, danger in his eye. 

"And Eleanor, — " he breathed that name 
and paused, and for a moment he was en- 
veloped in the atmosphere of an intense bul 
sinless passion. "Eleanor loves me ! She 
will be mine !" 

But how should his marriage with Elea- 
nor be accomplished, without the fatal dis- 
closure, that instead of being the legitimate 
child of John Augustine Royalton, he wa 
simply — the White Slave ofhis own brother 

The thought was madness, but Randolph 
met it, and rousing every power of his soul, 
sought to pierce the clouds which hung 
Upon his future. 

He opened the letter, which. Mr. Hicks 
had delivered to him, and recognized 
the hand of his unknown protector, — his 
friend of the Half-Way House. It was 
dated "Dec. 24th," 1844, and these were its 
contents : — 

"To Eandolph Hotalton: — 

"When first I met you and your sisto at 
the house near Princeton, and heard th 
Story of your wrongs, in you I recogni d 
the children of an old and dear friend, Jol 
Augustine Royalton. I determined to p o 
tect you. You know how my plans w 
Idd. Your brother, also your persecutor, 
was delivered to punishment. Yourself and 
sister were brought to New York, and placed 
in the mansion ishlch you now occupy. 
Last nighl, wishing to know whether there 
yet remained in your brother one throb of a 
better nature — conscious that if his feejiiigs 
to you were imchanged, you would at no 
moment be safe from his vengeance, — I ar- 
ranged your meeting with him and hia instru- 
ment, in the den below Five Points. From 
old Royal (Aom I first met in Philadel- 
phia, and who told me ot your story before 
I Baw you at the half-way house,) I have 
learned all that occurred last night, — the at- 
taolc made on you by your brother, — your 
magnanimous conduct, — the awful, although 
ticlilj deserred death of Bloodhoimd, bis 



atrocious tool. And although I know not 
what became of your brother after you bore 
him from the den, I doubt not but that you 
have placed him where he will be watched 
over with affectionate care. 

"Yesterday I encountered Mr. Bernard 
Lynn, who seemed to take a great interest in 
you. I directed him to your house, — treat 
him as yoiir guest in your own house, — for I 
especially desire you to regard the house and 
all it cont^ns as yours, until the 25tb of 
December has passed. Until then be perfectly 
at your ease. Await the developments of 
the 25th of December. In the meantime, 
if you want money, you will find it in th.0 
drawer of the desk (of which I inclose tha 
key,) which you will find in your bed-room. 
Your trunks, which you lost in Philadelphia, 
I have recovered and send to you. Make no 
effort to see me, until 1 call upon you. 
" Your friend, " 

."EZEKIEL BoQiBT." 

In the letter there was much food for 
thought. 
" So far all well," thought Randolph, — 
b t ( nor w once passed, what then ?" 
He u I k d his trunk, and after a careful 
m nat n found that Its contents remained 
the Sam as hen he had left it in Washing- 
ton It as very large, and divided into 
npartments, and contained his 
w d b h choicest books, and most treaa- 
u d I tt rs together with numerous memo- 
al of h tudent life in Heidelberg. Open- 
ing a small and secret drawer, he drew forth 
package of letters, held together by a faded 
ribbon. 

"Ah! letters from my father I " and he 
untied the package, — "What is this? I 
er saw it before !" 

t was a letter directed to him in hia fath- 
hand, and sealed with his father's seal. 
To his complete astonishment the seat was 
unbroken. 

How came this letter here ? My father's 
seal and unbroken, — this is indeed strange I" 
He regarded the letter carefully, weighed 
it in his hand, but paused, in hesitation, era 
be broke the seal For the first time, written 
around the seal, in his father's hand, he be- 
held these words, "Not to bt opened until my 
death." ' 



wGooglc 



242 



DAY. SUNSET, NIGHT. 



re, ha r 



Tears start d to R, i l[ 
for a moment aa 1 I. It tl 
hia forehead < n h ha d 

Thee, with an hand he broke th 

seal. The co t t f the 1 tt r were bar d 
to the light. 

" Heidelbebo, Sepfember 23, 1840. 
"Dearest Son ; — 

"You have just left me, and with th 
memory of our late conversation freah in m; 
mind, I now write thia letter, which yo 
will not read until I am dead. Randolph, I 
repeal the truth of that which I have jubt 
disclosed to you, — your mother w; 
mistress, but my lawfu! wife. Yourself and 
Esther are legitimate. By my will I make 
you, with Harry, joint inheritors of my e 
tate, and of my share ici the Van Huydi 
estate. 

" Y m ther, Herodia, was not the child 
f C 1 I Rawdon, but the dearly beloved 

d ht t , who never 

k wl dg d her to the world. He com 
n ted h w ver, the secret of her pattr. 
t H d and left her in his chaise 
tru t g h m with a sealed picket, which he 
d ted h uld be delnered to Herodi 

p k t h h contained a commission, upon 
whose fulfillment by that son, the happiness, 
the destiny of all the races on the Araeiican 
continent, might depend. Worshiping the 
memory of this great man, Eawdon treated 
Herodia (known as a slave) as his own child 
and would not transfer her to me, until I had 
made her my wife in a secret marriage. 

" A sealed copy of my will I gave yoii a 
few moments since ; and this letter contains 

an original letter of , written 

to Colonel Itawdon, and recognizing Herodia 
Bs his child. 

"When I am dead, j'ou will find the 
packet in a secret closet behind the fourth 
shelf of my library, at Hill Royal. There 
you will also find a large amount of gold, 
which may be useful to you in some unfore- 
seen hour of adversity, and which I hereby 
j.,^ve to you and Esther. 
'-' " This letter I inclose ip the package of 
letters which you left for my perusal 
"Your father, 
" John Adoustinb Botalton, 

"of Bm Royal." 



1 i Ipl 1 h 



It 



th has g 



Ik d 1 wlj p d d 1 
V h d d by hia pi ftel 



1 th tl II brDth the 

II R I Mj m tl aa a 

as th 1 f 1 f I my 

b I d d d h Ips 

: tl b - 

W 



I thn 



have a care how his shadow crosses my way 
for the future." 

He stood erect in every inch of his stature, 
his eyes dilating, and his hand eslondod, as 
though, — even like a glorious landscape, 
rich in vine-clad mountains and grassy mead- 
ows, smiling in the sun, — he beheld hia fu- 
ture stretch clear and bold before him. 

"Harry, I have given you my hand for 
the last time," he said, in a significant voice. 

A piece of paper, carefully folded and 
worn by time, slipped from the !etl«r which 
he held. Randolph seized it eagerly, and 
opening it, beheld a few lines traced in a 
handwriting which had long hooome histo- 
rical. It was dated many years back, and 
was addressed to Colonel Rawdon, 

"My Esteemed Fkiesd ; — 

"I am glad to hear the girl, Heboma, 
whom, many years ago, I placed in your 
care, (acquainting you with the circumstances 
of her birth and paternity,) progresses to- 
ward womanhood, rich in education, accom- 
plishments and personal loveliness. While 
nominally your slave, you have treated hor 
as a "daughter, — accept her father's heartfelt 
gratitude. In consequence of her descent, 
on her mother's side, she cannot (with safety 
to herself) be formally manumitted, nor can 
she he publicly recognized as the equal of 
your own daughter, or the associate of ladies 
of the white race. But it is my last charge 

you, that she be honorably (even although 
secretly) married ; and that the inclosed 
sealed packet which I send to you, be given 

her eldest son, in case a son is bom to lier> 
That packet contains matters which, carried 
action by such .a son, would do much, 
everything, to. establish the happineu 



wGooi^lc 



DAT, SUNSET, XIGHT. 



243 



of all the races on this continent. Kiss for 
me, that dear daughter of mine, whom, 
this life, I shall never hchold. " 

" Yours, with respect and gratitude, 



A very touching, — an altogether sigiiifi- 

Bandolph pressed it to his lips in silence. 
Then inclosing it ivithin his father's letter, 
he placed them both in s. secret compartment 
of his trunk. 

He seated himself, and folding his arms, 
gave himself up to the dominion of a crowd 
of thoughts, which flooded in upon his soul, 
like mingled sunshine and lightning throuLjh 
the window of a darkened room. 

Bonding over his trunk, he was examin- 
ing, with an absent gaze, certain memorials 
of his old student brothers of Heidelberg. 
A small casket contained them all. 

" This ting was given to me by poor Rich- 
mond, the English student. He was killed 
in a duel. And here is the watch of Van 
Brondt, — poor fellow ! he died of consump- 
tion, even as his studies were completed, and 
ayouth of poverty and hardship seemed about 
to bo succeeded by a manhood of wealth and 
fame. And this,"— he took up a small vial, 
whose glass was incased in silver, — "this, 
Van Eichmer, the enthusiastic chemist, gave 
me. I wonder whether his dreams of fame, 
from the discovery embodied in this vial, 
will ever be realized ? A rare liquid, — its 
poivora rivaling the wonders of enchantment. 
He gave it to mo under a solemn pledge not 
to subject it to chemical analysis, until he 
has time to mature his discovery, and niake 
it known as the result of his own genius. 
He called it (somewhat after the fanciful 
fashion of the old alchemists) the 'Dream- 
Eliiir.' I wonder if it has lost its virtues ?" 

Removing the buckskin covering which 
concealed the stopple, he then carefully drew 
the stopple, and applied the vial for a mo- 
ment tn his nprtJils, The effeot was as rapid 
as lightning. His face changed ; his eyes 
grew wild and dreatnj. His whole being 
was pervaded by an inexpressible rapture, — 
a rapture of calmness, (if we may thus 
apeak) a rapture ot unutterable repose. And 
like cloud-fonns revealed by lightning, the 



moot gui'geous images swept before him. Ha 
seemed to have been suddenly caught up 
into the paradise of Mahomet, among fonn- 
taius, showering upon bods of roses, and with 
the white-bosomed houiis ghding lo and 
fro. 

In a word, the effect of the vial, Applied 
but for an instant to his nostrils, threw into 
the shade all the wonders of opium, and 
rivaled in enchantment the maddening 
draught of oriental story, — the Hashish, — 
which the Old Man of the Mountain gave to 
his devotee Assassins,* intoxicating them 
with the odors of paradise, even as their 
hands were red with their victims' blood. 

Like one awaking from a trance, Randolph 
slowlyrecovered from the effect of the Dream- 



Elisir, and o 



,v the w 



nter light 



shining through his window. The vial was 
in his hand, — he had taken the precaution to 
replace the stopple, the moment after he had 
applied it to his nostrils. 

"It has lost none of its virtues. Held to 
the nostrils, or a few drops on a kerchief, 
applied to the mouth, its first effect is rapture; 
the second, rapture prolonged to delirium; Its 
third, rapture that onds in death." 

Randolph replaced the buckskin covering 
around the stopple of the vial, and then 
placed the via! in his vest pocket. 

At this moment the door opened and the 
quiet Mr. Hicks entered the room, clad iu his 
gray livery, turned up with black. He towed 
and said, — 

" Master, Mr. Lynn sends his compliments 
and desires to see you in the parlor," 

" Tell Mr. Lynn that I will attend him 
presently," said Randolph rising from his 
knees. — "How is our patient, Mr. Hicks?" 

" I left him asleep. He is very weak, 
though quite easy.'' 

Mr. Hicks, I desire that you will attend 
him throughout the day, or place him in 
the care of some trustworthy servant. If he 
asks for any one, send for me. Admit no 
one into his room, — you understand, he is a 

lorrlblo Inaueonc Ls itrangely connected with <he hrrtDcy 

llnsBin Sab&h, rcnarded hia dcTotMi for Ibcir deeds ot 
mnnler, by t. draught (oiled u nbote, Iha hashisb,) 
whose poirrs ot eDchanliDeiit connled them lot ■ lifo- 
tLme of hftrdihlp and <thnfcer. 



wGoogle 



241 



DAT, SUNSET, NIGHT 



dear Trend of mine," — he placed IiIk fingei 
on his forehead, — " a littla touched here, and 
I do not wish his niiEfortune to bo known, 
until all the means of recovery, which I have 
at my command, prove hopeless. Mr. Hicka, 
you will remember." 

"I will remember, and attend to your 
commands, master," and Mr. Hicka bowed 
like an automaton, 

" Have thia trunk removed to Miss Royal- 
ton's room," said Randolph, and leaving Mr. 
H k 

Th 



h d d d 


th p 1 


1 th h 


t f th a.t m 


te \ 


f th t m Gceat 


t th m 


1 ht as dmly 


Th 1 fly 


11 th p I the 



t t th p t th m n 11 looked 
grand and luxurious in the softened light. 

Bernard Lynn sat on the sofa, in the ce 
ter of the parlor, his arms folded and h 
countenance troubled. As he raised h 
gaze and greeted Randolph, in a kindly al 
though absent way, Randolph saw that h 
bronzed visage, (above which rose masses of 
Bnow-white hair) was traced with the lin 
of anxious thought, and his dark eyes we 
feverish with reatleasness and care. 

" Sit by me, Randolph," he said in a sen- 
ous voice, and he grasped Randolph's hand 
and gazed earnestly in his face, — I wish to 
speak with you. I have traveled much, 
Randolph, and when matters press heavily 
on mj mind, I am a blunt man, — I use few 
words. I desire you to give ali imaginable 
emphaaia to what I am about o say. 

Randolph took his hand and met his gaze; 
but he telt troubled and perplexed at Ber- 
nard Lynn's wftrda and manner. 

"Briefly, theii, Randolph, — when can you 
leave the city ?" 

Without knowing how the words came to 
his lips, Randolph replied, — "The day after 

"Can you go with us, by steamer, to 
Charleston ? I wish to visit the scene, — " 
he paused as if unable to proceed, — " the 
scene, — you understand me? And then, 
after a week's delay, we will go to Havanna 
and spend the winter there. Will jou go 
with us ?" 

It is impossible to describe the emotions 
which these words aroused. Hopes, feats, a 
picture of his father's home, the 



nesa thert was n tamt upon his blood, — all 
whirled like lightning through hia brain. 
But he did not stop to anih i^e his thoughts, 
but answered agiin — as though the word 
was given to him, — in a single word, earnest 
in tone, and with a hearty grasp, — 

"Willingly," he said. 

A rav of pleisure flitted over the bronzed 
face of Bernard Lynn But in an instant 
he was lad an! eimpst aga n Randolph, 
I have been thinkmg and mnst seriously, — 
I beg \ou lo 1 sten to the result of my 
thoughts Nav not a word — fewest words 
are best and a plain answer to a plain ques- 
tion will decide all. — I have been thinking 
of the desolate condition in which Eleanor 
will be left, in case her father is suddenly 
taken iiviy She will need a friend a pro- 
t t a husb d 

H p d R d Iph 11 a„ t t 
d h t d b thi ss us 



II 



th t I 
f m f I 



d 1 



-I 



fy re PI Ij th d J 1 e 
— d J d h h d 

'or a moment Randolph could not reply. 
0, my dearest friend, can you ask it ?" 
exclaimed, taking both hands of Mr, 
Lynn in hia own, — " Do I desire Eleanor's 
hand ? It is the only wish of my- life, — " 

" Enough, my friend, enough," replied 
Bernard, as a tear stole down his cbeefc. 
aerloua matters, I am a man of few 
words, — I fear that I may bo suddenly taken 
away — I feel that there is no use of delay. 
Shall it take place this evening in your 
house ?" 

Randolph could only reply by a silent 
asp of the hand. 

"In presence of your sister, myself and 
the clergyman ? And then, the day after 
-morrow we leave for Charleston — " 
" You speak the dearest wish of my soul," 
is all that Randolph could reply. 
Bernard Lynn arose, — "I will go out and 
buy a bridal present for my child," he said, 
" and your sister and myself will take charge 
of all the details of the marriage. God bless 
my boy ! What a load is lifted from 
my heart !" 
How over his bronzed visage, a look coi- 



..Google 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



dial and joyous as the spring sunshine played, 

Eandolph felt his heart swell with rapture, 
but instantly, — growing palo as death, — 
he rose, and resolwed to make a revelation, 
which would blast all his hopes to ashes. 

" I will not deceive this good old man. I 
will tell him my real condition, tell him that 
there is the blood of the accursed race ii 

" This was hia thought, and feeling Ii 
criminal on the scaffold, he prepared to fulfill 
it,— 

"Ah voa and I are agreed," cried 
na d 1 ll h s usual jov al la gh — b I 
must ask th s ch Id hat she savb of the 
E alter ind dropp ng Rand Ipl a ban 1 he 
hurr ed fro: the room 

Even as tl I, first word of the co fe^ on 
was on h s 1 p Rand Iph beheld Eleanor, 
1 ho had ente dp d ta d be- 

tween h m and tl 1 ht th y pot 

h ch her fath 1 d j 1 1 ft 
She looked j be t f 1 
Clad in a d k d h h fltt 1 ly 

to her arms a d b t d fl 
folds, around h w m Ij p p 
the wa tto th f t h to d bef 
nefig dth Iph j fied 

pnhmn fllfdp d pas- 

at 1 ht H f t t f nt 

had wb>h h bhasdpod 

bout t, n b d mas But 

th h the had h h th 

1 pad pash te 1 ht 

A J bea t f 1 w m W to 

utter a word, as with hea\ in^, b east, 1 e con- 
fronts the man whom she knows is destined 
to be her husband. 

Why does all thought of confession fade 
t ro r d Iph'a mind ? 

th atmosphere of the presence of a 
p d beautiful woman, whose «yes 

1 p you with passionate love, carries 

h t nchantment, which makes you 

I t ih whole univeree, — everything, — 
th t h is before you, that she loves 
th t 3 r Boul ie chained to her eyes. 
R d Iph ilently stretched forth his arms. 
Sh m to him, and laid her arms aljout 
his neck, her bosom upon his breast. 
*' My wife !" he whispered. 
And she raised her face, until their lips 



and their eyes, met at once, whispering — 
" My husband." 

Certainly, this was a happy day for Ran- 
dolph Royal Ion. 

Talk of opium, hashish, dream-elixir ! 
Talk of their enchantment, and of the Ma- 
homet's paradise which they create ! What 
enchantment can rival the pressure of a pure 
woman's lips, which breathe softly, " hus- 
band !" as she lays them against your 

But at least a do^eii gentlemen who have 
divorce cases on hand, will curse me bitterly 
for writing the last sentence. And all the 
old bachelors who, having never known the 
pure wife, or any wife at all, and 
having grown musty in their sins, will turn 
away with an "umph!" and an oath. And 
all the young libertines, who, deriving their 
opinion of women, merely from the unfaith- 
i, and abandoned creatures with 
whom they have herded, and having ex- 
ponded even before the day of young man- 
hood, every healthy throb, in shameless 
excess, they, too, will expand their faded 
eyes, and curl their colorless lips, at the very 
mention of "a pure woman," much less, a 
"pure woman's kiss." The "fast," the very 
" fast" boys! 

10 will not utterly 

pure woman's kiss. 

That quiet sort of people who, having no 
divorce cases on hand, know that there are 
such things as pure women in the world, and 
know that a good wife, carries about her an 
.tmosphere of goodness, that brings heaven 
itself down to the home. 

And you, old bachelor, — a word in your 
r, — if you only knew the experience of 
returning from a long journey late at night,— 
of stealing quietly into a home, your own 
home, up the dark stairs, and into a room, 
where a single light is shining near a bed, — 
here, blooming on the white pil- 
low, the face Xi! a pure wife, your own wife, 
rosy with sleep, and with her dark hair 

peeping out from her night-cap , why, 

old bachelor, if you had only an idea of this 
kind of experience, you'd curse yourself for 
not getting married some forty years ago I — ■ 



wGoogle 



DAT, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



The daj pasaad quickly and happily, i 
quiet preparation for the bridal ceremony. 

Eleanor was seated in a rocking-chair, hi 
feet crossed and resting on a stool, her head 
thrown back, and her dark hair resting partly 
on iier bared shoulders, partly on the arm of 
E'ther who stood behind her. The beams 
f th d 1 n came softened through 

tl d rtains, and lit up the scene 

tl m id bdu d light. It was a beautiful 
p t Th tood Esther, the matured 

TV m ) ery charm of voluptuous 

and ly b fy ; and her gaze, softened 

by h I J lashes, was tenderly fixed 

up th pt d countenance of Eleanor, 
— t idiant with youth, with 

itbou d If th passionate love. The 
hab t f d k <T cloth which Esther wore, 
CO trast dwthth obeofwhitemuslinwhich 
n 1 p d El its flowing folds girdled 

1 ghtly bo t h aist and its snowy whito- 
nes h If hdi by her unbound hair ; for 
th t h h h as soft brown in the 
I ht a d bl k the shadow ftll in copious 
w ea h ck, hef boscm ind below 

h L El or was beiutiful Esther 

wa> h t f 1 b t their loveliness was of 
t asted typ you could not prec sely 
d fi 1 th d ffered ; I'ou only biw tbit 
th V b t f !, and that the loveliness 

f t ff d added to, the charms of 

th th 

A d a, E tl was arranging the hair of 
the bride, for the marriage ceremony, they 
conversed in low tones ; 

"0, we shall all bo so happy !" said Elea- 
nor — "the climate of Havanna, is as soft 
and bland as Italy, and it will he so delight- 
ful to leave this dreary sky, this atmosphere 
all storm and snow, for a land where sum- 
mer never knows an end, and where 
every breeze ia loaded with the breath of 
flowers !" 

Esther was about to reply, but Eleanor 
continued, — and her words drove the life. 
blood from Esther's cheek. 

"And o way 11 toj t th Id 

mansion of H 11 R y 1 th h m t R 
dolph's at t rs H I h 11 d 1 ght t 
wander w th y tl It! S Id 
raoms, whe e the ass t f th past 

meet you at every t p D j k 



Esther, that I am a great aristocrat, — I be- 
lieve in race, in blood, — in the perpetua- 
tion of the same qualities, either good or 
evil, from generation to generation ? Look 
at Randolph, at yourself, for instance, — j'our 
look, your walk, every accent toll the story 
of a proud, a noble ancestry 1" 

" Or, look at youtself," was al! that Esther 
could say, as she bent over the happy liride, 
thus biding her face, — grown suddenly pale, 
—from the light. " Shall I tell her all ?" 
the thought flashed over her, as she wound 
her hands through the rich meshes of Elea- 
nor's hair, — "shall I tell this beautiful ^rl, 
who is as'proud as she is beautiful, that in 
the veins of her husband there is — negro 
blood ?" 

But the very thought of such a revelation 
appalled her. 

"Better leave it to the future," she 
thought, and then said aloud, " Tell me, 
Eleanor, something about Italy." 

And while Esther, with sisterly hands, 
arrayed her for the bridal, the proud and 
hippy bride, whose every vein swelled with 
abounding life and love, spoke of Italy, — of 
its skies and its monuments, — of the hour 
w hen she first met Randolph, and also of the 
moment when, amid the Appenines, he 
Bived her life, her honor. 

"0, sister, do you think that alovo like ours 
can ever know the shadow of change ?" 

Happy Eleanor ! 

Meanwhile Randolph, standing by the 
parlor window apparently gazing upon the 
current of life which whirled madly along 
Broadway, in the light of the declining day, 
was in reality abstracted from all external 
existence, and buried in his own thoughts, — 
thoughts delicious and enchanting Was 
there no phantoM in the background, to ci't 
its fc fatal shadow over the rith landscape 
which rose before his mental eye ? 

He was attired for the marriage ceremony, 
in a severely plain costume, which well be- 
came hia thoughtful face and manly frame, — 
black dress coat, vest of white Marseilles, 
pen collar and black neckerchief As he 
tood there, noble-featered, broad-browed, 
h s clear blue eyes andilark hair, contrastmg 
th his complexion whose extreme pallor 
ndieated by no means either lack of health 



,/Googlc 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



acr 



or vigor, who would have -thought that there 
was— negro Hood in hia veins ? 

" In an hour Eleanor will be my wife !" he 
muttered, and his brow grew clouded and 
thoughtful, even while his eyes were filled 
with passionate light. " But there 
of reflecting now. I must leave that fatal 
disclosure, with al! its chances and co 
quences, to the future. Eleanor will be 
wife, come what will," 

His meditations were intomipted by the 
entrance of Mr. Hicks, who wora hia usual 
imperturbable look, which seemed as much 
a part of him as hia livery of gray turned up 
with black. 

"How has our patient been since I left 
him an hour ago ?" asked Randolph. 

" He is no longer delirious," answered Mr. 
Hicks. " About a half an hour ago, he 
mo the time of day, in a tone, and v 
loot, that showed that ho had come to his 
senses." 

" You conversed with him ?" 

"No, sir. He fell into a quiet sleep, and I 

left him in charge of a faithful st 

Don't yon think we had better chani 

bandages on his back, after awhile ? He has 

been sadly abused " 

"And I came to the scene of conflict Just 
in time to save his life, and bear hii 
home, — I will see Hm at once, and then tell 
you when to dress his wounds." 
He moved toward the door. 
" Has Mr. Lynn returned ?" he said, turn- 
ing his head over his shoulder. 

"About half an hour since, he went up 
stairs to his room," returned Mr, Hicks. 

Randolph left the parlor and hastened to- 
ward hia own chamber, determined to make 
one more effort to change the hard nature, 
the unrelenting hatred of his brother. Aa 
he passed along the corridor, conscious that 
the most important crisis, if not the all-ira- 
pottaiit crisis, o[ his life was near, his thoughts 
mingling the im^ of Eleanor with the 
proud memory of hia linei^e on the father's 
side, were intense and all-absorbing. For 
the tim^ he forgot the taint in his blood. 

Ho arrived before the door of the cham- 
ber in which his brother lay. It was near 
.ttefootof a broad staircase which, thickly 
Mrpeted, and with bannisters of walnut, 
darkened by time, was illumined by light 
16 



from tlie skylight far above. The door of 
the chamber was slightly open, — Randolph 
started, for he heard his brother's voice, 
speaking in rapid, impetuous tones. And 
the next instant, the voice ot Bernard Lynn, 
hoarse with anger. Randolph, with his step 
upon the threshold, drew back and listened. 
He did not pause to ask himself how Ber- 
nard Lynn came to be a visitor in the cham- 
ber of his brother, — he only listened to their 
voices, — with all his soul, he tried to distin- 
guish their words. 

It was the moment of his life. It re- 
quired a terrible exertion of will, to suppress 
the cry of despair which rose to his lips. 

"A negro !" he heard the voice of Bar- 
nard Lynn, hoarse with rage, — "and to my 
daughter ! Never !" 

And then the voice of Harry Royalton, 
whose life he had spared and saved, — "I 
heard of this marriage from one of the ser- 
vants, and felt it my duty to set you on your 
guard. Therefore, I sent for you. I can 
give you proof, — proof that will sink the 
slave into the earth." 

Once more the voice of Bernard Lynn, — 
" A negro ! and al»ut to marry him to my 
daughter! A negro !" 

There was the hatred ot a whole life em.- 
bodied in the way ho pronounced that word, 

Randolph laid his hand against the wall, 
id hia head sank on hia breast. Ho was 
completely unnerved. 

The hopes of his life were ashes. 
Once more, with a terrible exertion, he 
rallied himself, and with the thought, — 
There remains, at least, revenge ! " — he ad- 
vanced toward the threshold. 

lere was a footstep on the stair, 

Randolph beheld Eleanor, who vfaa 

slowly descending the stairs. She wa»ol«d 

her bridal dress. The light shone full 

upon her; she was radiantly beautiful. She 

robe of snow-white satin, girdled 

lightly to her waist by a string of pearls, and 

this .1 robe of green velvet, veined with 

flowers of gold, and open in front from her 

her feet. Her hair was disposed in 

ies about her face, and bom its 

glossy blackness, and from the ptira whita <rf 

forehead, a circlet of diamonds shone 

dazzlingly in the light. Sh«,MW Bandolph, 



,/Googlc 



TUB 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



and her eyes spoke although her lips 

That moment dedded her fate and his 

As she was halfway down the stairs, he 
sprang to meet her. 

" Randolph ! how pais you are," and she 
Started as she saw his face. 

"Dearest, I roust speak with yon a ir 
ment," he whispered.— " To the library." 

He took her by the hand and led her up 
the staira, and along a corridor; she noticed 
that his hand was hot and cold by turns, and 
she began to tremble in sympathy with 

They came to the door of the library. 
The look was turned from the outside 
key, but when the door was closed it locked 
itself, Randolph found the key in the lock ; 
he turned it ; the door opened ; he placed 
the key in his pocket ; they crossed the 
threshold. The door closed behind them, 
and was locked at once. Eleanor was igno- 
rant of this fact. 

The library was a spacious apartment, with 
two windows opening to the east, and a ceil- 
ing which resembled a dome. The light 
came dimly through the closed curtains, but 
a wood-fire, smouldering on the broad hearth, 
which now flamed up, and as suddenly died 
away, served to disclose the high walls, lined 
■with shelves, the table in the center over- 
spread with books and papers, and the pic- 
ture above the mantle, framed in dark wood. 
Two antique arm-chairs stood beside the ta- 
ble ; there was a sofa between the windows, 
&nd in each corner of the room, a statue was 
placed on a pedestal. The shelves were 
crowded with huge volumes, whose gilt 
bindings, though faded by time, glittered in 
the uncertain light. Altogether, as the light 
.now flashed up and died away again, it was 
an apartment reminding you of old times, — 
of ghosts and specters, may be, — but of any- 
thing save the present century. 

" What a ghost-like place !-' said Eleiinor. 

Randolph led her in silence to the sofa, 
and seated himself by her side, 

"Eleanor, I am sadly troubled, 1 have 
just tecBived a letter which informs me of a 
lad disaster which has happened to a friend, 
— » friend whom I have known from hoy- 
tood," 

Eleanor took his hand. As the light 



flashed up for an instant, she was startled at 
the sight of his face, 

" Compose yourself, Randolph," she said, 
kindly. — "The news may not be so disas- 
trous as you think." 

" I will tell you the story in a few words," 
and he took her hand as ho continued r "A 
month ago, I left my friend in Charleston. 
Young, reputed to be wealthy, certainly con- 
nected with one of the first families of South 
Carolina, he was engaged in marriage to a 
beautiful girl, — one of the most beautiful that 
sun ever shone upon, — " lie paused, — "as 
beautiful, Eleanor, aa yourself." 

And he fixed his ardent gaze upon that 
face which thu soft shadow, broken now and 
then by the uncertain light, invested with 
iw loveliness. 

Eleanor made no reply in words ; but her 
eyes met those of her plighted husband. 

The day was fixed for llieir marriage, — 
they looked forward to it with all the anti- 
cipations of a pure and holy love. It came, — 
the bride and bridegroom stood before the 
altar, in presence of the wedding-guesta, — 
the priest began the ceremony, when a reve- 
s made which caused the bride to 
fall like one dead at the feet of her abashed 
and despair-stricken lover." 

was, indeed, strange," whispered 
Eleanor, profoundly interested; "and this 
revelation f" 

Randolph drew her nearer to him ; his 
es grew deeper in their light, as in a voice, 
that grew lower at every word, he continued. 
The bridegroom was, indeed, connected 
with one of the first families in the State, 
1 as the priest began the ceremony, 
from among the guests pronounced 
these words, ' Shame ! shame ! a woman so 
beautiful to marry a man who has negro 
blood in his veins !' " 

And these words, — they were not true 1" 
eagerly asked Eleanor, resting her hand on 
Randolph's arm. 

They were true," answered Randolph, 
was their fatal truth which caused the 
bride to fall like a corpse, and covered the 
face of the bridegroom with shame and de- 
Eleanor's bosom heaved above the edge ^f, 
her bridal robe ; her lips curled with leorni- 
And knowing this fatal truth, thia lovct 



,/Googlc 



DAT, SUNSET, NiaHT. 



sought her hand in mmriage ? 0, shame ! 
Bhime !" 

"But hear the sequel of the story," Ran- 
dolph continued, and well it was tor him, at 
that instant, that no sudden glow from the 
hearth lit up his livid and corrugated face, — 
"What, think you, was the course of the 
plighted wife, when she came to her aeriees?" 

"She spurned from her side this unworthy 
lover, — she crushed every thought of 

" No, dearest, no ! Even in the presence 
of her father and the wediiing-gucsla, she 
took the hridegroora hy the hand, and al- 
though her face was pale as death, said, with 
a firm eye and unfaltering yoice, 'Behold 
my hushand ! As heaven is above us, I 
will wed none but him ! ' " 

" 0, base and shameless 1 base and shame- 
less!" cried Eleanor, the scorn of her tone 
and of her look beyond all power of ivords, — 
"to speak thus, and take by the hand a 
man whose veins were polluted by the blood 
of a thrice accursed race !" 

Randolph raised his hand to his fore- 
head ; what thoughts were burning there, 
need not be told. Shading liis eyes, he 
saw Eleanor before him, beautiful and vo- 
luptuous, in her bridal robe, her bosom 
swelling into view ; but with unmeasured 
acorn in the curve of her proud lip, in 
the lightning glance of her eyes. 

And after that gaze, he said In a low voice, 
the fatal words, — 

" Eleanor, what would you say, were 
I to inform you, that my veins are also 
polluted hy the blood of this thrice accursed 
wee?" 

8he did not utter a cry ; she did not 
shriek ; but starting from the sofa, and rest- 
ing for support one hand against the wall, 
she turned to him her horror-stricken face, 
Uttering a single word, — "You ?" 

" That I, descended from one of the first 
families of Carolina, on my father's side, am 
on the mother'a side, connected with the 
accurBed race ?" 

" You, Randolph, yoa !" 

" That knowing this, I fled from Florence, 
when first I won your love ; but to-day, 
dazzled by jour beauty, mad with love of 
the very atmosphere in which you breathe, 
I forgot tho taint in my hTJod, I saw out 



marriage hour draw nigh, with heaven itself 
in my heart — " 

" 0, my God, why can I not die t" 

" That even now your father knows tiie 
fatal secret, and breathes curses upon me, as 
he pronounces my name ; resolves, that 
you shall die by his hand, ere you become 
my wife — " 

She saw his face, by the sudden light, — 
it was impressed by a mortal agony. And 
although the room seemed to swim around, 
and her knees bent under her, she rallied her 
fast-fading strength, and advanced toward 
him, but with tottering steps. 

" You are either mad, or you wish to driro 
me mad," she said, and laid her hand upon 
his shoulder, — "there is no taint upon your 
blood ! The thought is idle. Tou, so nobia 
browed, with the look, the voice, the soul 
of a man of genius, — you, that I love so 
madly, — you, one of the accursed raco? 
No, Randolph, this is but a cruel jest — " 

Her eyes looked all the brighter for tha 

pallor of her face, as she bent over him, and 

her hair, escaping from the diamond ciTclef, 

II over his face and shoulders like a vail. 

He drew her to him, and buried bis fac9 
upon her bosom, — " Eleanor 1 Eleanor," 
he groaned in very bitterness of spirit, as 
that bosom beat against his fevered brow, 
and that flowing hair shut him in its glossy 
s,— "It is no jest. I swear it. But 
you will yet be mine ! Will you not, Elea- 
-in spite of everything, — spite of tha 
tiuut in my blood, spite of your father'a 

As with the last effort of her expiring 
itrcngth, she raised his head from her bosom, 
jDre herself from his arms, and stood before 
him, her hair streaming back from her pallid 
face, while her right hand was lifted to 
heaven — 

t is true, then ?" and her eyes wora 
that look, which revealed ail the pride of 

nature, — " you are then, one of that 
accursed race," she pauaadp unaWe to pro- 
ceed, and stood there with both hands upon 
her forehead. " If I ever wed jpu, may my 
mother's curse — " ^ $ 

Sindolph rose, the anguisti which had 
ped his face, suddenly succeeded by a 
look which we care not to analyze, — a look 
which gave a glow to bis pale cheek, a wild 



wGoogle 



9S0 



DAT, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



gleam to his eyes. " You are faint, my love," 
he said, " this will revive you," 

Seizing her by the waist, he placed her 
kerchief upon her mouth, — a kerchief which 
he had raised from the floor, and moistMed 
with liquid from the silver vial which he 
carried in his vest pocket. 

"Away! Your touch is pollution !" she 
cried, struggling in his emhraco, hut the 
effect of the liquid was instantaceous. Even 
as sho straggled her powers of reaistanco 
failed, and the images of a delicious dream, 
seemed to pass before her, in soft and rosy 
lighl. 

Tha tall war candles were lighted in tl 
parlor, and upon a table covered with 
cloth of white velvet was placed a bible and 
a wreath of flowers. 

It was the hour of sunset, but the closed 
curtains shut out the light of the declining 
day, and the light of the was candles dis- 
closed the spacious apartment, its pictures, 
statues and luxurious furniture. It was the 
hour of the bridal. 

Two persons were seated near each other 
on one of the sofas. The preacher who had 
been summoned to celebrate the marriage, — 
a grave, demure man, with a sad face and 
iron-gray hair. Of course he wore black 
dothes and a white cravat. Esther arrayed 
in snow-white, as the bridesmaid, — white 
flowers in her (lark hair, and her bosom 
heaving dimly beneath lace which reminded 
you of a flake of new-fallen snow. 

They were waiting for the father, the 
bridegroom, and the bride. 

" It will be a happy marriage, I doubt not," 
said the preacher, who had been gazing out 
of the comers of his eyes, at the beautiful 
Esther, and who felt embarrassed by the 
long silence. 

But ere Esther could reply, the door was 
finng abruptly open, and Bernard Lynn 
strode into the room. His hat was in his 
hand ; his cloak hung on his arm. His face 
WM flushed ; hifibrow clouded. Kot seem- , 

im- 

Your setVites will not be needed, aii 
he said, with a polite how, but with fioHMVi 
nlac?- 



iming to Mr, Hicks, who had followed 
into the room, Bernard Lyjin continued, 
i flung Ills cloak over his shoulders, and 
drew on his gloves, — 

lias the carriage come ?" 



" Yes, si 
"Areoii 
" Yes, si 
"Ha* 



r trunks on behind t" 



ing to noticftthe presence of Esther, he ad- 
TBDced to M- clergyman, — 



you called my daughter, and lold 
her that I desired her to put on her bonnet 
d cloak, and come to me at once ? — " 
" I have sent one of the maida up to her 
room," said Mr. Hicks, whose countenance 
manifested no small degree of astonishment, 
"but your daughter is not in her room." 

Mr. Lynn turned his flushed face and 
clouded brow to Esther, — 

Perhaps you will tell my daughter," he 

said, with an air of insolent liauteur as 

though speaking to a servant, — " that I do- 

her things and leave this 

house with me, immediately — " 

How changed his manner, from the kind 
and paternal tone, in which he had addressed 
!r an hour before ! 

Esther keenly felt the change, and with 
ir woman's intuition, divined that a reve- 
lation of the fatal truth had been made. 
Disguising her emotion, she said, calmly, — 
will direct one of the servants to do 
your bidding. Your daughter is doubtless 
the library. I saw her going there, with 
Randolph, only a few minutes since, — " 

At the name of Randolph, all the rage 
which shook the muscular frame of Bernard 
Lynn, and which he had but illy suppressed, 
buret forth unrestrained. 

"What!" he shouted, "with Randolph! 
The negro ! The negro ! The slave '." 

" With Randolph, her plighted husband," 
calmly responded Esther. 

Negress !" sneered Bernard Lynn, almost 
beside himself, " where is my daughter ? 
Will no one call her ?" 

" Eleanor is coming," said a low deep 
voice, and Randolph stood before the en- 
raged father. He was ashy pale, but there 
was a light in his eyes which can be called 
by no other name than — infernal. 



r, uttered a cry as she beheld 
9jm. "This marriage will not take place!" her brother's face. 

Esther started to her feet, in complete " Negro !" mt^Vsred Bernard Lynn, ro- 
askmishment. I gaiding Randonf in profound contempt. 



..Gooi^lc 



DAT, SUNSET, NIQHT. 



"Well ?" Kandolph folded his arras, 
steadily returned his gaze. 

"I have learned the secret in time, s 
time," continued Bernard Lynn, " I am ibout 
to leave this house — " 

'" Well ?" agjun exclaimed Eandolph. 
" I have sa,ved her from this horrible 
match, — " 

" Well ?" for the third time replied Run- 
dolph, in complete nonchalance, and yet with 
that infemkl light in his eyes. 

A step was heard, f/ti this he Eleanor, 
who comes across the threshold, her dress 
torn, her bosom bared, her disheveled hair 
floating about that face i\hich seems to have 
been touched by the hand of death ? 

Her hands clasped, her eyes downcast, she 
came on, with unsteady step, and sank at 
her father's feet. She did not once raise her 
eyes, but clatiped his knees and buried her 
face on her bosom. 

" Eleanor t Eleanor !" cried Bernard Lynn, 
"what docs all this rae.an, my child ?" and 
he sought to raise hur from the floor, but 
Ebo resisted him, and clutched his knees. 

"It means that the honor of your daugh- 
ter was saved once in Italy, by Handolph 
Boyalton, — she was grateful, and would have 
manifested her gratitude by giving him her 
hand in marriage, but she could not do tkat, 
for there was — iiegro blood in his veins. So, 
as she could not marry him, she showed her 
gratitude in the only way left her, — by the 
gift of her person without marriage." 

As in a tone of Satanic triumph, Handolph 
pronounced these words, a silence like death 
feJl upon the scene. 

Bernard Lynn stood for a moment para- 
lyzed ; but Esther came forward with flash- 
ing eyes, — " 0, you miserable coward !" she 
cried, and with her clenched hand struck her 
brother, — struck Eandolph on the fore- 

And turning away from him in scorn, she 
raised Eleanor in her arms. 

Ere he could recover from the surprise 
which this blow caused, him, Bernard Lynn 
reached forward, his hands clenched, hia 
dark face purple with rage, 

"Wretch 1 (or this you shall die," — and 
cruahed by the very violence of his rage, 
his agODy,'liG sank insensible at Randolph's 

feet. 



"Our marriage ceremony i» postponed for 
the present,— good evening, sir !" said Ean- 
dolph, turniug to llio preacher, who had wit- 



"M H k tak f 


y r J. Lynn. 


here d h h m i t 


.0 b d and you. 


Esth t k ca f LI 


d as for 


mys If — h t d h b 


k po th m all, 


and 1 ft th m — I th 


k 1 w 11 t, nd 


see m3 d b th 




Up t Ihtl t t 


f th d m ed 


in h h t,— p t rs 


h th fmal 


light h —mm 


t p tthe 


doo f 1 broth r- 


—and th he 


flinj, t p d t rs 




Har y h J Iton, tt 


up bed hia 


back a^a! t tl p 11 


a= d bya 



11 Ubl bytl 



kly pallor, 



b hy 



lamp h h t od 
bells d U as I 
add LB d to h f th as 
The 1 ht h h f 

from ts 1 bust h 
as w th h I g b 1 y 

the p rchm t, h q tly i 
and bj t pass d h h d 
whisk d th h h th 

Weak from pain and loss of blood, he still 
enjoyed his cigar. There was a pleasant 
complacency about his lips. To-morrow 
the twenty-liCth of December, and to- 
day — he had foiled all the plans of his slave 
brother. Harry was satisfied with himself 
The smoke of the Havanna floated round 
him and among the curtains of the bed. It 
was, take it all in all, a picture. 

It was In this moment of quiet compla- 
:ency, that Randolph appeared upon the 
cene. Harry looked up, — he caught the 
;lare of his eyes, — and at once looked 
about him for a bowie-knife or pistol. But 
there were no weapons near. With a 
for help, Harry sprang from the bad, clad ai 
was, only in his shirt and draweri. ~ 
cried for help, but only once, for era 
could utter a second cry, there was a h 
upon his throat. 

"I'm not a brother now, — only a slave,— I 
was as a brother, last night, I spared and I 
/ej^t, — now I'm only a slave, a negro 1 1 
[HPT slave and negro, I am choking yw^f 
to death ! " 

Harry might as well have battled witt d 
thunderbolt. Eandolph, with the madmaa'^ 



,/Googlc 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT, 



fire in his ejes, beats him to the floor, puts 
his koee upon bis breast, and tiglitens hi 
clutch upon his throat. And as n gurglin; 
noise sounded in the throat of the poor 
wretch, Randolph bent his face near 
bim, and (to use as all-expressive Scotch 
word) glowered upon bim with those mad- 
man's eyes. 

" This time there must be no mistake, 
brother. The world is large enough for 
many millions of people, but not lai^e 
enongh for us two. You must go, Harry, 
tnasCer ! You are going 1 Go and teli your 
father and mine how you treated tho chil- 
dren of Herodia 1 Go I " 



CHAPTER IV. 



It was the night of December the twen- 
ty-fifth, 1844. 

The mansion of Eugene Livingstone was 
dark OS a tomb. Tho shutters were closed, 
aud Cfape flutt d u th d 

Within,— in th f p ! rs b e, 

last night, Eu k ed g 1 b the 

lips of his you d b t f 1 f he 

left for Boston — h n t n h aft r, 
Beverly Barro n d f Id d th y g 

wife to his breast h bo h from her 

home to a hau tfhm — ha le 
hght is bumir i ht 1 n the 

TMt mansion, from foundition to roof. 

It is a was candle, placed in the front par- 
lor, on a marble table, between ^ sofa and 
mirror, which reaches from the ceiling to the 

Joanna is sitting there alone, her goMen 
hair neatly arranged about her blimde face ; 
her noble form clad in a flowing robe of 
snowy whiteness. She is very beautiful. 
True, her face is very paie, but her lips are 
red wjd a flush burns on each cheek. True, 
I ^neath each eye a faint hlue circle may be 
traced, but the eyes themselves, blue as a 
, cloudless sky in June, shine with an inten- 
Uty that almost changes their hue into black 
'in the soft, luxurious light. Joanna is very 
'beautiful, — a woman of commandiD^fcrm 
»nd voluptuous buat, — the loose robe which 
ahe weare, by its flowing folds, gives a new 
dhann, a ulOre fafcinating loreliuess to every 
istail of her figure. 



Holding the evening paper in her right 
hand, she beats the carpet somewhat impa- 
tiently with her satin-slippered foot. 

Her eye rests upon a paragraph in the 

"Affair is High Life. — There was a 
rumor about town, to-day, of an affwr of 
honor in high life — among the 'upper ten,' — 
the truth of which, at the hour of going to 
press, we are not able, deenitely, to ascer- 
tain. The partiesdyimed arc tbe elegant 

and distinguished"- y B n, and 

E e L ng e, a well-known mem- 
ber of the old aristocracy, in the upper re- 
gion of tho city. A domestic difficulty is 
assigned as the cause ; and one of the parties 
is stated to have been severely, if not mor- 
tally, wonnded. By to-morrow we hope to 
bo able to give the full particulars." 

Joanna read this paragraph, and her glance 
dropped, and she remained for a long time 
buried in deep thought. 

be coma ?" she siud at length, as 
if thinking aloud. 
The silence of the vast mansion was around 
er, but it did not seem to fill her with awe. 
he remained sitting on the sofa, tbe eyeniDg 
paper in her hand, and her face impressed 
ith profound thought. 
" Hark !" she ejaculated, as a faint noisa 
as heard in the hall without. She started, 
but did not rise from the sofa. 
Tho door opened stealthily, with scarcely 
perceptible sound, and a man clad in a 
rough overooafi with great white buttons, a 
cap drawn over his brow, and a red necker- 
chief wound about the collar of bis coat, 
silently into the room and approached 
Joanna, 

Who are you ?" she cried, as if in alarm, 
Your business here ?" 
Joanna, dearest Joanna," cried a famil- 
voioe, " and has my disguise deceived 
you ? It deceived the police, but I did not 
think that it could deceive you !" 

The overcoat, cap and neckerchief were 
thrown aside, and in an instant Beveriy Bar- 
kneeling at Joanna's feet. His tall 
ungraceful form clad in blue coat, 
with bright metal buttons, white vest, bhw'c 
pantaloons, and patent leather hoots. He 
a diamond pin, and aheavy gold cliKA 



b.Gooi^lc 



DAT, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



His whole apjieiiriincB was tlint of a gentle- 
man of leisure, Jrossed for tlie opera or 2, 
select evening party. His face was tlLislied, 
his eyes sparkling, and the flaxen curls which 
hung about his brow, emitted an odor of co- 
logne ot patehouilli. 

"I had to come, — I could not stay aivay 
from you, dearest," he said, looking up pas- 
sionately into hor face. "All day long, I 
have dodged from place to place, determined 
to see you to-night or die." 

She gave him her hand, and looking into 
the opposite mirror, saw that she was very 
p 1 b t til X d' ly be ff 1 



h f 



I d th d d t 

I h d d t th 

ml h h 

n t d h Ip ( 



1 1 



tf I 

I 



k Ii 
1 h d I 



1 r 



1 th 



th ast p t t— A U ! 

he asked. 

" Tea, all alono," she replied, " the ser- 
vanla were discharged this morning, — all, 
Have my maid, and she has retired by my 

"No danger of any one calling ?" 

"You ate sure, dearest ?" 

"No one will call. You are safe, and we 
are alone, Beverly !" again that smile, and a 
sudden swell of the bosom. 

" The body,— the body " 

"Is at my father, the general's," — she re- 
plied to the question before it passed his 

" Thee, indeed, dearest, we are alone, and 
we can talk of our future, — our future. We 
must come to a decision, Joanna, and sc 

And half raising himself, aa she lowered 
her head, he pressed his kiss on her lips. 

"0, I do so long to talk with yon. Be 
erly," she murmured. 

"To-morrow, dearest, I will be placed 
possession of an immense fortune. You have 
heard of the Vac Hujden estate ?" 

She made a sign in the affirmative. 

" I am the heir of one-seventh of that 
mense estate. All the obstacles in the way 
of the seven hsirt (as I was informed Ifl-day) 
tre removed. To-morrow the estate will be 



divided ; I will receive loy portion without 
scarcely the chance of disappointment ; and 

He paused ; she bent down until he felt 
her breath on his face, — " Next day ?'" she 

"We will sail for Europe. A palace, in 
Florence, my love, or in Venice, or some de- 
lightful nook of Sicily, where, apart from the 
world, in an atmosphere like heaven, we can 
live for each other. What say you to this, 
Joanna ?" 

" But you forget," she faltered, " the recent 

rumstance, " her face became flushed, 

d then deathly pale. 
' Can you live under your father's eye 
fter what has happened ?" he whispered. — 
Think of it,— he will loathe the sight of 
J u, and make your hfe a hell !" 

' He will indeed," — and she dropped her 
h ad upon her proud bosom. 

' And j'our brother, — does he not thirst 
f my b'.ood 1" 

"Ah! does he?" she cried, with a look 
of alarm. 

" And yet, Joanna, I was 'forced into it, 
I did all I could to ivoid it I even apolo- 
gized on the grou d and offered to make 
reparation." 

"You offe ed to mike repa ation ?" she 
cried, " that i~ lee 1 noble !" and an ■ 
indescribable s n le 1 gl ted he features. 

"Joanna, dea I la e tutfered so much 
to-day, that I an really fa nL A glass of 
that old Tokav f 30U please ray love." 

She answered h n 1 th a sm 1b, and rising 
from the sofa, passed into the darkness of 
the second parlor, separated from the first by 
folding-doors. 

" A magnificent woman, by Jove I" solilo- 
quised Beverly, as he remarked her noble 

After a few moments she appeared ag^n, 
bearing a salver of solid gold, on which was 
placed a decanter and goblet, both of Bohe- 
mian glass, — rich scarlet in color, veined with 
flowers of purple, and blue, and gold. 

Never had she seemed more beautiful than 
when standing before him, she presented the 
golden salver, with one of those smiles, 
which gave a deeper red to her lips, a aoftei 
brightness to her eyes. 

He &lled the capacious gdblet to the briia-H 



%. 



b.Google 



3M 



DAT, SUNSET, NIQHT. 



It regarded the wine llirough tho 
delicate fabric, with its flowers of blue, an 
purple, and ^Id, — iiiid then drained it at 
draught. 

"Ah!" — he smacked his lips, — "that 
delicious !" 

" Eugene's fatheri no ported it some twenty 
years ago," said Joanna, placing the salv 
on the table. " Come, Beverly, I want 
talk with you." 

Following the bewitching gesture which 
she made with her half-lifted hand, Beverly 
rose, and gently wound liis arm about her 

" Come, let us walk slowly up and down 
these rooms, now in light and now in dark- 
ness, and as we walk we can talk freely tc 
each other." 

And they walked, side by side, over the 
carpet, through that splendid saile of rooms, 
■wh 13 furniture, pictures, statnes, 

all pok f luxury and wealth. Hand 
j d h d, his arm about her waist 
h d d ooj g to his shoulder, and he 

m th bb g new and nearer to his breast, 
th y gl d d along ; now coming near thf 
light 1 th f ont room, and now passing intc 
the shadows which invested the other rooms. 
It was a delightful, nay, an inrasicafciDg tete- 

" I was thinking, this evening," she said, 
as they passed from the light, "of the his- 
tory of our love." 

" Ah, dearest !'* 



" It S( 






yet it's only a year," 

" Only a year !" echoed Beverly, aa they 
paused in a nook where a delicious twilight 
prevailed. 

"Eugene presented youtome a year ago, as 
his dearest friend, — his most tried and trusted 
friend. Do you remember, Beverly ?" 

He drew her gently to him, — there was 
a kiss and an embrace. 

"You discovered his infidelity. You 
brought mo the letters written to him by the 
person in Boston, for whom he proved un- 
faithful to me. You brought them from , 
ttrae to time, and it was your sympathy with 
my wounded pride, — my trampled afl'oction, 
—which consoled me and kept me alive. It 
was, Beverly." 

"0, you say so, dearest," and as they 



came into light again, he felt her breut 
throbbing nearer to his own. 

For a moment they paused by the table, 
whereon the wax candle was burning, lis 
flame reflected in the lofty mirror. Her face 
half-averted from the light, as her head 
drooped on his shoulder, she was esceedingly 
beautiful. 

"Beverly," she whispered, and placed her 
arm gently about hia neck, — the touch 
thrilled him to the heart, — " you knew me,' 
young, confiding, ignorant of the world. 
You took pity on my unsuspecting igno- 
rance, and day by day, yes hour by hour, in 
these very rooms, you led me on, to see the 
full measure of my husband's guilt, and at 
the same time led mo to believe in you, and 

She paused, and passed her hand gently 
among his flaxen curia. 

" Ah, love, you are as good as you are 
boautifui !" he whispered. 

" Before you spoke thus, I had no thought 
save of my duty to Eugene." 

"Eugene, who betrayed you !" 

" Yea, to Eugene, who betrayed me, and 
to my child. After you spoke, I saw life in 
a new light. The world did not seem to 
me, any longer, to be the scene of dull quiet 
homo-like duty, hut of pleasure, — mad, pas- 
sionate pleasure, — may be, illicit pleasure, 
purchased at any cost. And letter afWr let- 
ter which you brought me, accompanied by 
proof which I could not doubt, only served 
to complete the work, — to wean me from 
my idol, — false, false idol, Eugene, — and to 
teach me that this world was not so much 
made for dull every-day duty, as for those 
pleasures which, scorning the laws of the 
common herd, develop into active life every 
throb of enjoyment of which we are capa- 
ble." 

fes, yes, love," interrupted Beverly, 
pressing his lips to hers. 

"And thus matters wore on, until yon 
brought mo tho last, the damning letter. He 
was going to Boston to see his dying broth- 
er, — so he pretended, — but in reality to sea 
the woman for whom he had proved faitU'i 
less to me. When you brought me this let 

ter I was mad, — mad, — 0, Beverly '* 

" It was enough to drive you mad 1" 
"And yesterday, impelled by soma 14KIU 



wGoogle 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



266 



idea of revenge, I consented to go with you 
to a place, where, as you said, we would 
aomething of the world, — where, in the 
citement of o masked ball, I might foi^ot 
my husbiind'E faithlessness, and a 
time show that I did not care for his author- 
ity. Some idea of this kind w 
mind, and last night when he kisaed me, and 
ao coolly lied to mo, before hie departi 
then Beverly, then, I was cut to the quick. 
You camo after he had gone, and, — and — 1 
went with you — " 

" You did dearest Joanna," said Beverly, 
pressing her closer to his side. 

They passed from the light into the sha- 
dows together. 

"And there, you know what happened 
there," she said, as they stood in the dark- 
ness. She clung nearer and nearer to him. 
"But you know, Beverly, you know, that it 
was not until my senses were maddened by 
wine," her voice grew low and lower, 
I gave my person to you." 

In the darkness she laid her head upon his 
breast, and put her arms about his neck, hi 
toBom all the while throbbing madly against 
his chest. 

"0, you know, that in the noble letl^rs, 
which you wrote to me from time U) time — 
, letters breathing a pure spiritual atmosphere, 
I — you spoke of your love for me as somo- 
I thing far above all common loves, refined 
and purified, and separate from all thought 
. of physical impurity. And yel, — and yet,- 
last night when half crazed by jealousy, I 
went with you to the place which you 
named, you took the moment, when my 
senses were completely delirious with wine, 
to treat me as though I had been your wife, 
as though you had been the father of my 
child." 

She sobbed aloud, and would have fallen 

to the floor had he not held her in his arms. 

" Q,' Joanna, you res yourself without 

cause," he said, soothingly, — " I love you, — 

you know I love you — " 

"0, but would it not be a dreadful thing, 
if you had been deceived in regard to these 
letters 1"; 
"Deceived?" 

" Suppose, for instance, some one had 
foiged them, and imposed them upon you 



" Forged 1 This is folly my love." 
"In that case, you and I would be guilty, 
0, guilty beyond power of redemption, and 
Eugene would be an infamously murdered 



t these gloomy thoughts. Tho 



u verital 



ib^ettt 



•• Disi 
letters w 

"0, you ate certain,— 

" I swear it, — swear it by all I bold dear 
on earth or hope hereafter." 

" 0, do not swear, Beverly. Who could 
doubt you ?" 

They passed toward the light again. She 
iped the tears from her eyes — those eyes 
which shone all the brighter for the tears. 

'And (he day after to-morrow," said Bev- 
erly, as he rested his hand upon her shoul- 

, — "we will leave for Italy — " 
You have been in Italy ?" asked Jo- 

0, yes dearest, and Italy is only another 
name for Edon," he replied, growing warm, 
even eloquent — " there far removed from a 
cold, a heartless world, we will live, wa 
will die together !" 

" Would it not," she said, in a low whis- 
per, as with her hand on his shoulders and 
her bosom beating against his own, she looked 

up earnestly into his face, " 0, would it not 

be well, could we but die at this moment, — 

die now, when our love ii 

and purest bloom, — die h 

earth, only to live again, and live with each 

other in a happier world ?" 

And in her emotion, she wound her arms 

convulsively about his neck and buried hei 

face upon his breast. 
" Dismiss these gloomy thoughts," — he 

kissed her forehead — " there are many happy 

hours before us in this world, Joanna. 

Think not of death—" 



3 younge 



"0, do you know, Beverly," she raised 

her face, — it was radiant with loveliness— 

that I love to think of death. Death, you 

now, is such a test of sincerity. Before it 

falsehood falls dumb and hypocrisy drops ita 

Nay, nay yon must dismiss these gloomy 
thoughts You know I lova you — you 

He did not complete the sentence, but they 

issed into the darkness again, his arma_ 

about her wai^t, her head upon bis shoulder. 



,/Googlc 



DAY, SUNSET, NIQHT. 



And there, in the gloom, he pressed her 
to hia breast, and as she clung to his necfe, 
whispered certain words, which died in mur- 

" No, no, Beverly," she answered, in a 
voice, broken by emotion, " it cannot he. 
Consider — " 

" Cannot he ? And am I not all to you "!" 
he said, im passionately, — " Yes, Joanna, it 
must be—" 

There waa a pause, only broken by low 
mnrmnrs, and passionate kisses. 

" Come then," she said, at last, " come, 
hueband — " 

Without another word, she took him by 
■- the hand, and led him from the 
into the darkened hall. Her hand trembled 
very much, as she led him through the 
darkness Tip the broad stairway. Then 
door was opened and together they entered 
the bed-chamber. 

It is the same aa it was lost uight. Only 
instead of a taper a wax candle bums brightly 
before a mirror. The curtains still fall like 
Bnow-flakcs along the lofty windows, the 
alabaster vase is still filled with flowers, — 
they are withered now, — and from the half- 
shadowed alcove, gleams the white bed, with 
curtains enfolding it in a snowy canopy. 

Trembling, but beautiful beyond the power 
of words, — beautiful in the flush of her 
cheeks, the depth of her gaze, the passion 
of her parted lips, — beautiful in every mo- 
tion of that bosom which heaved madly 
against the fblds which only half- concealed 
it, — trembling, she led him toward the bed. 

" My marriage bed," she whispered, and 
laid her hand upon the closed curtains. 

Beverly was completely carried away by 
the sight of her passionate loveliness — 
" Once your marriage bed with a false hus- 
band," he said, and laid his hand also upon 
the closed curtains, " now your marriage bed 
with a true husband, who will love you until 

And he drew aside the curtains. 

Drew aside the curtains, folding Joanna 
passionately to his breast, and, — fell hack 
with a cry of horror. Fell back, all color 
gone from bis face, his features distorted, his 
paralyzed hands extended above his head, 

Joanna did not seem to share his terror 
&r she burst into a fit of laughter. 



" Our marriage bed, love," she said, " why 

re you so cold ?" and again she laughed. 

But Beverly could not move nor speak. 

!is eyes were riveted to the bod. 

Within the snowy curtains, was stretohed 

corpse, attired in the white garment of the 

grave. Through the parted curtains, the 

light shone fully on its livid face, while the 

body was enveloped in half shadow, — shone 

fully on the white forehead with its jet-black 






1 Id 



dark d b t th y Th a„ y 

of th list ]a;,m as til p tb t f a, 

alth h th hand w f id d t qmlly 

on th b ast E L ■^tw was 

sleej. p h m a^bd — Ip 

und t b d b d m 

Jc t d th h Id th tain 

ith h p! ft 1 h d h y b hi h 






h 1 



th 



Aga b I g] 
echo f h 1 
that IT 



1 I 



-the 



"Wh t 



Ta^ h mbe 

h t d 



th 



Bev ly t last fi d d — th a 

dream H t ly as c a 

fearful fright, for he could not proceed. 
Why, so cold, love '!" she said, sniiUng, 
is our marriage bod, you know — " 
Joanna, Joanna," he cried, — " are you 
mad ?" and in his fright, he looked anx- 
usly toward the door. 
She took a package from her breast and 
flung it at his feeL 

Go," she cried, "but first take up your 
forged letters — " 

Forged letters ?" he echoed, ' 

Forged letters," she answered, — heP 

;e was changed, — her manner changed, — ' 

there was no longer any pa^ion on her face^ 

■pale as marble, her face rigid as death, shaj 

confronted him with a gaze that he dared' 

meet. " Go '." she cried, " but take witU 

you jour forged letters. Yes, the 'iBtteis 

'hich you forged, and which you used a* 

:e means of my ruin. You have robbed 

ic of my honor, robbed me of my husbiEnd. 

-your work is complete — go 1" 

Her face was white aa the dress which shi 

'ore, — she pointed to the threshold. 

"Joanna, Joanna," faltered Beverly. 

"Not a word, not a word, villain, villair 

without remorse or shame I - I 4B g 



,/Googlc 



DAT, SUKSET, NIGHT. 



257 



and might excuse myself i>y pleading your 
treactsTy. But I mate no excuse. But for 
you, — for you, — where is th( 
have dislionored the wife, — made the child 
fatherless, — your work is compli 

Boverly saw that all his schemes had been 
■unraveled ; conscious of his guilt, and 
soious that everything was at an end between 
him and Joanna, he made adeaperate attempt 
to rally his usual self-possession ; or, pe 
impudence would be the better word. 

He moved to the door, and placed his 
hand upoa the lock. 

" Well, madam, as you will," ho said, and 
bowed. " Under the 
only wish you a very f 

Ho opened the door. 

" Hold ! " she cried in a voice that made 
hita start, — "Your work is comph 



She paused ; her look excited in him a 
Bttange curiosity for the completion of the 
sentence. " You will not long enjoy your 
triumph. You have not an hour to live. 
The wine which you drank was poisoned." 

Beverly's heart died in him at these 
words. A strange fever in his veins, a stran- 
ge throbbing at the temples, which he had 
felt for an hour past, and which he had at- 
tributed to the excitement resulting from the 
events of the day, he now felt again, and 
with redoubled force. 

"No, — no, — it is not so," he faltered. — 
"Woman, you are mad, — you bad not the 
heart to do it." 

" Had not the heart ?" again she burst into 
a loud laugh, — " 0, no, I was but jesting. 
Look here," — she darted to the bed, flung 
the curtain aside, and disclosed the lifeless 
form of her husband, — " and here !" gliding 
to another part of the room, she gently drew 
a cradle into light, and throwing its silken 
covering aside, disclosed the face of her 
sleeping child, — that cherub boy, who, as on 
the night previous, slept with his rosy cheek 
on his bent arm, and the ringlets of his au- 
burn hair tangled about hia forehead, white 
as alabaster. "And now look upon me!" 
she dilated before him, like a beautiful fiend ; 
" we are all before jt/a, — the dead husband, 
the dishonored wife, the fatherless child, — 
and yet I had not the heart," — she laughed 
Igwn. « ■ 






Beverly heard no more. Uttering a blas- 
phemous oath, he rushed from the room. 

And the habo, awakened by the sound of 
voices, opened its clear, innocent eyes, and 
reached forth its baby hands towMd its 
mother. 

Urged forward by an impulse like mad- 
ness, Beverly entered the rooms on the first 
floor, seized the rough overcoat and threw it 
on, passing the rod neckerchief around its 
collar, to conceal his face. Then drawing 
the cap over his eyes, he hunied from tha 

"It's all nonsense," he muttered, and d&- 
scendod the steps. — I'll walk it off." 

Walk it o£F! And yet the fever burned 

e more fiercely, his temples throbbed more 
madly, as he said the words. Leaving be- 
hind him the closed mansion of Eugene Liv- 
ingstone, with the crape fluttering on tha 
door, he bent his steps toward Broadway. 

nervous," he. muttered, — "Tha 
words of that dev'lish hysterical woman have 
unsettled me. How cold it is !" He felt 
» for a moment, and the nest in- 
stant his veins seemed filled with molten fire, 
hurried along the dark street toward 
Broadway. The distant lights at the end 
of the street, whore it joined Broadway, 
seemed to dance and whirl as he gazed upon 
thorn ; and his senses began to be bewildered, 
drank too much," he muttered. — 
a only reach Broadway, and get to 
my hotel, all will be right." 

But when he reached Broadway, it whirled 

lora him like a great sea of human faces, 
carriages, houses and flame, all madly con- 
fused, and rolling through and over each other. 

The crowd gave way before him, as he 
itaggerod along. 

"He's drunk," cried one. 

" Pitch into me that way ag'in, old feller", 
and I'll hit you," cried another. 

Christmas Eve, and Broadway was 
alive with light and motion ; the streets 
thronged with vehicles, and the sidewalks 
almost blocked up with men, and woman, 
and children ; the lamps lighted, and the 
shops and places of amusement illuminated, 
elcome some great conqueror. But 
Beverly was unconscioua of jfin external 
His fashionable dress, i iilllt[|]iid by 
his rough overcoat, and his face MBMa' hj 



wGoogle 



DAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



his cap and red neckerchief, he at^gered 
along, with his head doivn and his handa 
Bwayiiig from side to sidp. There was 
roaring aa of waves or of devouring flame 
his ears. A red haze was before his eyes ; 
and the scones of his whole life came i 



hira at once, e 



imng 1 



all his life, in a focus, before the last strag- 
gle, — there were tlio persona he had known, 
the adventures he had experienced, the 
erects of his boyhood, and the triumphs and 
shames of his libertine manhood, — all these 
came up to hira, and confronted him as h( 
hurried along. Three faces were always be- 
fore him,-— the dead face of Eugene, the 
pale visage of Joanna, her eyes flaming with 
vengeance, and, — the innocent countenance 
of his motherless daughter. 
And thus he hurried along. 
" Old fellow, the stars '11 be arter you, 
cried one in the crow'd, through which he 
staggered on. 

My eyes ! aint he drunk "!" 
Don't he pay aa much attention to ■ 
side o" the pavement as the tother?"- 

"Did you ever see sich worm fence 
he lays out 1" 

There was something grotesquely horrible 
in the contrast between his real condition, 
and the view which the crowd took of it. 

At length, not knowing whither he wont, 
he turned from the glare and noise of Broad- 
way into a by-strect, and hurried onward, — 
onward, through the gloom, until he fell. 

In a dark corner of the street, behind the 
Tombs, close to the stones of that gloomy 
pile, he fell, and lay there all night long, 
with no hand to ^d him, no eye to pity him. 
He was found, on Christmas morning, stiff 
and cold ; his head resting against the wail 
of the Tombs, his body covered with new- 
fcllen snow. A pile of bricks iay on one 
aide of him, a heap of boards on the other. 
This was the death-couch of the dashing 
Beverly Barron ! 

How ho died, no one could tell ; it was 
supposed that he had poisoned himself from 
remorse at the death of Eugene Livingstone. 

As Beverly hurried from the room, the 
babe in the cradle opened ila clear, innocent 
eyes, and reached forth its baby hands to- 
ward its mother. 



She took it, and stilled it to rest upon her 
bosom ; and then came to the bed and sat 
down upon it, near her dead husband. 

" Eligone, Eugene !" she gently put her 
hiind upon his cold forehead, — "let me 
talk to you, — I will not wake you, — let me 
talk to you, as you sleep. I am guilty, Eu- 
gene, you know I am, — you cannot forgive 
me, — I do not ask forgiveness ; but you'll 
let ma be near you, Eugene ? You will not 
spurn me from you ? This is our child, 
Eugene, — don't you know hira ? — 0, look 
up and speak to him. Don't, — don't ba 
angry with him, — his mother is a poor, fallen 
fallen thing, but don't be angry with our 
child I" 

She did not weep. Her eyes, large and 
full of light, were fixed upon her husband's 
face. Cradling her babe upon ber bosom, 
she sat there all night long, talking to Eu- 
gene, in a low, whispering voice, as though 
she wished him to hear her, and yet was 
afraid to awake him from a pleasant slum- 
ber. The light wont out, but still she did 
not move. She was there at morning light, 
her baby sleeping on her breast, and her hand, 
laid upon her dead husband's forehead. 

And at early morning light, her father 
came, — the gray-haired man, — bis face fro\vii- 
ing, and his heart full of wrath against hia, 
daughter. 

"What do you here?" he said, sternly, 
" This is no place for you. There is to be an 
inquest soon. You surely do not wish to 
look upon the ruin you have wrought ?" 

As though she was conscious of his pres- 
ice, but had not heard his words, she turned 1 
her face over her shoulder, — that coiorlewl 
face, lightad by eyes that stilt burned with' 
undimmed luster, — and aaid, — ^ 

Do you know, father. I have been talk-i 
ing with Eugene, and he has forgiven n 

The voice, the look melted the old r 

lie fell upon the bed, and wept. 

CHAPTER V. 

Here, my friend, let tis take » breathing 
spell in this, our dark history. Horrors 
crowd fast and thick upon us, — hoiTorB, not 
born of romance, but of that uiiA|p-curTent 



Bieab.GoOl^le 



I 



BAY, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



of real life, which rolls on evermore, beneath 
the glare and uproar of the Empire City. 
We do not wish to write them down, — 
Bhuddet sometimes and diop the pen 
describe them, — and ask ourselves, 
these things really be ? Is not the world all 
song and eunshine 1 Does that gilded mask 
which we e*U bj the name of Civilization, 
the civilization of the nineteenth century, 
only hide the features of a corpse ?" And 
the answer lo these queries eomes to us in 
ihe columns of every daily paper; in the 
record of every day's farces and crimea ; in 
:he unwHUen history of those masses, who, 
while we write, are slowly serving their ap- 
prenticeship of hardship and starvation, in 
irder that at last they may inherit a — 

Ab, it is the task of the author who writes 
I book, traversing a field so vast as is at 
enipted in the present work, not to exagger 
ite, but to soften, the perpetual tragedies ol 
ivery day. He dares not tell all the truth 
le can only vaguely hint at those 
ivils which are the inevitable re 
if totally depraved human nature, for such 
. thing never existed, — but of a social sy: 
em, which, false alike to God and man, doi 
lerpetually tempt one portion of the human 
ace with immense wealth, as Attempts an- 
,.ther portion with immeasurabie poverty. 

But let us leave these dark scenes for a 
ittle while. Let us breathe where crime 
,oes not poison the air. It is June, and the 
rees are in full leaf, and through canopies 
.f green leaves, the brooks are singing their 
ammer aong. Come out with ma into the 
pen country, where every fleeting cloud 
,bat turns its white bosom to the sun, ss it 
lltims along the blue, shall remind us, not of 
rime and blood, but of thankfulness to God, 
lat summer is on the land, and that we are 
live. Come, — without object, save to drink 
t some wayside spring, — without hope, 
ther than to lose ourselves among the sum- 
ler boughs, — let us take a stroll together. 

Out in the country, near a dusty turnpike, 
id a straight, hot railroad track, — but we'll 
ave the turnpike, which is well scattered 
ith young gentlemen in high shirt-coll ars, 
ho drink clouds of dust, and drive "hired 
orses to death,— and we'll leave the rail- 
>ad where^the steam engine, like a tired' 



devil, comes blowing and swearing, with red 
coals in its mouth, and a cloud of brimstone 
smoke about its head. We'll climb the rails 
of yonder gray old fence, and get ub straight- 
way into the fields; not much have we to show 
you there. A nanow path winds among 
tangled bushes and clumps of dwarfed cedar 
trees ; it shows us, here a grassy nook, bid- 
den in shade, and there a rough old rock, 
projecting its bald head in the sun ; and then 
it goes winding down and down, until you 
hear the singing of the brook. Where that 
brook comes from, you cannot tell ; yonder 
it is hidden under a world of leaves ; here 
it sinks from view under a bridge curiously 
made up of stone, and timber, and sod ; a 
little to your right it comes into light, dash- 
ing over cool rocks and forming little lakes 
all over beds of smooth gray sand. Follow 
the path and cross the bridge ; we stand in 
the shade of trees, that are scattered at irreg- 
ular intervals, along the side of a hill. Hera 
a willow near the brook, with rank grass 
about its trunks ; there a poplar with a trunk 
Grecian column, and leaves like a can- 
and farther on, a mass of oaks, ches- 
and maples, grouped together, their 
boughs mingling, and a thicket of bushes 
nd vines around their trunks. So you see, 
stand at the bottom of an amphitheater, 
ne aide of nhich is forest, the other low 
brushwood , bojond the brushwood, a distant 
jlimpse of another forest, and in the center 
of the scene, the hidden brooklet singing its 

You look above, and the Hue sky is set in 
irregular frame of leaves, — leaves now sha- 
dowed by a cloud, and now dancingin the sun. 
stretch ouiselves upon this level bit 
of sod, where all is shade and quiet, and 

Think ? No, sir. Do not think that there 

such a creature as a bad man, or a crime 

the world. But drink the summer air, — 
drink the freshness of foliage and flowers, — 
lull yourself with the song of the brook, — 
look at the blue sky, and feel that there is a 
God, and that he is good. 

You may depend you will feel better after 

If you don't, why, it is clear that your 

mind is upon bank stock, or politics, — and 

ere's.not much hope of you. 

Thus, stretched in the shade, at the bot- 
tom of this leafy amphitheater, you'lt wrap 



wGoogle 



sso 



DAT, SUNSET, NIGHT. 



yourself in aummer, and forget the w 
which, beyond that wall of trees, is still at 
its old work, — swearing, lying, fretting, lov- 
ing, hating, and rushing on all the wliile at 

You won't care who's President, or who 
itfbbed the treasury of half a million dollars. 
You'll forget that there is a Pope who 
%va$hed his hands in the blood of brave 
men and heroic women. You'll not he anx- 
ious about the rate of stock ; whether money 
is tight or easy, shall not trouble you one jot. 
Thus resting quietly at the bottom of your 
amphitheater in the country, you'll feel that 
you are in the church of God, which has 
sky for roof, leaves for walls, grassy sod for 
floor, and. for music, — hark ! Did you ever 
hear organ or orchestra that could match 
(half The hum of bees, the bubble of 
brooks, the air rustling among the leaves, all 
woven together, in one dreamy hymn, that 
tnelis into your soul, and takes yon up to 
heaven, quick as a. sunbeam flies ! 



And when the sun goes behind the trees, 
and the dell is filled with broad gleams of 
golden light and deep masses of shade, you 
may watch the moon as she steals into sight, 
right over your head, in the very center of 
the glimpse of blue sky. You may hear 
the low murmur which tells you that the 
day's work is almost done, and that the sol- 
emn night has come to wrap you in her still- 

And ero you leave the dell, just give one 
of thought to those you love, whose 
shut by the grave-yard sod, — think 
not as dead, hut as living and beau- 
ing those stars, — and then taking the 
r the brook, turn your steps to the 
world again. 

Hark I Here it cornea on the steam-en- 
gine's roar and whistle, — that bustling, hat- 
ing, fighting world, which, like the steam- 
igine, rushes onward, with hot coals at its 
heart, and a brimstone cloud above it. 



of then 
tiful an 



,/Googlc 



SEW YORK 



UPPER-TEN AND LOVER MILLION. 



PART SEVENTH. 



THE DAY OF TWENTY-ONE YEAR 

DECEMBER S5, ISM. 



CHAPTER I. 



The time was very near. The cycle of 
twenty-one years was in its last hour. It 
wasthelast hour of December twenty-fourth, 
1844. That hour passed, the twenty-one 
years would be complete. 

Darkness and storm were upon the Empire 
City. The snow fell fast, and the wind, 
howling over the river and tha roofs, made 
IDOurnfnl music among the arches of unfin- 
ished Trinity Church. In the gloom, amid 
the falling snow, four persons stood around 
the family vault' of the Van Huydens. Even 
had the storm and darkness failed to cover 
them from observation, they would have 
been defended from all prying eyes, by the 
■ crape masks which they wore. The marble 
i Blab hearing the namo of "Van Huyden," 
was thrust aside, and from the gloom of the 
, vault beneath, the coffin nas slowly raised 
into view ; the coffin which was inscribed 
with the name of Gulian Van Huyden, and 
TS'ith the all-significant dates, December 25th, 
1823, and December 35th, 1844. 

! Meanwhile, even as the blast howls along 
' the deserted street, let us enter the mansion 
of Ezekiel Bogart, which, as you are aware, 
I stands, with its old time exterior, alone and 
desolate, amid the huge structures devoted 
to traffic. 

In the first of the seven vaults, — square i 
form, and lined with shelves from the ceil 
ing to the ftoor, — Ezekiel Bogart sits aloni 
The hanging lamp diffuses its mild beams 
around the silent place. Ezekiel is seated 
in the arm-chair, by tha table, his form 
Teloped in the wrapper or robe of dark cloth 
Uiied with scarlet. The dark skull-cap 



rs the crown of his head ; his eyes are 
hidden by huge green glasses, and the lal^e 
3 cravat envelopes his throat and tha 
lower part of his face. Leaning forward, his 
elbow on the table, and his cheek upon hia 
hand, which, veined and sinewy, is wbita 

the hand of a corpse, Ezekiel Bogart is 
absorbed in thought. 

" I have not seen Gaspar Manuel since last 
light ;" he utters his thoughts aloud. " This, 
nieed, is singi 1 ' Th h f t! fi 1 

settlement is n I th d fi te 

must be know d 1 t! Id n 

California, nea th f )3 L 

What can have p t d h f m g 

mo the second t ? C h 1 t 

with an accident 

He rang the bell which lay near his hand ; 
presently, in answer to the sound, the aged 
servant appeared ; the same who admitted 
Gaspar Manuel last night, and whose sparo 
form is clad in gray iivery, faced with black. 

"Michael, you remember the foreign gen- 
tleman, Gaspar Manuel, who was here last 

" That very pala man, with long hair, and 
such dark eyes ? Yes, wr." 

" You are aura that he has not called here 

"Sure, sir. I have not laid eyes upon 
him since last night." 

" It is strange !" continued Ezekiel Bo- 
gart, — " You have attended to all my direc- 
tions, Michael ?" 

" The banquet-room is prepared as yoa 
ordered it, and all your other commands 
have been carefully oteyed," answered Mi- 

" This will be a busy night for you, Michael. 
From this hoUi until i' four in tbe ntoming, 
C261) 



vGooglc 



THE DAY OP TWENTT-OSB TEARS. 



yes, until daybreak, you will wait 
ception room below, and admit into the bouEe 
tbe persons whose names you will flad 
this card." 

Michiel advanced and took the c&rd from 
the hand of his master. 

"These persons, — these only, — mark 
Miohael," continued Ezekiel, in a tone of 
significant emphasis. " And as they arrive, 
show them up-slairs, into the small apart- 
ment, next the banquet-room. Tell each 
one, as he arrives, that I will see him at four 

Michael bowed, and said, "Just as you 
direct, I vrill do." 

" One of the persons, however, John Hoff- 
man, otherwise called Ninety-One, I wish to 
see 33 soon as he arrives. Bring him to this 
room at once. You remember him, a stout, 
muscular man, with a scarred face ?" 

" I do. He was here with you a few hours 

"There is another of the persons named 
on that card, whom you will bring to ^bis 
room at once ; Gaspar Manuel, who was here 
last night. Ecmembor, Michael." 

Michael bowed in token of assent, and was 
about to leave the room, when Ezekiel called 
him hack, 

" About midnight, four persons, having 
charge of a boi, will come to the door and 
Bsk for me. Take charge of the box, Mi- 
chael, and dismiss them. Have the bos 
carried up into the banquet-room. You can 
pow retire, Michael. I know that y 
attend fdthfuUy to all that I havegiv 
to do.-' 

" You may rely upon me, sir," said the 
tried servant, and retired from the room. 

And, once more alone, Ezekiel rested his 
abeek on his hand, and again surrendered 
himself fo thought. 

" The child of Gulianmitrf he found ; Niee- 
ty-Ono cannot fail. If he is not found before 
four o'clock, all is lost — all is lost ! Yes, if 
that child does not appear, this estate, — awful 
to contemplate in its enormous wealth, — will 
pass from his grasp, and the labor of twenty- 
one years will have been spent for nothing. 
The estate will pass into the hands of the 
(even, not one of whom will use his share 
for anything but the gi1*ification of his appe- 
tites or the oppression of his kind." 



The old man rose, the light shone over hjs 
tall figure, bent by age, as, placing bis hands 
behind his back, he paced to and fio along 
the floor. He was deeply troubled. An 
anxiety, heavier than death, weighed down 
his soul. 

" The seven, — look at them I Dermoyne 
is a poor shoemaker. This wealth will in- 
toxicate and corrupt him. Barnhurst, a cler- 
ical voluptuary, — he will use his share to 
gratify his monomania. Yorko, a swindler, 
who grows rich upon fraud, — his share will 
enable him to plunge hundreds of the weal- 
thiest into utter ruin, and convulse, to its 
center, the whole world of commerce and of 
industry. Barron, — a fashionable sensual- 
ist, — he will surround himself with a harem. 
Godlike, a Borgia, — an int 11 tual d m n — 
his share will create a Id f mes. 
Harry Royalton, a sensual t th h of a 
difi'erent stamp from the th 11 xp nd 

le wine-cup and at tl g mil 
table. There are six of 1 — ly a 

irthy company to share h 1 gc t p ate 
estate in the world ! As for the seventh, ha 
to bis account. 

meditating, Ezekiel Bogart, slowly 
paced the floor. He paused suddenly, for a 
thought full of consequences, the most vital, 
flashed over his soul. 

" What if Martin Fulmer should refuse 
divide the estate ? Alas! alas! biaoath," — 
he pressed his hand agiunst his forehead^ — 
his oath made to Gulian Van Huyden, in 
his last hour, will crush the very thought of 
such a refusal. The Will must be obeyed ; 
yea, strictly, faithfully, to the letter, in its 

Once more resuming hia walk, he con- 
tinued, — 

" But the child will be discovered, — the 
child will be here at the appointed hour." 

He spoke these words in a tone of pro- 

" I trust in Providence ; and Providence 
will not permit this immense wealth to pass 
into the bands of those who will abuse it^ 
and make of it the colossal engine of human 
misery." 

After a moment of silent thought, he con- j 
tinued, — 

"No, — no, — this wealth cannot pass into 
tbe bands of the seven I Whim GiUian, It] ^ 



,/Goog 



i 



THE BAY OF TWESTY-ONE YEARS. 



his liist hour, intrusted it Co Murtin Fulmcr, 
bequeathing it, after the lapse of twenty-one 
years, to aevun persons, in dilTcrent parts of 
the union, he doubtless thouglit tliat ctiance, 
to say nothing of Providence, \iould find 
among the nutnbeT at lenst four with good 
hearts and large raentdl vision. Ue did not 
thinli, — he did not dream, tba.t at least five 
out of the seven would prove totally un- 
worthy of his hopes, altogether uiiflt to pos- 
sess and wield such an incredible wealth. 
And, believing in Providence, I cannot 
think, for a moment, that lie will permit 
this engine of such awful power to 
hands that will use it to the ruin and the 
degradation of the human race. The child 
will appear, and God will bless that child. 

A sound pSaled clear and distinct througl 
out the mansion. It was the old clock i 
the hall, striking the hour. Ezekiel stood 
as if spell-bound, while the sounds rolled ii 
sad echoes through the mansion. 

It struck the hour of twelve. The cj-clt 
of twenty-one years was complete. 

The old man sank on bis knees, and bury- 
ing his face in his hands, sent up his soul, ir 
a voiceless prayer. 

L ra wh t 11 th m tt r must be left 
to th h d f P d he said, 

low I If the child does 

n t ri t f Ik Martin Fulmer 

has h CO rs th t divide this un- 

told I h m h f the seven as are 

p t B f 1 ht his trust ex- 

p B t — b t, — d h pressed his 

I h d 1 d usly together, — " the 

child tBill appear. 

. Taking up a silver candlestick, be lighted 
the wax candle which it held, and went, in 
silence, through the seven vaults, (described 
in a previous chapter) which contained the 
title-deeds, a portion of the specie, and the 
secret police records of the Van Huyden 
estate. 

As he passed from silent vault to silent 
Tault, not a word escaped his lips. 

He was thinking of the incredible wealth, 
whose evidences were all around biro, — of 
the awful power which that wealth would 
confer upon its possessors, — of Nameless, or 
Carl Raphael, the son of Gulian Von Huy- 
den, — of the appointed hour, now close at 

17 



"What if Martin Fuinier should burn 
every title-deed and record here," — he held •, 
the light above his head, as he surveyed the 
vault, — "thus leaving the estate in the 
hands of the ten thousand tenants who now 
occupy its houses and lands ? These parch- 
ments once destroyed, every tenant would be 
the virtual owner of the house or lot of 
land which he now occupies. This would 
create, in fact, ten thousand proprietors, — 
perhaps twenty thousand, — instead of seven 

It was a great thought, — a thought which, 
carried into action, would have baptized ten 
thousand hearts with peace, and filled thrice 
ten thousand hearts with joy unspeakable. 
But 

" It cannot be. Martin Pulmermust keep 
his oath. The rest is for Providence." 

He returned to the first room, or vault, 
and from a drawer of the table, drew forth 
a bundle of keys. 

" I will visit those rooms," ha said, " and 
in the meantime Ninety-Oue will airive with 
Carl Raphael." 

Light in hand, he left the room, and passed 
along a lofty corridor with panneled walls. 
As the light shone over his tall figure, bent 
with age, and enveloped in a dark robe lined 
with scarlet, you might have thought hira 
the magician of some old time story, on his 
way to the cell of his most sacred vigils, had 
been for bis skull-cap, huge green 
, and enormous white cravat; these 
imparted something grotesque to his appear- 
ice, and effectually concealed his features, 
id the varying expressions of his coun- 

Ue placed a key in the lock of a door. It 

us the door of a chamber which no living 

being had entered fur twenty-one years. 

eemed to hesitate ere be crossed 

the threshold. At length, turning the key 

the lock, — it grated harshly, — bo pushed 

open the door, — he crossed the threshold. 

A sad and desolate place ! Once elegant, 

xurious ; the very abode of voluptuous 

wealth, it was now sadder than a tomb. 

The atmosphere was heavy with the breath 

of years. The candle burned but dimly as 

ncountered that atmosphere, which, for 

nty-one years, had not known a single 

of sunlight, a ^ngle breath of fresh air.. 



,/Googlc 



264 



THE DAT OF TWENTT-OSE YEARS. 



A grand old place with loftj walla, concealed 
by tapestr}', — three windows looking to the 
street (they had not been opened for twfentj 
one years) adorned with curtains of era 
broidorod lace, a bureau surmounted by in 
oval mirror, chairs of dark mahogany a 
carpet soft as down, and a couch enshrined 
ill an alcove, th lit n urt and ver 
let and pillon t b nn th mp ss of a 
human form. A rand Id pi b t here 
was dust eve y h rywh d t the 

breath of years Ih w d t ft me. 

You could not fa th m ror; 

the cobwebs co d t I k a 1 Yon 
left the ptfj fttp p the 
lo nv a pet Tl p pi t i.e^t was 
pn pie no lo I: was bl k w th dust, 

and the m th h d t t t igs The 
on w wh te rt f th w d ws, 

wrehndtod j jadth opy 

of th h I k d th b t p and 

spot! as th I 1 1 f II ts f 1 1 

DdEklB thtt dt mble 
as h pp 1 d th t h ? 

H h Id th I ht b h h d— ind 
look d w th th 1 S Ik CO rlct 

and d y[!lw d thdt ind 

bea t II th mp f th f m hioh 

had d 1 th t ty j rs 

'Al ^ H d jac 1 t d E kiel 

Bogart, as though the dead one was present, 
listening to his every word, — " Here, twenty- 
one years ago, you gave birth to your son, 
and, — died. Yes, hero you gave life to 
that son, — Carl Raphael Van Huyden I must 
call him, — who, once condemned to death, — 
then buried beside you in the family vault, — 
then for two years the tenant of a mad-hoiise, 
will at four o'clock, appear and take posses- 
sion of his own name, and of the estate of 
his father !" 

Turning from the bed. Ezekiel approached 
the bureau. The mirror was thick with 
dust, and in front of it stood an alabaster 
candlestick — the image of a dancing nymph, 
— now alas! looking mj)re like ebony than 
alabaster. It held a ha!f-burned wasen 

" That candle, when lighted last, shone 
over the death agonies of Alice Van Huy- 

Up and down that place, whose very air 
breathed* heart-rending memories, the old 



min wilked his head sinking low and lower 
on h a breist at every atc] 

He pa sed at Icngtl 1 cf re i, portn. t 
covered v th dust Stind g on i chair 
Ezek el tl the purple tapeitry brushed 
the dust a ay from tl e canvis a d tl o 
walnut frime The po tra t came o t nto 
I ght BO fresh s vlv d EO 1 f 1 ke thit 
Erek el stopped hist 1 from the cl r as 
tho gh the ap) ar t on of one lo g deid had 
suddenly confronted him. 

It was a portrfdt of a manly face, shaded 
by masses of brown hair. There was all the 
hope of young manhood, in tho dark eyes, 
on the cheeks rounded with health, and upon 
the warm lips full of life and love. A 
fresh countenance ; one that you would 
have taken at sight for the coiflitenance of a 
man of true nobility of heart and soul. It 
was the portrait of Gulian Van Hiiyden at 
twenty-one. 

For a long time Ezekiel Bogart lingered 
silently in front of the portrait. 

At last ha left the chamber, looked the 
door, — first p to I k h h Ider 

towariti b d po wh I 4.1 \ H y- 
den d d — d th I ly as d d t the 
upper m f th Id m 

He cam t 11 h be p Id 

with k k p U d th 

carved fl w d ty f r\ r- 

i d tl Id from the 

! f tl k I th 11 r, 

the w II th 1 g d tl pil ra h d 

shona Ik plhd tibt thy 

;rebl k w th d t 

Hold th 1 It b h k II p. 
Ezek I 1 tij d h 

Tw t ss 1 tood th t f tho 

floor. T? w 1 1 Vj ts to 

break (h m to j f tl d t d 

floor d 11 

Upo th f 1 t t) y rs 

before hid b pi d fh b d 

withtl f G I "V H jd d 

the d t — D mb 2 th 18 1 d D - 
oemb 25th 1844 

Opp t h t 1 p I h d - 
cently be i d I y r 

recess in the wall. In the recess the Iron 
chest bad been buried twenty-one yean befbr^. 
OS vacant now, — the iron chest was gone. 



wGoogle 



THE DAT OF TWENTY-ONE YEARS. 



As the light shone around this place, 
whose every detail was linked with the 
past, the breast of Ezekiel Bognct heaved 
with emotion, but no word passed his lips. 
He lingered there a long time. 

Through the confined doorway, he passed 
into the garret oooft, whose roof was formed 
by the slope of the heavy rafters, which now 
were hung with cobwebs, while a small win- 
dow, with heavy frame and narrow panes, 
Biiook to the impulse of the winter wind. A 
mahogany desk and an old-fashioned arm- 
chair, stand between the door and the win- 
dow. 

"Here Gulian and Martin Pulmer held 
their last interview," soliloquized Ezekiel, as 
he stood alone in the dreary garret, — " there 
gtood Gulian, there knelt Martin, as he took 
the oath, Fifteen minutes afterward, Gu- 
lian was a corpse, and Martin was loaded 
with the awful trust, which ho has home 
lilone for twenty-one years." 

He approached the window. All was 
dark without. Sleet and snow beat against 
the wiudow-pane. The wind howled dis- 
mally over the roof; the storm was abroad 
over the city and the bay. 

" From this window he saw Manhattan 
Bay, and the spire of old Trinity. Yes, 
from this window, he pointed out to Martin 
Fulmor, the windows of the Eanquet-roora, 
in the western wing of the mansion, as they 
shone with the glad light of the Christmas 
Festival. It is Christmas again, — once more 
the windows of the banquet-room are 
lighted, — yes, I can see the lights glimmer- 
ing through the storm, — but not for a festival. 
Ah mo ! what years have passed since those 
windows were lighted for a festival. 

Sadly Ezekiel Bogart left the garret, and 
descending the narrow stair-case, and passing 
a corridor, made t!ie best of his way toward 
the lower rooms of the mansion. Impreiised 
to his very soul, with the consciousness that 
he would soon behold the son of Gulian Van 
Huyden — Carl Raphael — he entered the first 
of the seven vaults, where the hanging lamp 
Btil! shone upon the arm-chair, the shelved 
walls, and the huge table overspread with 
p.'vpers. 

Seating himself in the arm-chair, he rang 
the belL It was not long before the aged 
■en'ant appeared- 



" lias John Hoffman, otherwise called 
Ninetj--One, arrived ?" J\ j 

"No, Sir." 

" This, indeed, is strange, very strange !" 
ejaculated Ezekiel, much agitated, "and 
Caspar Manuel — has he been here ?" 

" No, sir," answered Miehaal, " the four 
persons with the box have been here, and 
that is all. I had the box carried into the 
banquet-room." 

At a sign from Ezekiel, the aged servant 

" Altogether strange ! The seven were 
notified by letter, and by a carefully worded 
advertisement in the daily papers, of the 
place and lumr of meeting. And not one 
arrived ! What if they should not appear ?" 

The sound of the old clock disturbed his 
meditations. One, — two, — throe 1 He had 
passed three hours in wandering through 
tho old mansion. Only a single hour re- 
mained. 

" Three hours gone ! " Ezekiel started 
from his chair, "no word of Ninety-One, 
Caspar Manuel, or the seven ! It may ho," 
and he fell a strange hope kindling in his 
heart, " that the night will pass and not one 
of the seven appear !" 

The words had not^passed his lips, when 
a heavy footstep was heard in the corridor, 
and the door was flung open. A stout mus- 
cular form came rapidly to the light It 
was Ninety-One. His garments were covered 
with snow, and there were stains of blood 
upon his scarred face. From beneath bis 
shaggy eyebrows, knit in a settled ftowD, 
his eyes shone with a ferocious glare, 

" What news ?" ejaculated Ezekiel. 

Ninety-One sti'uck his clenched hand upon 
the table, and gave utterance to a blas^dM- 

"News? Hell's full otsich news! Only 
to think of it ! It's enough (o set a man to 
wishin' himself safe in jail again. 'Don't 
give it up so easy !' That's what I've said 
all along. An' I have not give it op easy, 
najther. And now what's it come to ?*' 

" The Boy,— the son of Gulian Van Huy- 
den," cried Ezekiel, resting his hands upon 
the table. 

Ninety-One sank into a chair and wiped 
tho blood from his face. 

" You know I tracked the boy all day. 



-^0ii'-- 



wGooglc 



THE DAT OP TWENTY-ONB YEARa 



until I found hia quarters in the four story 
buildin', whar there was a dead man 7 — " 

"Yes, — yes, — and you came and told mi 
that you bad found hia home. The peopli 
in the room adjoinicg the one whioh ho 
occupies, informed you that he had gone 
out with the young girl, but that be would 
shortly return. You came and told me, and 
then went back to his room to await his 
return, taking with you a letter from ma — " 
"I went back, and waited, and waited, 
havin' no company hut the de.id man, until 
dark. Then I sallied out, and went to thi 
house, where wo all was last night. I'd a 
hard time to get in, but git in I did, 
jiflt too late — " 
" Too late ?— ■' 
" The boy and the gal had been thar, and 
they'd jist gone. Ono of the folks in livery 
show'd me which way, — 'down the t 
toward the river, and only fire minutes 
says he. Down the street I put, and by this 
Ume the snow was fallin' and the wind 
blowin' a harrycano. Down the street I put, 
and when I came near the river, I heor'd 
woman cry out, 'help! murder!' Mind, I 
tell you, I lost no time, but made straight 
for the pier, an' thar I find the gal, wringin' 
her hands an' p'intin' to the river — " 
"And the boy — the son of Gulian ? — ' 
"Four fellers had come behind him, a 
was about turnin' into the street in which he 
lived, — tbey had dragged him from her, — 
she follerad them on to the pier, cryin', 
'help! murder!' and they'd tied him, and 
put him into a boat and made out into the 
river. As she told me Ibis story, I looked 
about me for a boat, — thai wasn't a boat to 
be seen, — so I detarmined to jump in and 
jH^m arter 'em anyhow, though the river 



e and the ■ 



a- blowin' like 



Was full of 

■■ You leaped into the Tivt 

"No, I did not. For as 
cryin', an' moanin', an' p'inti 
dark thick night, the boat 
the four gallus birds jumped 
. " And the child,— 0, ray God I the son 
ot Gulian ?—" 

" They'd hove him overboard !" 

The old man uttered a heart-rending 
groan, and raised bis hands to heaven. 

" Fatality !" he cried. 



the gal stood 
', out into the 
arae back, and 
n tiie wharf — " 



" I made at 'em at once, — and we j'ined 
in, four to one, teeth an' toe ndls. ' Don't 
give it up so easy !' I said, but what's the 
use o" talkin' ? I broke a jaw for one of 
'cm an' caved the crust in for another ; hut I 
wa'n't a match for slung-shot behind the 
ear. They knocked me atoopid. An' when 
I opened my eyes again, I found myself in 
their hands, arrested on the charge o' havin' 
murdered young Somers, an' o' robbin' Isr'el 
Yorke. They tied me, took me to a room 
up town, whar they war j'ined by Blossom, 
— they tried to gouge money out o' me, but 
as I hadn't any, it wa'n't so easy. When 
they got tired o' that, I purtended to sleep, 
an' overheer'd their talk. The hansum 
Colonel, Tarleton, my pertikler friend, had 
hired the four to waylay the boy, and carry 
him out into the river. Blossom didn't 
know anythin' about it ; he swore like a fiery 
furnace when they told him of it. Arter a 
while, as I found they were goin' to take me 
to the Tombs if they couldn't git any money 
out o' me, I broke for the door, and came 
away in a hurry, an' hero I am." 

" And the child of Gulian is gone ! Fata- 
lity ! Fatality !" groaned Ezekiel Bogart. 
" In the river, — tied and gagged, — in the 
river," sullenly replied Ninety-One ; and the 
next moment be uttered a wild cry and 
leaped to his feet. 

Ezekiel Bogart had removed the Skull- 
cap, the green glasses and the huge cravat. 
In place of a countenance obscured by a 
grotesque disguise, appeared a coble face, a 
broad forehead, rendered venerable by masau:) 
of snow-white hair. His beard, also white 
as snow, left hare the outlines of his massive 
chin and descended upon his breast. And 
sunken deep beneath his white eyebrows, 
his large eyes shone with the light of a great 
illect, a generous heart. It was indeed a 
noble head. True, his mouth was large, and 
the lips severely set, hia large nose bent to 
aide, his cheek-bonos high and promi- 
, but the calm steady light of his eyes, 
the bold outlines of bis forehead, — starajied 
with thought, with genius, — gave character 
s entire face, and made its very devia- 
from regularity of feature, all the more 
impressive and commanding, 

"It is the Doctor!" cried Ninoty-OuB. 
Yer ba'r is white and that's wrinkles abottt 



wGoogle 



THE DAY OP TWENTY-ONE YEARS. 



yer mouth an' eyes, but I know you, Doctor 
Martin Fulnier." 



It was, in trnth, th 



s the Judge of the C 






capes," as Ezekiel Bogart, the General Agent 
and who, at length, appears in his own char 
acter, — Dr. Martin Fuhner, the trustee of thi 
Van Hujden estate. 

"Be silent, John," — the Doctor rose ant 
gently waved his hand, — his bent form for 
a moment became straight and erect, — h 
attitude was noble and impressive. "T 
child whom, twenty-one years ago, Suli 
Van Huyden intrusted U> your care, has, th 
night, — even as the misfortunes of lo g 
years were aTxiut to be eueceeded by pea 
security, the possession of unbounded wealth 
— met his death at the instigation of GaVia 
brother. Be silent, John, for the shadow f 
almighty fate is passing over us ! It iv 
to be, and it was ! Who shall resist the d 
crees of Pj-ovidence ? Behold 1 the fab 
which I have spent twenty-one years t 
build, is dnst and ruins at my feet'." 

There was the dignity of despair in h 
tone, his look, his every attitude. 

He slowly moved toward the door. — " Bo- 
main here, John, until morning. I may 
want the aid of your arm. The worst has 
fallen upon me," ho continued, as though 
speaking to himself, "and nothing now re- 
mains but to fulfill the last conditions of my 
trust, and — to die." 

Helefttheroom, andin the darkness, along 
corridor, and up stairway, pursued his way 
slowly to the banquet-room. 

" To this estate I have offered up twonty- 
one years of my life, — of my soul. For it I 
have denied myself the companionship of a 
wife, the Joy of hearing a child call me by 
the name of 'father!' I have traversed the 
globe in its behalf ; made myself a dweller 
in all lands ; have left the beautiful domain 
of that science which loses itself among the 
Btars, to make myself a student in the sci- 
ence of human misery, in the dark philoso- 
, phy of human desptur, I have made myself 



the very slave of this estate. Believing that 
one daj-, its enormous wealth would be de- 
voted to the amelioration of social misery, I 
have made myself familiar with the entire 
anatomy of the social world ; have dwelt in 
the very heart of its most loathsome evils ; 
have probed to the quick the ulcer of its 
moral leprosy. But at all times, and in 
every phase of my career, I did hope, that 
out of this son of Gulian'3, cast lilte a waif 
upon the voyage of life, and made the sub- 
ject of superhuman misfortune, Fbovidbscb 
would at length mould a good, strong man, 
with heart and intellect, to wield the Van 
Huyden estate, for the social regeneration of 
his race. Mv hope is ashes," 

W tl d I k h h BO I ly 

hlfttd htg hpeddr 

d J as d t th b q t-ro m 

It as b 11 tly 1 ht d by t q e 

h d I wh h h f m th 1 ftj I g. 
It as rr d f th last 

Ithbqt mt t } an 

tl as th d f m J es, 

mid tl h I k f I S3 ; 

th w h t m d w th ] 1 f es 

dssd ml dth as fe 

d d ml Ihmkdhartd- 

d by tl 1 t f th d m d 

N w th ce h g d Th d rs, 

d tl I t f th \ H jd n 

f m 1 h h 1 d tl 1 ff) II 
cealudby hangings of bright scarlet. Around 
table, covered with a white cloth, and sur- 
rounded by eight antique arm-chairs, alone 
broke the monotony of that vast and brilliantly 
lighted banquet-hall. The chandelier which 
shone upon the hangings, and lighted uMj 
every part of the room, shone down upon 
the white cloth of the table, and upon • 

gle object which varied its surface, — a 
small portfolio, bound in black leather. 

In that portfolio were comprised the mya- 

-ies of the Van Huyden estate. 

Beneath the table, and shaded by it 

from the light, dimly appeared an icon chest, 

and a coffin covered with black cloth, — both 

half- con ceiled beneath a pall of velvet, 

fringed with tarnished gold. 

Martin Fulmer attentirely surveyed thia 
scene, and a sudden thought seemed to strike 
him. "It will not do," he said, "let the old 
place, in this hour, put on all its u 



byGoogIc 



THE DAY OF TWEKTT-ONE YEARS. 



He rang the bell, and four servants, attired 
in gray liveriea, appeared from beneath the 
hangings. Mwtin whispered his commands 
in a low voice, and they obeyed without 
■word. Moving to and fro, without uproar, 
in the course of a few minutes they had 
completely changed the appearance of thi 
hall. Thus changed, the banquet-room has 
indeed, put on its old memories ; it weati 
the look, it breathes the air of the past. 

The light of the chandelier, no longer 
dazzling, falls in subdued radiance around 
a lofty hall, whose ceiling is supported by 
eight pillars" of cedar, grotesquely carved 
from base to capital, with the faces of 
and nuns, — all of the round and oily stamp, 
— with beasts, and birds, and fruits, and 
flowers. The glaring scarlet hangings cluster 
in festoons around the capitals of the pilh 
and between the pillars appear, upon the 
panneled walls, portraits of the Van Huydi 
family, in frames of oak, and walnut, and 
gilt, for seven generations ; beginning with 
the grim face of the abcestob, who landed 
on Manhattan Island in the year ] 
ending with the youthful, artist-IIlto face of 
Carl Raphael, painted in 1842. (This por- 
trait of Nameless, Martin Fulmer procured 
from the study of Cornelius Berraan.) The 
lofty windows on one side, were hidden by 
curtains of dark purple. At one end of the 
spacious hall, was a broad hearth, blazing 
with a cheerful wood-lire ; at the other, on a 
dark platform, arose a marble ira!m;e of ■' the 
KASTEB," as large as life, and thrown dis- 
tinctly into view by the dark background. 

There are two altars covered with black 

jjjrelTet, fringed with gold ; one on each side 

^f the table. The altar on the right supports 

th C0& th th 1 ft th h t ; 

and ar u d fBn d h t as f a 

fu ral tall x dl d mly b g. 

Th dark p 1 d all — th h g pit- 
I q tly d— tl p tu 11 ve 

on d m w th — tl h th a d t fl me, 
— the white image of the Savior, — the cen- 
tal table, with its eight arm-chairs, — the 
dark altars, with wax candles burning around 
coffin and iron chest, — all combined to pre- 
sent an effect which, deepened by the dead 
atillaess, is altogether impressive and ghast- 
Uke. 

"The place looka like the old time," es- 



claims Martin Fulmer, slowly surveying its 
every detail,-—" and, — " 

The sound of the old clock again ! How it 
rings through the mansion, — rings, acd swells, 
and dies away ! One, — two, — three, — four ! 

Martin Fulmer sinks into the arm-chair, 
at the head of the table, and from beneath 
his wmstcoat draws forth a parchment, — the 
last will and testament of Gulian Van Huyden. 

" There is no other way, — I must begin ;" 
he casta his eyes toward a narrow doorway, 
across which is stretched a curtain. Behind 
that curtiun wait the heirs of the Van Huy- 
den estate. The old man, erect in his chair, 
at the head of the table, passes his right 
hand thoughtfully over his broad forehead, 
and through the masses of his hsur, as white 

And then directing his gaze toward the 
doorway, he begins to call the names of the 
Seven : 

"Evelyn Somers!" 

No answer, — the merchant prince now 
sleeps a corpse within his palace. 

" Beverly Barron !" — the name of the 
man of fashion resounds throunh the still ball. 

But Beverly \ 11 f Id n his arms 

again, the form fat mpt dad yielding 
maiden ; never p! hip via to the 
ips of a faithless w f h m h has made 
also to her mam — r press a 

father's kiss upi n tl e b f h mother- 

child. Beverly also has gone to his 

Harry Eoyalton !" exclaimed Martin 
Fulmer ni 'n d" ted h' y t w d 
the doo 

Is, th t h t p th m f tl 

ur^e, Ih h f ih k p ( d f ro 

bank ? N It wis b t b th f 

w d u t B t wh n 

this ho f II th rs H rrj E j 1 t 
Hill Royal? It cannot be told. He does not 
appear. 

Martin Fulmer, with something of surprise 
upon his face, spoke the fourth name, — 

" Herman Barnhurst !" 

Herman, the voluptuous, and the fair- 
cheeked, and eagle-eyed, — the victim of 
beautiful Marion Merlin, — the husband of 

itraged Fanny Lansdale, — the 'seducer of 
poor Alice Bumey, — Herman doea not an- 



irthe 



byGocSgIc 



THE DAY OF TWENTY-ONE YEARS. 



A wild hope began to gleam in the deep 
■ eyesof Martin Fulmer, — "i'ourof the s 
absent, — why not all ?' And he called the 
fifth name ; the name of one, whom, most 
of all others, he desired to be present : — 

" Arthur Dermoyne !" 

Loud and deep it Ewelled, but there was 
no reply. Enthusiast and mechanic, who, 
at your work-bench, h;»ve laid out plans of 
social regeneration, — who, nmid the clatter 
of hammers, and hum of toil, have heard 
the words of the four gospels, and thought 
Qf wealth only as the means of putting those 
words into deeds, — where do you linger at 
this hour ? Alas, Dermoyne is silent ; he 
does not appear. 

Th 1 It M t y "T b ht 
"F Cth S It 11 

G bn I G dl k h i ro d tl 

nam dpi p f th 

flw to th ram 

H d f th d d 

thro h th p [ d t th p g 

fo m f th t m m d t 1 ght 
H b d h t 13 1 i tl t th 

bn„ht ro tal b tt h te t mad 

hia bronzed face look yet darker; he ad- 
vanced with a heavy stride, his great fore- 
head looming boldly in the light, his pyes 
deep sunken beneath the brows, glaring like 
living coals. His cheek was flushed, — with 
wine— or with the excitement of the hour? 

Ponderous and gloomy and grand, as 
when he arose to scatter thunderbolts through 
the thronged senate, — attired in the same 
brown coat which he wore on state occasions, 
— h m trt tl \l m d t p 

potDMrtFlm dd h 

dptbis — I h d dyf 

th fi 1 ttl t f th V H jd 



It 



th 



.J) F Im to 

f t d th 
t 1 t d 1 tl 



th 



Th 



th se h d , h h k tl m rs 

fear ?" — he shuddered. 

Then he called the seventh name,— 

" Israel Yorke !" 

No delay this time. With a hop and a 
spring, — spectacles on nose, and sharp gray 
eyes glancing all about him, — the little finan- 
cier came through the curtain, and advancing 



to the table, seated himself beside Godlike, 
like Mammon on right of Lucifer. 

"And I am hero," he said, pulling J^ 
whiskers, and then running his hand oVer 
his bald head, — "Here and ready for the 
Goal settlement of the Van Hnyden estate." 

"And is this all ?" ejaculated Martin Ful- 
mer; and once more he called the names of 
the Seven. There was no response. 



CHAPTER in. 



Martin Fulmer uttered a deep sigh, and 
then gazing upon the representatives of 
Satan and of Majnraon he said ! " Gentle- 
m n, you know the purpose for which jou 

We do," they said, and each one laid 
1 copy of the will on the table. 

The first thing in order, is the reading of 
th Will," said Martin Fulmer solemnly. 
A d while a dead stillness pervaded, he read 
th will ; and afterward briefly recounted 
(I circumstances connected with the death 
f the testator. 
When he had finished, the silence remain- 
ed for some moments unbroken. The lights 
flashed upon the smart concealed visage of 
the financier, — the grand Satanic face of the 
statesman, — the calm face of Martin Pulmer, 
with the bold brow, and hair as white as 
snow ; and as a breath of wind moved the 
lights, they flashed fitfully over the coEBn, 
and the iron chest, the cedar pillara, and the 
marble image. ' 

There is no son in existence ?" asked 
Is el nervously. 

None," answered Martin in a to^f 

He did not die in a cause pre-er 
f its sanctity ?" asked Gabriel in a deep 

It cannot be said that he did," answered 
M rtin, as though questioning his own con- 

The disposition of this estate, depends 
then entirely upon your integrity, and es- 
pecially ujion your fidelity to youroa(Af" — 
though he knew the chord 
the strong honest nature of 
Martin Fulmer, watched him keenly, as he 
aw^ted his answer- 
Martin bowed his head. 



:il 



wGoogle 



THE DAY OF TWENTT-OSE YEARS. 



270 

"Under those circumstances, it is clear 
JOU, is it not, that the estate falls to those 
of the Seven. Heirs, who are now present ?" 

"If I am faithful to ray oath, such will 
be my disposition of the estate." 

"Faithful to jour oath?" echoed Godliki 

"Th t would be hi''hly immoral" i,\i 
Ira !1 k 



th h hi h 

h Id rs th t M 



th 



f th 



t 



d h 1 



k th 1 1 Id 00 d tl b k my 
w d m h les mj th d f 11 h 
THE H h h I t k t r 1 Va 

H d B t m J t m t ce i 

in which the breaking of that oath may be 
lighter crime, than strict obedience to it ?" 

Godlike started — Yorke half rose from his 
chair, 

"Reflect for a moment. Circumstances 
have arieen, which the testator could not 
have ever dreamed of, when he loaded me 
with this trust, under the seal of that awful 
oath. It was doubtless his wish that his 
estates, swelled by the accumulation of 
twenty-one years, should descend into the 
hands of his son, who having been reared in 
poverty and hardship, would know how to 
use. this wealth for the good of mankind, — 
or in the absence of his son, that it should 
be dispersed for the good of the race, by the 
hands of seven persons, selected from the 
descendants of the original Van Huyden, 
scattered throughout the Union. Snch 
doubtless his idea. But behold how 
■ent the result. The son is dead. Only 
two of the Seven are here. Shall I, adher- 
ing to the letter of the law, to the oath in 
its strictest sense, divide this great estate 
between you two ? Or, fearful of the awful 
evil which jou may work to the world, with 
this untold wealth, shall I — in order to 
avoid this evil, — refuse to divide the estate, 
and take upon myself the moral penalty of 
the broken oath ?" 

" That is a question which you must settle 
with your own conscience," said Godlike 
■lowly, as he fixed his gaze upon Uartin 
{fulmar's face. 



JjIMi 



Was he aware of the one weak point in 
the strong, bold mind of Dr. Martin Fulmer? 
Did he know of Dr. Martin Fulmer's fear 
and horror of — the unpardonable sin ? 

Martin did not reply, but leaned his head 
upon his hand, and seemed buried in 
thought. 

"In order to understand my position, 
reflect, — twenty-one years ago, the estate 
was but two millions ; behold it now !" Ha 
imlooked the portfolio, and drew forth two 
half sheets of foolscap, covered with writing 
in a delicate but legible hand! " There is 
a brief statement of the estate as it stands." 

Israel eagerly grasped one half sheet ; 
Godlike took the other. Martin Fulmer 
intensely watched their faces as they read. 

Rapidly Godliko's eagle eye, perused that 
index to the untold wealth of the Van Huy- 
den estate. 

"It would purchase the Presidency of tho 
United States !" he muttered with a heaving 
chest, — "enthroned upon that pedestal, a 
man might call kings hia menials, the world 
his plaything." 

" Ono hundred millions! Astor multiplied 
by Girard !" ejaculated Israel Yorke, — "with 
such a capital, one might buy Rothschild, 
id keep him too !" 

Glorious and eloquent half sheet of fools- 
cap ! Talk of Milton, Shakspeare, Homer, — 
your poetry is worth all theire combined 1 
What flight of theirs, in their loftiest moods, 
can match in sublimity, the simple and ma- 
jestic march of this swelling line, — 

" One hujidred millions of dollars!" 

"This is a dream," said Godliito, — and 

once his voice was tremulous. 

" Enough to set one raving !" cried Israel 
Yorke. 

'And yet, adhering to the strict letter of 
ray oath, — " the voice and look of Martin 
Fulmer was sad, — despairing, — " I am bound 
to divide this incredible wealth between you 

Say, between us three 1" cried a new 

ie.and.as Martin Fulmer raised his head, 

and the others started in their seats, the 

speaker came with a rapid stride from the 

curtained doorway to the table. 

was Randolph Royalton, the white slaTft. 
Folding hia arms upon the breast of his 
frock coat, — made of dark blue oiofli,— 



•Google 



TBB DAT OF TWENTY-ONE TEARS. 



271 



■which was buttoned to his throat, he stood 
beside the table, his face Uvidly pale, and 
Ilia dark hair floatirg wild and disheveled 
about his forehead. 

"You! — ft negro!" — and Godlike'3 lip 
curled in eardonic ecorn. 



rablin; 



«ith s, 



ued for long hours, Randolph turned to 
Martin Pulmer, and said : 

" I am the oldest child of John Augustine 
Rojalton, and his lawful heir. And I am 
here ! There is the proof that my father 
was married to Herodia, my mother, — " he 
placed a paper in the hands of Martin TuJ- 
mer, — " I am here in the name of my father, 
to claim my portion of the Van Hujden 

Israel was very reatless, — Godlike very 
gloomy and full of scorn, as Martin Fulmer 
attentively penised the document. 

"Tou have a copy of the Will, addressed 
to your father ?" askod the old man, raising 
his eyes to Randolph's colorless face. 

Randolph drew a parchment from the 
breast of his coat, — " There ia my father's 
copy, superscribed with his name." 

"I recognize you as the elder son of 
John Augustine Royalton," said Dr. Fulmer, 
very calmly, — " These proofs are all suffi- 
cient. Be seated, sir," 

Randolph uttered a wild cry, and pressed 
his forehead with both hands. 

It was a moment before he recovered his 
composure. " You said n^gro ! just now ! " 
he turned to Godlike, his blue eyes flashing 
with deadly hatred, "learti sir, that had 
yonder bit of paper failed to establish my 
right, that this at least eatablishea my descent 

Godlike repeated that great name, in a 
tone of mingled incredulity and contempt. 

"Ay, Ae was the father of Herodia, — I 
»m his grandson. There is my grandfather's 
handwriting," he placed the paper in the 
hands of Martin Pulmer, "Read it, sir, .for 
the information of this statesman. Let him 
know that the few dmps of negro blood which 
flow in my veins, are lost and drowned in 
the blood of a man whose name is history, — 
of 1" 

Martin Fulmer read The paper aloud, add- 
ing, "Tou perceive ho speaks the trnth. He 
ii thn grandson of ," 



"Pardon me, — I was hasty," said the 
statesnian, extending his hand. 

Randolph did not aeem to notice the ex- 
tended hand, but dropping into a. chair, said, 
quietly,—" There are three of us mw, I be- 
lieve." 

And he regarded the statesman with a 
look which was full of Iriiiraph-and scorn, 

Martin Fulmer looked into the faces of tha 
three, and then bent his head in deep 
thought, — deep and harrowing thought, ex- 
tending over every instant of twenty-one 
years. 

From the portfolio ho drew forth two 
Iialf sheets of paper, covered with writing in 
his own hand. One bore the signature of 
Gabriel Godlike, the other that of Israel 
Yorke. 

"These papers, embracing an absolute re- 
nunciation of all their claims upon the Van 
Huyden estate, they signed before the Court 
of Ten Millions, — signed, without knowing 
thpir contents. Shall I produce them ?" 

Ho hesitated.— "But no! no! I am not 
clear as to the right of any one to dispose of 

Martin Fulmer, before the bar of his own 
conscience, was fanatically just. He might 
use those papers, but before his own con- 
soianco he dared not. 

" I am decided," he exclaimed, despair 
impressed upon his face, — " I must fulfill my 
oath. Gentlemen, I recognize you as the 
three heirs of the Van Huyden estate, you 
having appeared at the appointed hour." 

The same electric throb of joy — -joy in- 
tense to madness, — ran through the bosomSj 
of the tiiree, but manifested itself in diifei^ 
etit wavs. The diminutive financier boundeqH 
from h la C dl ke uttered an oath ; 
Randolph m t d between his teeth, " Tho 
negro nd d th n one of the three." 

'' I w 11 p e ntly e to each of you a 
certifi ate o my o n hand, stating that 
you api ea d at th appointed hour, and 
pledging myself, within a week, to apportion 
this vast estate among you." 

Without taking time to notice the ex- 
pression of their faces, he continued, — 

" But firsl, we must open this," — ho 
pointed to the Iron chest, — " and this," — to 
the coffin, around which, as around the iron 
.choRt, tall wax candles were dimly burning 



wGoogle 



THE DAT OP TWENTr-ONE YEARS. 



"Whatever these may contain, they ci 
affect nor change my dociaion. But they 
mast be opened, — 30 the will directs." 

CHAPTEE IV. 



As ho rose from his seat and advanced 
toward the iron chest, the curlwn of the door- 
way was thrust aside, and the light shone 
upon a slender form, clad in black, and upon 
a pallid face, framed in masses of jet-black 

" Gaspar Manuel ! at last !" ejaculated 
Martin Fulmer. 

"Pardon mc for this intrusion," said Gas- 
p M I tone of quiet dignity, — " I 

1 1 h y ere this, but unexpected 

ts p t d me. It is of the last 

p t th t I hould 
w th t d 1 y 

Th t f the 

f as 1 d f ocl(- 



with you 

n, whose slendei 

it of black cloth, 

I b nst d ai d reaching to the knees, — 

wh f t ally pale, was in strong 

t t w th th bl ckness of his moustache 

d h d d f the hair, which fell ii 

w mas t ) s shoulders, — created i 

gi 1 1 m 1 d impression. 

■ft tl mp 1 e, Godlike, Yorke and 

Ba d ![ h t their feet. For the first 

t m th y m k d that the strangi 

h j,l t b ast golden cross, and carried 
h 1 ft h d casket of dark wood, — 

lit u in regard to the lands 

^C 1 f \ tl e mission of San Luis," 

d Giip M el, his voice, touched 
h f n(, yet singularly sweet 

d pi t ts intonation. — "Lands 

1 m d b rs If, on behalf of the Van 

H d t d also by the Order of 

Jesus. Many acres of these lands are rich 
in everything that can blessa climate soft as 
Italy, but there are one thousand barren acres 
which abound in fruit like this." 

He placed the casket upon the table, un- 
locked it, and displayed its contents. 
" Gold !" burst from every lip. 
" Those thousand acres contain gold suffi- 
cient to change the destinies of the world," 
said Qaspnr Manuel, calmly, as he fixed his 
dazzling eyes upon the face of Godlike. — 



" The contest for the possession of this un- 
told vi'calth lies between the Order of Jesus 
and the Van Iluyden estate," 

"Have not the Mexican Government ap- 
pointed a Commissioner to decide upon their 
respective claims ?" As he asked the ques- 
tion. Dr. Martin Fulmer, (who, as Ezekiel 
Bogart, had seen Gaspar Manuel dressed as 
a man of the world) gaaed in surprise upon 
that costume which indicated the Jesuit. 
There was suspicion as well as surprise in 
bis gaze. 

" That Commissioner is one of the rulers 
of the Jesuits, — an especial Legate of the 
Roman Pope," continued Martin, surveying 
Gaspar Manuel with a look of deepening 
suspicion. " His name is " 

"Never mind his name," interrupted Gas- 
par Manuel, — " Let it satisfy you that I am 
a Jesuit) perchance one of the rulers of that 
Order. And I am the Legate of whom you 
speak." 

"You!" echoed Martin Fulmer, and his 
ejaculation was repeated by the others. 

"I am that Commissioner," replied Qaa- 
par Manuel, "and my decision has beeu 
made. Allow me a few moments for reflec- 
tion, and I will make it known to you. 
While you converse with those gentlemen, 
I will warm myself at yonder fire, for the cli- 
mate is hard to boar, after the bland atmo- 

here of Havanna." 

With a wave of the hand and a slight in- 
ination of the head, he retired from the 
table and bent his steps toward the fire-place. 
Seating himself in an arm-chair, he now 
gazed into the flame with his flashing eyes, 
—over his shoulder, — surveyed the 
banquet-hall. Then taking tablets and pen- 
cil from a side-pocket, he seemed absorbed 
zes of a profound arithmetical cal- 
culation ; hut every now and then he raised 
his eyes, atid \ 'tl tl t d V gl took 

every detail f 1 b qu t h U 

Meanwhile, th gro pa d th table 
id not yet re d fro th np ea on, 

produced by h p 

A singula m — eh q th Y k 
A man of k I th k I h n hia 

in Washington City," remarked Godlike. 
A dignitary of the Catholic Church," , 
exclaimed Randolph. — " A man of no com" 



^eab.GoOl^lc 



THE DAT OF TWENTY-ONE YEARS. 



As for Martin Piilmer, glancing by turns 
at the box, filled with golden ore, and at the 
form of the Logato, who was seated quittly 
by the fire-place, he said, with a sigh, — 
"More gold, more wealth !" and thought of 
Carl Raphael, the son of Gulian Van Huy- 

" Let us open the iron chest," he said, and 
placed tha key in the lock, while Randolph, 
Godlike and Torke, gathered round, in mute 
suspense. 

But ere the key turned in the lock, a new 
interraption took place. The a^ed servant, 
Michael, entered, and placed a slip of paper, 
on which a single line was written, in the 
hands of Martin Fulmer. The old man read 
it at a glance, and at once his face glowed, his 
eyes shone with now light. 

"The person who wi-ote this, Michael, — 
where — where is he ?" he said, in a tremu- 

"In the reception- room," answered Mi- 

" Show hira here, — at once, — at once, — 
qcick, I say !" and he seized Michael by the i 
ami, and pointed to the door, his face dis- 
playing every sign of irrepressible agitation. 
Michael hurried from the room. 

" Let us all thank God, for He has not 
failed us !" cried' Marlin Fulmer, spreading 
forth his hands, as he walked wildly to and 
fco.— "The BOD of Gulian Van Iluydon is 
not dead !" 

A thunderbolt crushing through the ceil- 
ing, would not have created half the con- 
Bternation caused by these words. 

They dashed the hopes of Randolph, God- 
like and Yorke to the dust 

"Not dead !" they echoed, in a breath. 

"He is not dead. Ho is Uving, and in 
this house. In a moment he will be here, — 
here, to claim his father's estate." 

And in the wildness of his joy, Martin 
Fulmer hurried to and fro, now wringing his 
Lands, now spreading them forth in thank- 
fulness to heaven. 

"I knew," said the old man, standing 
erect, tha light shining full upon bis white 
hairs, ''I knew that Providence would not 
desert me !" 



The curtain moved again, and two per- 
sons came slowly into the room ; a man 
whoso wounded arm was carried in a sling 
and whose livid face was marked by recent 
wounds, — a boy, whose graceful form was 
enveloped in a closely fitting froclf-ooat, 
while his young face was shaded by locks of 
glossy hair. 

"Martin Fulmer! behold the lost child 
of Gulian Van Huyden!" cried Colonel 
Tarleton, urging the boy forward. 

At sight of Tarleton, Martin Fulmer felt 
bis whole being contract with loathing, but 
rushing forward, he seized the boy by the 
arms, and looked earnestly into his face,T-a 
face touching in its expression, with clear, 
deep eyes, that now seemed blue, now gray, 
and round outlines, and framed in locks of 
flowing hair, of the richest chestnut brown. 

"This, — this, is not Carl Raphael !" ejacu- 
lated Martin J'lilmer, turning fiercely upon 
Tarl«on,— 

A smile crossed the bloodless lips of 
Tarleton. 

" Not Carl Raphael, but still the son of 
Gulian. A word will explain all. On the 
last night of her life, Alice Van Huyden 
gave birth to two children r they were born 
within a half hour of each other. One was 
taken from her bed, and borne away by her 
husband. The other I bore to my home, 
educated as my own, and now he stands 
before you, the lawful heir of his father's 
estate. Look at his face, and, if you caufl 
say that he is not Gutian's son." j^| 

This revelation was listened to with t^B 
most intense interest by Randolph, Godlike, 
Yorke, — and Gaspar Manuel, attracted from 
the fire-place by the sound of voices, looked 
over their shouldere at the singular group, — 
the boy, with Tarleton on one hand, and 
Martin Fulmer on the other. 

Long and intently Martin Fulmer perused 
that youthful countenance, which, with 
downcast eyes, seemed to avoid his gaze. 

" Carl Raphael Van Huyden is lost," ex- 
claimed Martin Fulmer, "but the face, the 
look of Gulian Van Huyden lives again in 
this boy. Gentlemen, behold the son of 
Gulian Van Huyden, the heir to his estate P' 



jgic 



/ 



THE DAY OF TWENTY-ONE YEARS. 



He urged the shrinkiii 



tioy toward the [ grave seemed 
' his Hcbumes i 



^^Ml 



■ " I will not," cried the boy, raising hia 
head and surveying the group with flashing 
eyes, — " I will not submit to be made an 
accomplice in this imposture — " 

"Child !" said Tarleton, sternly. 

" Nay, you shall not force me to it. Hear 
me one and all," and he lore open his coat 
and vest, and laid bare his breast, " I am the 
child of Gulian Van Huyden, but not his 

It was a woman's bosom which the open 
vest bared to the lioht 

A dead stillness followed tins revelation. 

And the center of Ihe group stood the 
Iwautiful girl m her male att re her bosom 
heaving in Ihe 1 ^ht, while her ejes 
through the r teirs 

" I wijl not submit to be made the 
" plice of this man's schemes," she pointed 
to Tarieton, — " As the daughter of GuHan 
Van Huyden, I cannot inherit my father's 
eatate." 

At this point, Gaspar Manuel stepped for- 
ward, — " Yes you can, my child," he said, 
and drew the disguised girl to his breast, " it 
is your father himself who tells you so, 
daughter." And he kissed her on the fore- 
head, while his dark hair hid her face. 

Then as he held her in his arms, he raised 
his [ace, and with one hand, swept back tiie 
dark hair from his brow, — " Martin Fiilmer, 
don't you remember me ?" and then to 
Colonel Tarleton, — "and you, brother, you 

;tainly don't forget me 1" 

That scene cannot he painted in words. 
Gulian!" was all that Tarleton or 

larles Van Huyden could say, as he shrank 

ik appalled and blasted before his brother's 

Ah for Martin Fulmer, after one eager 
and intense look, he felt his knees bend be- 
neath him, and his head droop on his breast, 
as he uttered his soul in the words, — " It is 
Quiiaa come back to life again." 



.o have yielded up, to blast 
the very moment of their 



triumph. 

His own child dead,— the stain of Carl 
Raphael's blood upon his soul, — he felt like 
a man who stands amid the ruins of a falling 
house, when the last prop gives way. 

With a cry that was scarcely human, in 
its awful anguish, he turned and fled. Fled 
from the banquet-room, and through the 
adjoining chamber, into the darkness of the 
corridor. His mind, strained to its utmost 
tension by the perpetual escitcment of tho 
last twenty-four hours, gave way all at once, 
like a bow that, drawn to its full power, sud- 
denly snaps, even as a withered reed. All 
was dark around him as he rushed along the 
corridor, but that darkness was made lumi- 
nous by his soul. It was peopled with faces, 
that seemed to be encircled by lurid light. 
The worst agony that can befall a mortal 
man fell upon him. Nerves disordered, 
brain unstrung, his very thoughts became 
living things, and chased him through the 
darkness. The face of Evelyn Somera was 
before him, gazing upon him with fixed 
eyeballs. And his steps were suddenly 
checked, by an agonized countenance, which 
sinking in wlntery weaves, that seemed 
to roll about his very feet. He was touched 
the shoulder, — his dead daughter ran be- 
side him in her shroud, linking her arm in 
id bending forward her face, which 
looked up into his own, with lips that had 
blood in them, and eyes that had no life. 
And if the darkness was full of faces, the air 
full of voices; voices whispering, shout- 
ing, yelling, all through each other, and yet, 
very voice distinctly heard, — all the voices 
that he had heard in his lifetime were speak- 
to him now. Well might he have ex- 
claimed in the words of Cain, — "My pun- 
ishment is greater than I can bear," 

If he could have only rid himself of Prank, 

:io ran by his side, in her shroud ! But 

I, — there she was, — her arm in his, — her 

face bent forward looking up into his own, 

ith lips that had no blood, and eyes that 

had no life. 

He talked to those phantoms, — he bade 

Back from his brother's gaze, step by step, them back, — be rushed on, through the cor- 

Bbnuk Tarleton or Charles Van Huyden, his ridor, and ascended the dark staira with hoiv 

^aa Will chfuned to that face, which the j rid shrieks. And the face of Carl Raphael, 



CHAPTER VL 



,/Googlc 



THE DAT OF TWENTY-ONE YEARS. 



275 



atruggling itj tl 


e waves, wci^ 


before him at 


every step. 






He readied a 


t length the 


narrow [garret 


in which years 


ngone, Gulian 


Van Huydon 


bid Martin Fidnier, farewell. 


Here, as he 


heard the storm 


beat Hgains 


the window 


panes, he for a 


moment recovered his ahat- 



"I'm nervous," ho cried, "if I had been 
drinking, I would think I had the mania. 
Let me recover myself. Where in the deuce 
am I ?" 

A heavy step was heard on the stairway, 
and a form plunged into the room, bearing 
Tarleton against the wall. It was no phan- 
tom, but the form of a stalwart man. 

" Halloo ! Who are you ?" cried a hoarse 
voice, — it was the voice of Ninety-One, and 
as he spoke, shouts came up the narrow 
stairway from the passage below. " You 
Bet here to trap me, — apeak ?" 

And the hand of Ninety-One, clutched 
the throat of Tarleton with an iron gri 

" This way, — this way," cried a 
and a gleam of light shooting up the 
through the narrow doorway, fell upon the 
livid face of Tarleton. 

" 0, we have met at last ? Do you hi 
them shouts 7 Blossom follered by the 
poleese are in the house, and on my track, for 
the murder of young Somers. In a second 
they'll be here. Now I've got y< 
we'll settle that long account, — we will by 
Q—<[ !" 

"You are choking me, — A-h!" gasped 
Tarleton, as he waa dragged toward the 
dow. The shouts from below grew 
distinct, and once more the light flashed up 
the stairs. 

" Carl Raphael died by drownin' and that': 
very like chokin'," whispered Ninety-One, 
as he bent his face near to the struggling 
wretch. " I've no way of escape, — even old 
Fulmer can't save me. And so we'll settle 
that long aoeount." 

"You are choking me, — do not, — do 
not^-" 

" You know all the items, so there's no 
use o' dwellin' on 'em," the hoarse voice of 
Ninety-One was heard above the pelting of 
the storm, "hilt the murder of that 'ar boy 
makes the docket full. Here goes — " 

Dragging Tarleton to the window, he 



it;ucii the sash, with one hand, and then 
kicked against it with all his strength. It 
yielded with a crash, and the enow and elect 
nisfces through the aperture in a blast. 
" Spare me ! Mercy ! do not — " 
Ninety-One crept through the narrow 
aperture, out upon the roof, and dragged 
Tarleton after him. Then there were tivo 
forma standing erect for a moment, in the 
gloom, and then the blast bore away the 
sound of voices, and a howl that was heard, 
and long, through the night. 
This way ! We've caught the old fox," 
. a well known voice, and the red face 
of Blossom, adorned with carbuncles, ap- 
peared in the doorway, while the lantern 
which he held, filled the garret with light 
" This way," he sprang through the door- 
ly, and followed by half a dozen men 
thick coats, and with maces in their hands, 
ran toward the window, "he's out upon 
the roof." 

Ue held the lantern over his head, and 
looked without, while the snow and sleet 
beat in his face. Froin the garret-wiudow 
the root fell with a sudden slope, for the 
space of two yards, and there it ended. By 
the lantern light, he saw some rude tfoces 
of footsteps in the snow, and the print of a 
hand. A glance was sufficient. When he 
turned to confront his comrades, his red face 
was white as a sheet — 

" By G — d the old convic" has gone an' 
jumped from the roof, — four storys high — 



IN THE BANQUET-ROOM OHCB 

Mb AH WHILE in the banquet-i 



the i 



Legato of the Pope, with the form of his 
daughter, in her male attire, nestling on bis 
breast, raised his head, and surveved the 
faces of the spectators, who had not yet re- 
vered from their surprise. His face pale 
d worn, as with years of consuming 
thought, his eyes bright as with the fire of 
ul never at rest, held every gaze enchained 

Rise Martin Fulmer !" he extended hie 
hand to the kneeling man, "rise, and let me 
look upon the face of — an honest man." 
As though disturbed in the midst of a 



wGoogle 



27« 



THE DAY OF TWENTY-ONE YEARS. 



dream, Martin Fulmor rose, hii hcid 
his snow-white hair and protuljerant brow 
presenting a. strong contrast to the palhd 
face, dark hair and beard of the Legate 

" Look npon nie, Martin Fulm r nnd 
steadily. Do you recognize me 

"Gulian Van Hiiyden !" ejicuUtei the 
old man. 

The Legate surveyed Randolph Godlike 
Yorke, who formed a. group bthind the 
Doctor, while in the hackground the 1 
burned faintly around the iron chest 
coffin. Even as the Legate looked iro 
Randolph turned aside, and Itaning i^ainst 
frame of yonder window, pushed the 
aside, and looked forth upon the cold, dark 
night. Not 80 cold and dark as his 
bitter fate ! Well was it for him, that his 
face was turned from the light ! That face, 
terribly distorted, now revealed the hell 
which was raging in his breast. His soul 
Btiuned with crime, his last hope blotted 
out, whither should he turn? Grandson of 

it had been better for j'l 

had you never been born ! 

After his silent survey, the Legate spok 
"Another place and another hour, will 
be needed, to repeat the full details of. 
my life, since twenty-one years ago, I left 
this house, — to die," in an attitude of call 
dignity, and with a voice and look, that 
held every soul, the Legate spoke these 
words, — " I was rescued from the waves, by 
a bpat that chanced to be passing from the 
shore to a ship in the bay. Upon that ship, 
I again unclosed my eyes to lile, and watch 
ed through the cabin windows, the list 
glimpse of the American shore, growmg 
^t faint and fainter over the Haves Thus 
' ■/ called back to life, — my name m mv natne 
land, only known as the name of the Suicide, 
my estates in the hands of Martin Fulmer, 
left to the chances or the providence of 
twenty-one years, — I resolved to live. The 
ship (the captain and crew were foreigners,) 
bore ma to an Italian port. Isold the jewels 
which were about my person when I plunged 
into the river, and found myself in possession 
of a competence. Then, in search of peace, 
RDiioua to drown the past, and still every 
emotion of other days, by a life of self-denial, 
I went to Rome, I entered the Propi^nda, 
In the coone of time I became a priest, and 



then, well ! twenty-one years passed ir 

the service of the church have left me as I 
am. Your hand, brave Martin Pulmer ! 
Think not that your course has been un- 
krown to me! You have been watched, — 
J our every step marked, — your very thoughts 
recorded, — and now it is the Legato of the 
Pope, who takes you by the hand, and calls 
\ou by a title, which it is beyond thu power 
of Pope or King to create, — an honest man! 
Twenty times I have been near you in the 
course of twenty-one years, — once in Paris, 
nhen you were there on business of the 
estate, — once in Mexico, — once in China, — 
once on the Ocean, — once in Rome ! How 
my heart yearned to disclose myself to you! 
But I left you go your way, and now at the 
end of twenty-one years, we stand face to 
And thou, my child, — " he gazed 
tenderly into the face of the girl, whose 
eyes were upraised to meet his own, — " my 
beautiful! my own I Think not that the 
garment of the priest, chills the heart of the 

Father !" she whispered, putting her 
hands upon his shoulder, — " how my heart 
yearned to you, when I first met you, in the 
dark streets, — when friendless and homeless, 
flying bo the river, as my only friend!" 
fas a touching picture, — the priest, who 
for twenty-one years, had never permitted 

heart to throb with one pulse that would 
remind him of the word " Home," and the 

;hter, who, educated to serve the dark 
purposes of Tarleton, had never before felt 

heart bound at the sight of her FaOter'a 

Martin Fulmer's face grow sad, — 
"Do you regret my return?" s^d the 
Legate with a smile. 

thinking," said Martin, and his 
n his eyes as he spoke, — "I was 
thinking of — Komb !" 

Godlike stepped forward, with a smile on 

s somber visage, — " Rome !" he echoed, — 

)f course, now that the dead has returned 

to life, the heirs need not think of dividing 

the estate. And you as priest vf the Roman 

Church, as one of her lords, can think of but 

disposition of your immense property. 

tfill go to the church, — to Rome!" 

To Rome !" echoed Israel Yor^e. Ban-', 

dolph, with his face from the light, did not,' 



'' 



by Google 



THE DAT OF TWENTY-ONE TEARS. 



277 



seem to hear a word that was xpokon. And 
Martin Fiilnier, with his finger on his lips, 
awiiited in evident suspense, tho answer of 
the Legate. 

la Rome echoei the Legile and dia- 
enga^ing h mseif from tl e arm' of his 
daughter he "itood erect H s ent re 
changed His nostr Is quivered h s 
curled there was a glo« oi his pale cl eelt, 









a eje: 



He p 



which u' 



higher 
mightie. 



his hand over his forehead, and hmshing 
back his dark hair, stood for a moment, mo- 
tionleas as a statue, his eyes fixed, as though 
he saw passing before his soul, a panorama 
of the future. 

" Within that, brutal Roma which plants 
Its power upon human skulls, there 
higher, mightier Rome ! Within that order 
ind profanes the name of Jesus, 
ts frauds, there is a 
ightier Order of Jesus ! I see this 
■c church, — I see this mightier Order 
r onward, through the paths of the 
future, combating the false Rome, and 
trampling under foot the false Order of Jeans! 
Tes, in the future, I see armed for the last 
battle, those friends of humanity, who have 
sworn to use the Roman Church as tho in.. 
Btrument of Human Progress, or to drive 
forward the movement over her ruins." 
The effect of these words, coupled with 
I the look and the attitude of the Legate, was 
electric. They were followed by a dead 
stillness. The spectators gazed into each 
other's faces, but no one ventured to break 
; the silence. 

Tho silence was interrupted, however, by 

"Lor breas you, massa, de nigga hab ar- 
[ ribe !" It was Old Royal, who emerged 
I from the curtains, with a broad grin on his 
; black face, — " Tou know dis nigga war on 
I de ribber in a boat, fetchin ober from Jarsey 
shore, a brack gemman who didn' like to 
trabel by de ferry boat — yah — whah 1 Well 

He advanced a step, — passeil bis hand 
through his white wool, — surveyed his giant- 
like form clad in sleek broadcloth, — showed 
his white teeth, and oontinued, with an 
accent and a gesticulation that words cannot 
describe — 

" Well, as we come across, — lor-a-massy 



how do storm did storm, and do snow did 
snow 1 As we come across, dis nigga cotched 
by dc liar oh his head, a young white gemman, 
who war a-drownin'. An' dis same young 
white gemman, Massa Eulnier, — " he pointed 
over hia shoulder, " am out dar !" 

"What mean you, Royal ?" cried Martin 
Fulmer, and ho shook with tho conflict of 
hope and suspense, — " whora did you rea- 

" Dar'a de white puswn," said Old Royal. 

Leaning on the arm of Mary Berman, 
whose face was rosy with joy, whose bonnet 
had fallen on her neck, while her hair, 
glittering with snow-drops, strayed over her 
shoulders, — leaning on the arm of his wife, 
Nameless, or Carl Raphael, came through 
tho doorway, and advanced toward the 
group. 

He was clad in black, which threw his 
pale face, shaded by brown hair, boldly into 
view. His eyes were clear and brilliant; 
his lip firm. As he advanced, every eye re- 
marked the resemblance between him and 
the Legate ; and also between him, and the 
disguised girl, who stood by the Legate's 

Rescued from death by the hands of this 
good friend, — " his voice was clear and bold, 
I returned home, and found the note which 
ou, — " he looked at Martin Fulmer, "caused 
) be left there. And in obedience to the 
request contained in that note, I am here." 

At first com[>letely thunderstruck, the 
venerable man had not power to frame a 
word. 

"Fatality!" he cried at last, "but a blessed 
fatality ! 1 knew that Providence would not 
desert us ! Come to my heart, my child ! 
— " trembling with emotion, he took 
Nameless by the hand, " Carl, behold your 
father, who, after a lapse of twenty-one years, 
has appeared among us, like one risen from 
grave ! Behold your sister, born like 
in your mother's death-agony, — sepa- 
rated fron^ you for twenty-one years, — she 
rejoins you, in presence of your fa- 
ther !" 

It was now the turn of Nameless to stand 
ipell-bound and thunderstruck. He stood 
ike one in a dream, until the voices of tho 
Legate and the young girl broke on his ear, 
IS so like hia own. 



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278 



THE DAT OF TWENTY-ONE YEARS. 



alx>ut the neck of 
years arc gone, and 



" My son !' 

" Brother !' 

He was gathered to the Legite'a breast, 
who kissed him on the brow, and surveying 
every line of hia face, felt his bosom swell 
with pride as he called hii 
Then his sister's arms were upon hia neck, 
and Nameless, as be saw her face, so touch- 
ing, in its quiet loveliness, felt his heart 
swell with a rapture, never felt before, aa 
found himself encircled in that atmosphi 
which is moat like heaven, — the atmosphi 
of a aister'a love. 

"Listen to me, my son," said the Legate, 
as he took Nameless by the hand, and his 
eyes lit up with a new fire, while in abrupt 
And broken sentences, he poured forth the 
Btory of his life. His tone was impassioned, 
hia words electric. Carl Eaphael listened, 
while the emotions of his soul, were written 
in his changing features. 

"And now, my son," concluded the Le- 
gate, as he put his art 
Nameless, " twenty-one years arc j 
I appear again. The estate, from 
lions, has swelled into one hundred 
Tou will inherit it, and you and I, 
good man, will join together, in applying the 
awful power embodied in this wealth, to t 
best intoroats of the human race." 

To the aurpriae of the Legate Hameh 
nnwound his arm f om li s ect and tejped 
back from him H a fice auddenly becami 
cold and rig d ns ato e E & ng n every 
inch of his stiture he s r eyed the 
scene at a rap d glance 

On his right h s fa her and s ster Near 
him the venenble Id n an w th Mary by 
his side. Some *bat apart stood tl e somber 
Godlike, and the weazel faced Yorke 
the background, the table, with the candles 
burning dimly round over cheat and coffin. 
Around him that hall, thick on every panel 
with the memories of the past; and far in 
the shadows, the white image of the mas- 
ter. 

And by yonder window, hia form half 
concealed in the curtains, Randolph looks 
out upon the black night 

Dilating with an emotion which was in- 
comprehensible to the spectators. Nameless 

" No, father, I will not touch one dollar of 



this wealth. It is accursed. Look at the 
passion it baa evoked; look at the calamities 
which it has wrought 1 It is accursed, — 
thrice accursed. It was this wealth which 
impelled your own brother to attenipt to 
corrupt my mother. It waa this wealth 
which made that brother follow mo with 
remorseless hatred, and to-night, for the sake 
of this, he planned my death. It was thia 
wealth which drove you from your native 
land, there to bury all feeling in a church, 
which makes marriage a sacrament, and, at 
the same time, prevents her priests from ever 
enjoying that sacrament, from ever being 
hailed by the all-holy names of 'husband !' 
' father !' There you buried twenty-one 
years of your life, leaving your children to 
breast the storm of life alone. It was this 
wealth which cast ma, in childhood, into 
the streets, without friend or home, — and do 
you know the life I've lived ? While you 
were saying mass at Rome, I was committing 
murder, father, — I was being sentenced to 
death, — I was buried alive in your family 
vault, — I was passing two years in a mad- 
man's cell ! Look at the work of your 
wealth ! Let these gentlemen (who, I doubt 
not, have been heirs of this estate in anti- 
cipation,) let them speak, and tell what pas- 
, like fiends evoked from nethermost 
hell, this wealth has summoned into life 1 
lak, Martin Fulmer, you, who for twenty- 
years, have denied yourself the blessing 
of wife, home, children ; while in sleepless 
inguish you watched over this wealth, — 
ipeak ! What evil thought is there in earth 
>r hell which it has not called into deeds ? 
S'o, — father, — lifting this hand to heaven, I 
iwear by that mother, whom you left to 
.vrithe alone upon her dying bod, that I will 
lot touch one dollar of the Von Huyden 

The Legato, that is to say, Gnlian Van 
Huyden, was crushed by these words ; they 
fell upon him like a sentence of death. 

"My son! my son!" he gasped, "spare 

" ' Son ' and ' father,' are words easily spo- 
en," continued Nameless. " Have you been 
father to me ? It would be very striking, 
id altogether like the fifth act of a melo- I 
drama, no doubt, for ma to overtook your [ 
twenty-one years of silence, and with love 



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THE DAT OF TWENTY-ONE TEARS. 



and tears oensect to be your heir. But you 
lutTe not been my father. My father, — 
tho father of my soul, — Corneiius Bertitan, 
iim a corpse to-Dight. I forgive you, father, 
but I ea.anot/oyget, for I am cot tlie Savior ; 
I am simply a man — " 

" Have you no mercy ?" faltered the Le- 
gate, who stood in the presecoe of his son 
like a criminal before his judge. "Do you 
jiot know your words are killing mo ?" 

But Carl Eaphael, as though all that was 
dark in bis owu life, all that was dark in his 
laother's death-hour, held possession of his 
aoul, would not give bis father one chance of 
justiScation. 

" A man, father, ivbo has known so much 
suffering, that he now only desires to forget 
the teal world, in the ideal world created by 
his own pencil ; who oaly desires to 
bis back upon wealth and all its hatreds, end 
win his bread humbly, and away from the 
world, by the toil of his hand. Mary ! — thou 
who wast true to me, when I slept in tbi 
coffin, — thou who wast true to me when I wa 
the tenant of a madman's cell, — Mary 

While the spectators stood like statues,— 
all, save Eandolph, who, with his face from 
the light, took no notice of the scene, — he 
took Mary by the hand, and moved toward 
the door. 

With one voice, his father, his sister, Mar- 
tin Fulmer, called him back, 

" Carl ! Carl ! you muat not go !" 

" My son ! my son !" 

"Brother!" 

He lingered on the threshold, holding his 
beautiful wife by the hand. 

"Father I sister! brave Martin Fulmer! 
come and see me in my poor man's home, 
and I will blesa you from my heart for your 
presence. Come ! come, — but not to tempt 
ma with the offer of wealth ; that word 
■poken, and we are strangers forever. For my 
oath is sworn, by the name of my mother, 
never to touch one dollarof the Van Huydon 
efltate, and that oath is written up yonder 1" 
With these words, Carl Eaphael, son of 
Gulian Van Huyden, and heir of One Hun- 
dred Million Dollars, took Mary by the hand, 
BOd passed from the banquet-hall, and from 
the house in which, twenty-one years before, 
tiia mother died. 



EPILOGUE. 

N, BT THE BIYBB SHOBB, IS 

, ON THE rSAIBIB. 

Mr task is almost done. This work was 
commenced in January, 1848, — it is now 
June, 1853. Four years that have been of 
awful moment to the great world, and that, 
to many of you my readers, have brought 
change, affliction — have stripped you of 
those whose life was a part of yoar life, and 
made your pathway rich only in graves. 
Four years ! As I am about to lay aside the 
pen, and shut the pages of this book, those 
four years start up before me, in living 
shape ; they wear familiar faces ; they speak 
with voices that never shall be heard oa 



n falls, let us takeaglu 



18 



Before the curta 
at th h t rs 

H Eylt Hdi td unde 

his b th r" h d b t t d to Hill 
Eoj 1 wh h d k d g mbl i and 
talk d 1 1 a k dly b II t 

fron thptif t nt adul 

reheved him ol the woes of this hfe. 

Eandolph Eoyalton was never seen m 
New York, after the 25th of December, 
18i4. It is supposed that, aided by Martin 
Fulmer, he went abroad, accompanied by 
s sister, tlie beautiful Esther. 
In January, 1845, Bernard Lynn, com- 
pletely broken down in health and appear- ' 

returned, with his daughter, to Europe. 
He died soon afterward in Florence. Elea- 
it has been rumored, committed the 
moral suicide of burying her life in a con- 
it. But let us hope, that Eleanor, as Veil 
Esther, will once more np^ar in artive 
life. 

Israel Yorke still flourishes ; the devil is 
lod to his children. Godlike, we believe, 
yet upon the stage. And the apostolic 
Ishmael Ghoul, still conducts the Daily 
Blaze, waxing fat and strong, in total deprave 
ity. As for Sleevegammou, his competitor 
for public favor, he still see-sawB on the tight 
rope, with Conservatism on one side, and 
Progress on the other. Blossom, the policS- 
lias retired from active life, and now 
a great deal of nothing, for three dol- 
lars a day, in the Cuatom-House. Dr. Bo^ 



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THE DAT OF TWENTY-ONE TEARS. 



gin etill thrives ; he lately published a toot 
of 345 pages, as big as his own head almost, 
against " Sociaii^ni." We have not been in- 
formed whether any monument of marble, 
with an obelisk and an epitaph, has been 
erected in memory of the martyred " Blood- 
hound." 

Before ive close our task, we will gaze 
upon four scenes ; one of which took place 
on the ocean ; another, by the shore of Hud- 
son river; a third, in the Vatican, at Rome ; 
the fourth and last, upon the boundless 

, It was ia JanuaVy, 1845. , 

One winter night, when the wind was bit- 
ter cold in New Tork, and the snow lay 
white upon the hills of the northern land, 
there was a bravo ship resting motionless 
npon the ocean, not under a wintery sky, but 
under a summer sky, and in an atmosphere 
soft and bland as June. On her way from 
New Tork to the West Indies, she had been 
becalmed. She lay under the starlit sky, 
with her image mirrored in every det^i, 
npon the motionless sea. All at once another 
light than the pale beamsof the stars, flashed 
over the smooth ezparffie, and a pyramid of 
flame rose grandly into the sky. The ship 
was on Are ; in less than two hours the flame 
died away, and in place of the brave ship, 
there was a blackened wreck upon the 
maters. All that escaped from the wreck 
were six souls ■ the captain three of the 
w d t p rs "Up hastily 

t t d f th b t tj pply of 

b ad d w t beh Id th ro as th y float 
a] po th t kl F three 

d ys, w th t b th f t f th( 
moo h p thyfltd d bum- 

m ht f th w k 1 the 

e g f th th d d y th h d the 

last I t f b ad d p^as d f m I p to lip 
the lost can of water. It was on the evening 
of the fourth day, that the captain, a brave 
old seaman, driven mad by the burning sun 
and intolerable (hirst, leaped overboard, and 
died, without a single effort on the part of 
his companions to save him. Hia example 
was followed by a sailor, an old tar, who had 
followed him over half the globe. T 
.there remained upon the raft four persons ; 
.two passengers and two sailors. 



It was the evening of the fifth day, — five 
days under the burning sun, — two days and 
nights without water! 

The sun was setting. Like a globe of red 
hot metal, he hung on the verge of the hori- 
zon, shooting his fiery rays through a thin 
purple haze. 

The wreck had gone down, and the raft 
was alone upon the motionless ocean. 

The sailors were seated near each other, 
on the side of the raft most remote from the 
sun, — they were dressed in a coarse shirt 
and trowaers, — and with their hands resting 
on their knees, and their faces upon their 
hands, they seemed to have surrendered 
themselves to their fate, — that is, to de- 
spair and death, by starvation. 

The passengers were on the other side of 
the raft; one of them was a man of slender 
form, dressed In dark broadcloth ; his bead 
was buried in his hands, and the setting sun 
shone on his hair, which, sleek and brown 
lay behind his ears. Beside him, in a reclin- 
ing posture, was the other passenger, a wo- 
man ; a woman who had escaped from the 
burning vessel in her night-clothea, and who 
now, with the cloak of the man spread beneath 
her, turns her dark eyes hopelessly to the 
setting sun. A few days ago, with her proud 
bosom, and rounded limbs, and dark eyea 
flashing from that face, whose clear, brown 
complexion indicated her Spanish descent, 
she wag very beautiful. Look at her now. 
Livid circles beneath each eye, lips parched, 
cheeks hollow, — hecbosom is bare, — shnmk- 
en from its once voluptuous outline, it trem- 
bles with a faint pulsatior 
made terrible havoc of j 
Godiva! 

The man by her side ri 
his hands, — in that sallow face, lack-luster 
eyes, and hollowed cheeks, can you recog- 
nize the smooth, fair vis^e of Herman 
Barnhurst ? Alas ! Herman, your prospect of 
a West Indian paradise, with Godiva for the 
queen of yout houris, is rather dim just now. 

And the sky was above them, the track- 
lees sea all around, the last rays of the red 
sun in their faces ; and not a sail in sightj 
Scan the horizon, Herman, and in vain. 

" ! it is horrible to die thus," exclaimed 
Godiva, in a voice so faint aa to be scarcely 
audible. 



Five days have 
ur beauty, proud 



iS his head from 



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THE DAY OF TWENTY-ONE TEARS. 



281 



But Herman made no reply. 

And as the sailors raised their eyes, — wild 
and fiery from thirst and hunger, — the sun 
went down, and night came at once upon 
the scene. 

" How beautiful they are, — the stai's up 
yonder, Herman !" 

Still Herman did not reply. 

Godiva, resting one arm upon his knee, fell 
into a brief slumber, which was broken by 
the most incongruous dreams. At length 
her dreams resolved themselves into a view 
of Niagara Falls, that world of wateis, sing- 
ing its awful hymn as it plunges into the 
abyss. She saw the cool water, her face was 
bathed in the spray, and, — she awoke de- 
voured by maddening thirst. 

Herman had moved from her side ; ho 
was on the opposite side of the raft, talking 
with the sailors in low tones. And the 
Bailors look I th ' h Id s \ 'th th i 
fiery eyes, th j d w th H m 

Again sh f 11 t d — 1 as th 
her father th t m d E h &T~,t 

love, by h d H ppy d — t 

girlhood ! 

She awok tl t t — H m 
still with th 1 CO 1 w 



And th th 


h rt 


ht 


t th 


wore on. It as 






u 


darl,-, when G d 


asd 


m 


— d 


of the night h 


t 


P 


S 1 


joined in mrr 


t th 


b 


I 


There was th f 


1 I 


1 


— th 


haired fall —th 


1 


m 


— h 


gate hush d A 


d tl 


h I 


d h 


again ove th tl 


h Id 


h 


t -^ 


his loathed mb 


I 


th 


tngg 






d b ght po 



the waters — d 
burning chkO h tdHm h 
right hand p d — thkf hht 
grasped glittering m the sun. 

" The lot has fallen on me !" he cried, 

"Herman!" she shrieked — and spread 
forth her hands. Too late ! The knife was 
buried in her bosom. " Woman you must 
die to save our lives !" 

Godiva never saw anything in this world, 
after that blow, which was followed by a 
stream of blood. 

"Come! Let ua drink!" shouted Her- 



man to the sailors, his eyes rolling all wild 

Only one of the sailors cama and joined 
him, in that loathsome draught In tha 
sunken features of the poor wretch, you but 
faintly recognize — Arthur Conroy. 

The third sailor, rose trembling to his feet, 
— his cheeks hollowed and his eyes sunken 
like the others. He folded his arms, and 
surveyed the three, — the body of Godiva, 
with Herman and Conroy bending over her. 

And then the third sailor, with his great 
eyes flashing in their sockets, burst into a 
maniac laugh, and cried, — "A sail! A 

The third sailor was Arthur Dermoyne. 

Loathsome as was the draught which they 
took, it assuaged their thirsty and for a tj'ma 
stilled the madness in their veins. It was, 
therefore, with a vision somewhat clear, that 
Herman and Conroy looked up, and beheld 

whita sail breaking tha monotony of the 

They turned from the body of tha dead 
woman with loathing. * * • Tha 

il grew nearer, nearer I A signal ! " They 

e lowering a boat," cried Herman, "we 
hall be saved !" 

" This is the very time of all others that 
I wished to see," said Dermoyn^in that 
1 usky and unnatural voice,— r"^nr hands 

e stained with the blood of your paramour, 
— your heart beats with joy at the sight of 

sail, — now go !" And he pushed Herman 
from the raft, and struck him on the hands, 
with the hilt of the knife, as the miserable 
man clutched the timbers. 

" Mercy !" cried Herman, again QlutchiDg 
the raft, 

^ain Dermoyne struck his hands viiik 
the hilt of the knife. 

" Go ! Alice waits for you !" 

When the boat from the ship camo up, 

e crew found two men stretched insenwMe 
upon the raft, beside the body of a dead 
an. As for Herman, he had sunk from 

It was June, in the year 1848 — 

The flush of the summer evening, lay 

broad and warm upon the river, when an 
[nan cama from the cottaga door, and 

passing through the garden gata, bent hii 



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THE DAY OF TWENTY -ONE YEABS. 



BtCpa toward the oak, which, standing by the 
shore, caught upon its rugged trunk and 
wide-hranchiag limbs, the golden rajs of the 
Betting sun. 

He stood there, with uncovered brow, the 
breeze tossing his snow-white hairs, and the 
evening fiush warming over his venerable 
face. By his side, grasping hia band, was a 
boy of some three yeara, with a glad, happj 
face, and sunny bair. 

Before the old man and chiid spread the 
river, warm with golden light, and white 
with sails. Yonder the palisades rose up 
into the evening sUy ; and behind them, 
was the cottage, leaning against the cliff, 
with boughs above its steep roof, vines about 
its pointed windows, and before ite door a 
gsrden, from whose beds of flowers a cool 
fbunttun sent up its drops of spray, into the 
evening air. The cottage of Cornelius Bor- 
inan, just as it was in other days. 

Presently the fathsr and the mother of 
the child came from the garden gate, and 
approached the oak, A man of twenty- 
yeavs, with bead placed firmly on his ahoul- 
dera, and a face whose clear gray eyes, and 
forehead shaded by brown hair, indicate the 
artist, the man of genius, — a woman who 
may be seventeen, who may be twenty, but 
whose rounded form and pure vri/di/ face, 
link together the freshness of the maiden, 
the ripe maturity of the woman. 

Beside the young wife, walks a young 
woman, whose form is not so full and rounded 
in its beauty, but whose pale face, tinted 
with bloom on the lips and cheek, is lighted 
by eyes that gleam with a sad, spiritual 
light. Altogether, a face that touches you 
with its melancholy beauty, and compares 
with the face of the wife, as a calm starlit 
night, with a rosy summer morn. 

It is Carl Raphael, his wife, Mary, and his 
gister, now called Alice, who come to join 
old Martin Fulroer on the river bank. De- 
clining to touch one dollar of the Van 
Huyden estate, aud determined to earn his 
bread by the toil of his band, Carl still had 
fortune thrust upon him, — for Mary was the 
only heir of the merobant prince, Evelyn 
Somen. 

"Doctor, I have a letter from father, who 
Is now in Borne," siud Carl, as he stood by 
the old tnim'seide,— 4nd he placed the letter 



from his father, the Legate, in Martin Pul- 

Martin seized the letter, and reading it 
eagerly, bis eye brightening up with the light 
of the olden time — 

" Ah, Carl, he will soon return, he will at 
last relieve me of the care of the Van Huy- 
den estate ! See how hopefully he speaks 
of the cause of humanity in Europe, — in 
February, the people of France cast off their 
chains, — now Italy is awake, and men with 
the soul of Ricnzi and the sword of Wash- 
ington, direct her destinies, — the Pope, soon 
to be stripped of his temporal power, will be 
uo longer the tool of brutal tyrants, the pri- 
soner of atheist cardinals, but simply the 
Head of a regenerated people, simply the 
first Priest of a redeemed church. Glorious 
news, Carl ; glorious news for us, in this free 
land ; for say what we mil, Rome is a heart 
which never throbs, but that its pulsations 
are felt throughout the world," 

" How can Rome directly affect ns, Doc- 

" If the absolutist party in that church, — 
the party who regard Christ but as their 
stepping-stone to unrestrained and brutal 
power, — obtain the mastery, then, Carl, the 
last battle between that party and humanity, 
will be fought not in Europe, but in this 
New World. Is there a hill in this land, but 
is trod by a soldier of Rome ? But if the 
party of Progress in that church, — the party 
who believe in Christ, and hold the Gospels 
as the inspired test-book of Democratic 
truth, — obtain the ascendency, then, instead 
having to battle with the Catholic Church, 
this New World, the friends of humanity 
will find in it, their strongest ally. Good 
1 ! The Pope, the Washington of 
Italy !" 

To which Carl, — happy in that littie world 
of his own, wbeto he lived with his wife 
id child, afar from tho great world, — said 
nply :— 
"Martin, let us wait and see." 



Some months after the c 
recorded, a very brief scene, but full of in- 
terest took place in Borne. 

Let us pass for a little while fn>Ri the 
Empire City to the Eternal City. 

In one of the chambers of the Vatioao, 



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THE DAT OF TWENTY-OSE YEARS, 



late at nighty a lamp wa9 faintly burning, 
its rays struggling among the thick shadows 
which hung about the lofty walls. Through 
an open window came a dim, ominous mur- 
mur, — the voice of the arisen people of 

A man of some fifty years, whos& black 
hair was plentifully sprinkled with gray, 
paced up and down the miirble fioor, pausing 
every now and then before a door, in the 
center of the ohaiuber, to which he directed 
his earnest gaze. Behind that door was tht 
majesty of the Boman Church, 'the repre 
Bentative of God on earth' — the Pope of 

And the solitary watcher, dressed 
plain garb of a simple ecclesiastic, » 
Legate who had done the bidding of the 
Pontiff over half the globe, — the Legate 
Qulian Van Kuyden. 

" Will ho turn his back upon the people, and 
east himself into the hands of the tyrants ^ 
Will he, after his hand has grasped the 
plow of Human Progress, falter and turn 
back, and give the power of the church into 
the hands of the Iscariots of the human 
race? Can there be any truth in the rumor ?" 

And again he paused before the door, be- 
hind which was the chamber which held the 
sovereign Pontiff. 

That door opened, — the Pope appeared. 
Clad not in the goi'geous costume which he 
wears, when high upon his throne, he is 
carried by his guards, through thousands and 
tens of thousands of his kneeling worship- 
ers ; but clad in a loose robe or gown of 
dark silk, which, thrown open in front, dis- 
closes his bared neck and disordered attire. 
For with his mild countenance, — a counte- 
Esnco marked by irresolution, — displaying 
every sign of perturbation, this " representa- 
tive of God on earth," wears very much the 
air of one who is about to fly from a falling 
house. 

" There can be no truth in this rumor, 
which I hear," and the Legate steps forward 
almost fiercely, addressing the Pope without 
one word of "majesty," or "holiness," — 
"this rumor of flight?" 

It is in a soft and tremulous voice, (in 
Italian of course,) the Pope replies, — 

" If I stay, jMison threatens me from 
tlie dagger from behw." 



And then with a gesture, supplicating 
silence and secrecy on the part of the Legate, 
the Pope retires and closes the door. 

" Significant wiirds ! Poison threatena 
him from above, — from the cardinals, — the 
dagger from below, — from the people. The 
danger from the cardinals is not imaginary — 
there was once a Pope named Ganganalli, 
who suppressed the Jesuit^ and in less than 
three months died horribly of poison. But 
the people, Pius ? 0, Pope without nerve, 
without faith in God, without hope in man, 
know you not that were vou to fulfill your 
apostolate of L berty the vorf women and 
children of It me would iti your defense, 
build around you a rampart of their dead 
bodiea 

lie wallted to the window up to which 
fr)ra the sleei-leos city came the voeea of 

Go I help the Boman people ' he ex 

claimed God C0Df<und the schemes of 

the tyrants, who now plot the murder of th« 

Roman people ! At last, after five hundred 

ars of wrong, the Nightmare of Priesthood 

lifted from the breast of Italy. Italy has 

heard at last, the voice of God, calling upon 

arise — to cast these priestly idlers 

from their thrones — to assert the Democracy 

of the Gospel in face of tyrants of all shapes, 

■ther dressed in military gear, in solemn 

black, or in Borgian scarlet. Italy has 

And turning from the window, he paced 
the fioor again, — 

My work is done in Rome. The Pope 
and the church in the hands of crowned 
litred. miscreants, who having crushed 
the last spark of liberty in the Old World, 
will not be long ere they open their trenches 
before her last altar in the New World ! 
Away to the New World then ; if the battle 
come, let us, let the friends of human- 
iy, strike the fltst blow !" 

Away from the eternal city, — to the New 
World, — to the boundless horizon and ocean- 
like expanse of the prairies. The sun ia 
setting over one of those vast prairies, nhidi 
stretch between the Mississippi and the Bockj 
MounUuns. The monotony of that vast 
expanse, covered with graas that rolls and 
I swells, like the wave of old ocean, is broken 



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281 



THE DAT OF TWENTY-OKE TEARS. 



by a gentle kiioO, crowned by a single giant 
oak. The setting sua flings the shadow of 
that solitary tree, Uaok and long, over the 
prairie. Far, far in the weat, a white peak 
rises like an altar from the horizon, into the 
»ky — it is a peak of the Bocky Mountdus. 
And gazing to the ea9t, you behold nothing 
save the prairie and the sky, — yes ! a herd 
of buffalo are grazing yonder, and a long 
caravan of wagons, drawn by tnules, and 
flanked by armed men who ride or go afoot, 



rinds like an imm 


nae serpent, fat over the 


Three hundred e 


-nigrants, mechanics, their 


rives and little o 


nes, who have left the 



savage civilization of the Atlantic cities, for 
a free home beyond the Bocky Mountains — 
Buch is the band which now niovea on in the 
light of the fading day. 

The leader of the band, a man In the 
prime of young manhood, dressed in the 
garb of a hunter, with a rifle on his shoulder, 
Stands beneath the solitary oak, gazing upon 
the caravan as it comes on. His face bears 
traces of much thought, — perchance of many 
a dark hour, — but now his eyes shine clear 



and strong, with the enthusiasm wliich 
springs from deep convictions : 

" Thus far toward freedom ! Here they 
come, — three hundred serfs of the Atlantic 
cities, rescued from poverty, from wages- 
slavery, from the warof competition, from the 
grip of the landlord ! Thus far toward a 
soil which they can call their own ;, thus far 
toward a free home. And thou, 1 Christ, 
who didst live and die, so that all men 
might be brothers, bless us, and be with us, 
and march by our side, in this our exodus," 

The speaker was the Socialist, — Arthur 
Derm oy no. 

And let us all, as we survey the masses 
of the human race, attempting their exodus 
from thraldom of all kinds, — of the body, — 
of the soul, — from the tyranny which crushes 
man by the iron hand of brute force, ox 
slowly kills him by the lawful operation of 
capita!, labor-saving machinery, or monied 
enterprise, — let us, too, send up our prayer, 
— " ! Taoo of Nazareth, go with the Peo- 
ple in this their exodus, dwell with them in 
their tents, beacon with light, theit hard way 
to the Promised Land 1" 



JUi< *; o iSl6 



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H. JUL. RULISON, Proprietor, 

No. zrs WESTERN BOW, Cincinnati, Ohio. 



Is now offering Books to the trade at lower prices than similar Works can be 
offered in the United iStates. The Woi'ks published by this House are of ihe 
highest standard of cheap literature ; and are eag'erly sought for throughout 
the United States ; which enables the publisber to make extensive exchanges 
with all the principal Publishing Houses in the Union. In consequence 
thereof the stock comprises a great variety of miscellaneous Works in the 
various departments of Liferature, which, by means of this exchange, can be 
Bold at the lowest Eastern Prices. Such arrangements have been made with 
the Eastern Houses, that ail the New Publications are received here as soon 
as they are issued from the press. 

TO PEDDLERS. 



Tona attention is particularly invited to an examination of one portion of the 
Btock, which is published and purchased expressly to furnish all orders you may be 
pleased to send in. Special pmns is taken to publish, and feoep on hand, works 
adapted to your trade. We ask jou, at least, to favor us with a call before purchasing 
elsewhere. 

To all who are in any manner connected with the trade, either purchasing for 
your own Family Library, or to sell in any way, it is really my aim to offer such 
icducemonfa as to make it decidedly to your interest to send in your orders to this 
House. It is the intention to do a business which will prove mutually beneficial 
to patrons as well as myself; and, to accomplish which, I have adopted the 
motto—" SMALL PROFITS AND QUICK RETUilNS." This alone will enable 
the determination to be carried out. 



One Hundred Active men Wantsd as Agents. 

To young men of enterprise and tact, with a small Cash Capital, there is an 
opportunity offered, where there can be cleared from $300 to $1,500 per year over 
. and above expenses. From $25 to $50 is all that Is strictly necessary for an outfit. 
There are men now in the field who have been selling for the last two years, who 
are clearing over $100 per month, over and above all expenses ; and yet there is 
room for others to do full as well. 

Agents can hare a chance to see the whole United States, and make money at the 
B&me time. This is such an opportunity as is seldom offered. 

H, n, RULISON. 



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N. B.— Any of the ftiowing BOOKS will be sent to any part of the United 
States, by Mail, on fhe receipt of the price of the Book, by Mail, post paid ; 
or. Five /of any Twenty-Five Cent Books, on receipt of One Dollar in current 
funds or Postage Stamps. 



CATALOGUE OF BOOKS 

PUBLISHED AT TUB 

QUEEN CITY PUBLISHING HOUSE: 

Br 

H. M. RVLISOnr, Jio. 9r§ Westera Row. 

Female Volunteer ; or, the Wonderful Adventures of Misa ELIZA ALLEN, » young 
Lftdy of Eaetport, Maine JO 20 

A Thrilling NarratlTe of the Captivity and Bo&erings of Mis. Horn and 

Mri. Harris, by the Camanche liiilians, es relnted by herself IS 

The Awfnl Doom of the TrEutor; or, the terrible Fate of the Deluded and Guilty; 

relating to tlie Cuba Expedition : by Wm. Bland 15 

A Thrilling narrative of the Life, Adventures and Terrible Crimes of 

James Bagwell ; from his onn confession 15 

The 'Wonderful Adventures and Horrible DisclOBiircB of a IiOuisTllle 

Policeman; written by liimself 15 

Misa Jane Clark; the Buried Alive: or, the Confession of a Suicide 15 

Mary Bean ; or, the Myaterioua Murder. 15 

A Thrilling and Affecting Narrative of JuUa Rogers, the Maniac 15 

Adalaeka; or the Srrange and Mysterious Family of the Cave of Genreva : by 

George W.L. Bickley, M. D 25 

A Thrilling Karratlve of the Lives of Sarah Sharp and Charles Edwards ; 

the Victims of Crime S5 

Mrs. Bradley's Housekeeper's Guide. A new, plain and econoroicai Cook Book, 

arranged on a modern and scientific basis. In paper binding 50 

In cloth, embossed 75 

The Art of Pleasing ; or, the American Lady and Gentleraan's Book of Etiquette. 

Compiled from the beat Authorities. Cloth embossed, gilt edge 35 

Embossed and full gilt 45 

The Fair Rebel : by Emprson Bennett 25 

The Principal Speeches, and a Sketch of the life of Henry Clay, In paper 25 

Inclolh , 50 

KewYork: its Upper Ten and Iiower Million. By George Lippard 50 

Keeps consSBntly on hand, and can supply at the shortest notice, every 
variety of 

Cheap Publications, by all the most popular authors and publishers. 

Gift Books, Annuals, and all the standard Poets. Wholesale or retail. 

All orders, by Mai! or otherwise, will be promptly and carefully attended to. 

Single copies of any work publislied in any of my Lists, will be sent to any 
part of the United States, on receipt of the price set opposite the name of the 

H. M. RULISON. 



wGoogle 



LIST OF 80.111: OF THE BOOKS 



QUEEN CITY PUBLISHING HOUSE. 

Vr. Adam Clarke's Commentary Od the Old and New Testament SIG 00 

The complete Works of Thomas Dick, Ii. L. D., 3 vols., spring back, marble 

edge 5 40 

Spectator: by Addison, Steele, Ac, 2 Tola ■. 4 00 

1 vol 3 00 

Plutarch's Lives, I vol 2 25 

Kollin's Ancient Hiatory, 2 vols 4 00 

The Complete Works of Josephns, with explanstorf Notes and ObaervatioDs : 

plain 1 30 

1 vol., gilt 1 30 

1 vol., embossed 1 40 

Uacaulays History of England, 3 vols 1 80 

A Concise History of Bngiand 1 SO 

Macknight's Commentary on the Epistles, 1 vol 4 50 

Bnrnet's Notes, on the Early SettlemeDt of the Horth-weatero Territory; -with 

Portrait of the Author ■. 2 50 

Pioneer History : being an Account of the First ExamiDation of the Ohio Tallej 

Ivol 2 50 

IiOrenzo Don ; containing his Experience and Travels in Kiirope and America, up 

to near his firiieth year. Embossed 1 80 

Plain 1 60 

Gwynne on Sheriffs : A Practical Treatise on the Law of Sheriff and Coroner. .. 4 50 
A Biographical Sketch of Col. Daniel Boone; hj Timothj Flint; embossed 

cloth 50 

Zilfe of Tecumseh ; and of his Brother, the Prophet : with a Historical Sketch of 

the Shawanee Indians ; hj B. Drake. Embossed cloth 59 

Iiife and Adventures of Black Eawk 50 

Manual of Methodism ; bj Rev. 0. S. Lowell 80 

Christianity, as Exemplified in the Conduct of its Sincere Proffssors; by Rev. W. 

Seeker 80 

Methodism Explained and Defended; by Rev, J. S. Inskip 80 

Ireotures and SetmonjB ; by Kev. F. O. Black. Cloth SO 

TTnlversalism ; or. Confessions of Universal ism. A Poem 50 

Bervey's Meditations 50 

Pilgrim's Progress ; with Scott's Notes 50 

V 8U 

BalvaUon by Christ ; by Rev. Win. Sherlock 33 

TTnlversal Musician ; by A. D. Fillmore I 00 

JBoIian Lyrist; by Rev. Wm. B. Gillham 1 25 

Rhlnehart'a Church Harp 50 

The Cantp Meeting and Sabbath School Choiiatet ; by Aaron Coi SO 

Sacred Melodeon ; A Collection of Revival Hymns ; by Rev. R. M. Dalby 49 

The Toung Lady's Companion; by Margaret Coje 1 10 

Western Adventures 1 by M'Cluug. Illustraii-d 75 



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ABBOTT'S CHINA AND THE ENGLISH. Embellished with 20 
fine illustrations. Illuminated title 84 

INDIAN WAES OF THE UNITED STATES. Illustrated with 
numerous engravings, colored and plain 2 00 

CHAMBEBS' INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE. A popular 
encyclopedia. 500 engravings ,f 6 60 

BEMARKABLE EVENTS IN THE HISTORY OF AMERICA, to 
the year 1848 5 00 

HART'S HISTORY OF THE VALLEY OF THE MISSISSIPPI. . . 8C 

CALIFORNIA ILLUSTRATED. Including a' description of the 
Panama and Nicaragua routes. Illustrated with 48 superior litho- 
graphs 2 50 

UNCLE TOM'S CABIN. Various styles, from 60 cts. to 10 00 

LIFE AT THE SOUTH ; or UNCLE TOM'S CABIN AS IT IS. . . . 1 50 

THE GREAT CITIES OF THE WORLD, la their glory and deso- 
lation 1 50 

NOBLE DEEDS OF AMERICAN WOMEN. Edited by J. Clements 
and L. H. Sigourmkv 1 60 

WOODSWOKTH'S FIRESIDE MUSEUM. An exhibition of some 
things amusing, and many things instructive 1 50 

ROMANCE OF THE REVOLUTION. Containing heroic exploits 
and romantic incidents .■ 1 60 

GENERALS OF THE LAST WAR WITH GREAT BRITAIN. 
With portraits 1 20 

DARING DEEDS OF AMERICAN HEROES. A record of the 
heroes of our country 1 60 

FREMONT'S EXPLORING EXPEDITION. Numerous illustrations. 1 25 

THRILLING STORIES OF THE FOREST AND FRONTIER. By 
an o!d Hunter. Fully illustrated 90 

ADVENTURES OF HUNTERS AND TRAVELERS and Narratives 
of Border Warfare 90 

SIR JOHN FRANKLIN AND THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION 1 60 

JOURNAL OF A VOYAGE UP THE NILE, A wort of great 
interest 60 

THE BOOK OF THE OCEAN. Containing Thrilling Narratives and 
Adventures 1 50 

L AVENGRO, the Scholar, the Gipsy, the Priest I 00 

GIFT BOOK FOR YOUNG LADIES. Letters to a young Lady on 

(s, etc 90 



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H. M. RULISON'5 PU BLIC ATfONS. 

GIFT BOOK I'Oli YOUNG MEN, or Familiar Letters on self edu- 
cation 90 

THE GOLDEN CHAIN, or Links of Friendsliip, for the L 0. 0. F., 
tlie world over 1 00 

SENATOR'S SON, or the Maine Law a last refuge 1 20 

SARGENT'S TEMPERANCE TALES. A b.ook for every friend to 
temperance 1 80 

RECOLLECTIONS OF A POLICEMAN. By T. Waters, an Inspec- 
tor of the London Detective Police ] 00 

KIGHTS IN A BLOCK HOUSE, or Sketches of border life. Illus- 
trated 2 60 

A WINTER IN MADEIRA, and A Summer in Spain and Florence. . 1 fiO 

THE LADIES' ORACLE. An elegant pastime for social parties and 
the family circle 1 00 

THE LADIES' COMPANION, or Sketches of Life of the present day. I 00 

THE YOUNG HUSBAND. A manual of the duties of married life. 50 

THE YOUNG WIFE. Manual of moral, religious, and domestic 
duties 60 

WOMAN AND HER VARIOUS RELATIONS. A popular book. 
Illustrated title 80 

ABBOTT'S FIRESIDE PIETY, or Duties and Enjoyments of Reli- 
gion, Steel engravings 80 

AUSTRALIA AND HER GOLD MINES. A full description of the 
country and guide to the gold mines, Tvith a description of its geology, 
productions, etc 80 

THE NEW CONTINENT, or Four Tears in a Government Expe- 
dition 1 26 

THE LAND OF CAESAR AND DOGE. Historical, artistic, personal, 
and literary , 1 40 

HISTORY OF THE MEXICAN WAR, from iU origin to the treaty 
of peace 1 26 

ROMANCE OF NATURAL HISTORY, or Wild Scenes and wild 
Hunters 3 00 

A CONCISE HISTORY OF ENGLAND, written on a new plan 1 20 

FROST'S HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF THE INDIANS, exhibit- 
ing their manners and customs 1 26 

HEROINES OF HISTORY. Sketches of celebrated females. 6 mezzo- 
tint portraits • 1 fiO 



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H. M. RULISON'S PU Bt ICATION S. 

FROST'S PICTORIAL WONDERS OF HISTORY. Embellished 

tFith several hundred eogravings $2 50 

CYCLOPEDIA OF USEFUL AND ENTERTAINING KNOW- 
LEDGE. Embellished with over 400 engravings 4 00 

GATHERED TREASURES FROM THE MINES OF LITERA- 
TURE. Moral «nd instrucUve 2 50 

DISRAELPS CURIOSITIES OF LITERATURE. The literary 

character illustrated 2 60 

ENCYCLOP-iEDIA AMERICANA. A popular dictionary of Art, 

Sciences, Literature, eic. 14 vols., gilt 32 00 

PACIFIC AND DEAD SEA EXPEDITION, or voyage of the U. S. 

exploring squadron 2 50 

DE TOCQUEVILLE'S DEMOCRACY IN AMERICA. Its political 

institutions reviewed and examined 3 00 

FIELD'S SCRAP BOOK. Tales and anecdotes in prose and poetry. . . 3 00 
ALCOTT'S LECTURES TO YOUNG MEN. Familiar letters on 

various subjects 84 

BEECHER'S LECTURES TO YOUNG MEN on various important 

subjects 80 

LEWIS AND CLARK'S JOURNAL TO THE ROCKY MOUN- 
TAINS. lUusttated 67 

LIFE AND ESSAYS OF BEN. FRANKLIN £4 

MEDICAL STUDENT IN EUROPE; or. Notes on France, England, 

Italy, etc 07 

jESOP'S FABLES 60 

LIBRARY OF GENERAL KNOWLEDGE I 20 

A NEW HISTORY OF TEXAS; paper 26 

MAP OF THE WESTERN RIVERS. By S. B. Mukson 20 

A NEW HISTORY OF OREGON AND CALIFORNIA ; paper. ... 25 
PARLEY'S COLUMBUS, WASHINGTON, AND FRANKLIN; 1 vol. ] 20 
" America, Europe, Asia, African Islands ; Tales of the Sea ; 

Greece, Rome; Wint«r Evening Talcs; Bible Stories; 
" Juvenile Tajes; Anecdotes; Sun, Moon, and Stars; each. 40 

Right is Might; Dick Botdhero; The Truth-Finder; Philip 
" Brusque; Tales of Sea and Land; Tales of the Bevolu- 

" IJon ; each 38 

LYONS' ENGLISH GRAMMAR 60 

TALBOTT'S WESTERN PRACTICAL ARITHMETIC 34 

KEY " " " 34 



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H. M. RULISON'S P U B L I C A T r O N S. 

ALTISONANT LETTERS. By Rev. S. K. Hoshour 8 33 

SCHOOL REPORTS. Per dozen 1 50 

COMMON SCHOOL PRIMER. Per dozen SO 

ALCOTT'S LETTERS TO A SISTER, or Woman's Mission 04 

BUDS AND BLOSSOMS, from our own Garden. Beautifully embel- 
lished 84 

WOODSWORTirS YOUNG PEOPLE'S BOOK. Comprising in- 
structive Stories, Anecdotes, etc., etc 1 60 

GOLDSMITH'S ANIMATED NATURE, or a History of the Earth. 
Illustrated with copperplates. 2 vols., sheep 5 00 

BUFFON'S NATURAL HISTORY, of Man, the Globe, and Quad- 
rupeds 2 50 

YOUNG MAN'S BOOK OF KNOWLEDGE. Containing a great 
variety of subjects 1 3C 

BONAPARTE'S CAMPAIGN IN RUSSIA. Circumstantial narra- 
tive of affecting and interesting events 1 20 

THRILLING INCIDENTS AND NARRATIVES, for christian fami- 
lies to the third and fourth generations 1 00 

JOURNAL OF A NATURALIST through the inexhaustible regions 
of nature 90 

WILD SCENES OF A HUNTER'S LIFE. Containing adventures 
among wild animals, etc. 300 illustrations I 60 

YOUNG'S SCIENCE OF GOVERNMENT. Designed for the use of 
families and schools 1 25 

BORDER WARS OF THE WEST. By Prof. Frost. 300 illustra- 
tions 2 60 

WHAT I SAW IN LONDON, or Men and Things in the great metro- 
polis 1 20 

ELLEN, or The Chained Mother, and pictures of Kentucky slavery 
drawn from real life. By Makv B. Harlan 1 26 

A REVIEW OF UNCLE TOM'S CABIN, or an Essay on Slavery. 
By A. Woodward, M. D 1 00 

FERN LEAVES, from Fanny's Portfolio. With original designs by 
Fred. M. Coffin 1 25 

WHAT I SAW IN NEW YORK, or a bird's-eye view of city life ... 1 20 

SCENES AT HOME, or Adventures of a Fire-screen 1 00 

DICTIONARY OF POPULAR AND SELECT QUOTATIONS from 
authors of every nation 84 

PURE GOLD, "or Truth in its native loveliness I 00 



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