The Brother Clerks; A Tale of New-Orleans.

by Мэри Эшли Таунсенд Xariffa

  "I mean a great deal, and would tell you sooner than any one else; but it would do you no good if I would tell you, which I can't, and so we'll say no more about it."

  "Has Mr. Delancey any children?"

  "Two-a son and a daughter; at least he had a son."

  "And did he die?"

  "Oh, no; he fell in love with a poor but worthy girl, who has no doubt made him an excellent wife, or at least would have done so had it been in her power. Instead of taking his daughter-in-law to his heart and home, and making her what his wealth could have made her, with her worth and beauty, he met the whole affair with stern opposition, and after his son's marriage turned him from him with a curse, and disinherited him. How the poor fellow has managed to live since, I can't imagine; for he had no profession, nor anything to live by but his wits. I heard once he had become reckless and dissipated, and had sworn vengeance on his unnatural father, but I've heard very little of him of late."

  "This is shocking. A clerk can expect but little from such a father. Oh, horrible!"

  "He is a man you will probably never know, however long you may live with him. Had it not been for the necessary contact my position in his employ brought us into, I should never have known him at all."

  "And you believe he really deemed Arthur guilty to-day?"

  "That is more than I can answer. Mr. Delancey is close with regard to money matters."

  "My poor brother! Wilkins, promise me to do all you can for him. Oh! I know how much danger surrounds him. What can I, so young and feeble, do? We two are all that is left our mother. Help me-I'm sure you will-to save him."

  "I will, Guly-by my sworn love to you, I will. Sometime, my boy, when I may greatly need a friend to help me through a trouble or sorrow that is coming upon me-when those that know me may shun me-you, who love me, will be that friend. May I rely upon you?"

  "Depend upon me?-yes, truly, Wilkins-in anything that's right."

  Guly's heart was racked with more sorrowful anxiety for his brother than he could, or cared to, express; but in spite of his efforts to restrain them, the bright tears fell down his cheeks at Wilkins' kind words, and dropped upon the broad breast which supported him. Wilkins raised his hand, and wiped them away.

  "Don't cry, Guly; your grief unmans me."

  "Oh, Wilkins, how can I help it?"

  Wilkins answered nothing, but drew the slight form closer in silent sympathy. The hours went on, and midnight still saw them sitting there together-the golden head upon the broad, kind breast, and the eyes of both looking thoughtfully into the coals.

  CHAPTER XVII.

  "She's beautiful, and therefore to be woo'd;

  She is a woman, therefore to be won."

  Henry VI.

  –-"Bright

  The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;

  A thousand hearts beat happily; and when

  Music arose, with its voluptuous swell,

  Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,

  And all went merry as a marriage bell."

  Childe Harold.

  Della sat in her large chair, before the dressing-glass, with her delicate feet buried in the rich softness of a velvet cushion; her hands were folded in her lap, and her eyes fixed upon Minny's face, which was clearly reflected in the mirror, as she stood behind her mistress, arranging the shining bands of long fair hair.

  "Minny, how very, very white you are! How came you to be so white, when your mother is the blackest slave papa owns?"

  A scarlet flush rose to the quadroon's cheek.

  "My father, Miss, was as white as your own."

  "Were you born here, Minn?"

  "My mother was in your father's service when she gave me birth, Miss Della. Will you have your bandeaux single or double for this evening?"

  "Double, Minn, so the wreath can lie nicely in between; and make those braids as rich as possible. I wish to look my best to-night. You have always lived here since you were born, Minn?-was a baby when I was a baby?"

  "Yes, my dear Miss, and my mother was your nurse; your own mother not liking to spoil her figure by nursing her child, you were put to my mother's breast. So mother tells me."

  "Well, if you had been a white child, that would have made us foster-sisters, wouldn't it? That's the reason old Mag loves me so well. I never knew of this before."

  "It's something very common here, you know, Miss, for white children to have their foster-mothers among the slaves. Fashionable ladies always think it ruins their forms to have a child at the breast."

  "Yes, I know, Minn; and I think it a very shameful practice, too. I never want to be a fashionable woman, if it is going to deprive me of performing a mother's holiest offices for my children. I'm sure after a child of mine had been reared at a black mother's breast I should feel they were black children, had black blood in their veins, and I never could feel right toward them again."

  "You are one in a thousand, dear Miss Della; and such feelings are right, and good, and noble. But if you ever wish to be truly a mother to your children, don't marry a fashionable man, whose pride will be to show you off all the time in gay company, and who will be always fretting to keep your beauty good. It is such husbands that make bad mothers. A woman can't be a votary of fashion and a good mother."

  "I never shall marry a fashionable man, Minny-you know that; but when I do marry I shall try and be a good, and true, and dutiful wife, nothing more. I haven't a taste for high life-that is, gay life, which has no heart in it. But, Minny, let's go back to you; I commenced about you; what made you change the subject, child?"

  "Did I, Miss?"

  "Yes. Who was your father, Minny?"

  Minny's cheek lost it's flush, and became pale as death.

  "I cannot tell you, Miss."

  "But you know."

  Minny made no answer, but her hands shook violently, and the braids she had just fastened fell loose again from her trembling fingers.

  "What ails you, Minn? why don't you answer me?" said Della, looking up earnestly at Minny, in the glass.

  "I never told you a lie in the world, Miss Della; and I don't answer you because I can't tell the truth now."

  "You must tell me if you know, Minny; and you must tell the truth, too."

  "Oh, Miss Della," said the girl, sinking at her mistress's feet in a fit of wild weeping, "don't, don't ask me this. I never knew it myself till yesterday, and then I wrung it from my mother, who charged me, if I valued her life, never to lisp it again. It made me wretched. Oh, Miss Della, it would kill you."

  "Kill me? How can it affect me, silly child? What nonsense."

  Della lifted up the beautiful head which was bowed before her, and turned the pallid face toward her own.

  "Tell me, you foolish one," she persisted, her curiosity fully aroused. "I must and will know about it now;" and she stamped her little foot with an air of command, which, toward her favorite, was very rarely assumed.

  Minny pressed her hands, clasped one upon the other, hard against her heart, as if its throbbing was painful, and raised her eyes, full of a strange, wild light, to her mistress's face.

  "I would sooner die than tell you, Miss."

  There might have been something in that agonized look that called forth emotion, or there might have been something in that cold, fixed gaze, which stamped for the instant the father on that upturned, ashy face; for as she met the glance, Della suddenly clasped her hands to her face, and, with an exclamation of horror, fell back fainting.

  Minny sprang wildly to her feet-"Oh, Miss Della!" she exclaimed, as she bent over the senseless form before her, pouring out her passionate accents as if there was an ear to hear them. "Oh, Miss Della, how could you crave this knowledge to-day, of all other days? Had it been yesterday morning, or ever before in all our life here together, I would not have known, and you would have never known. To-day, of all days! Oh, I have broken this poor, sensitive heart; woe is me, woe is me! Oh, if I had only died before I learned this dreadful secret, only died!
only died!"

  With trembling hands, and eyes raining down their gushing tears, Minny bathed the pale brow, and brought rare perfumes, and chafed the little hands.

  "Miss Della! Miss Della! I knew it would kill you-and you only guessed; I never told you-oh, no, never, never, never!"

  Slowly Della returned to consciousness, and as her eyes unclosed, they fell upon the agonized face of her weeping attendant. She closed them quickly, and raised her hand so as to wave her from her sight, but it dropped listlessly back into her lap, and she lay still in the large chair, apparently as weak and helpless as an infant.

  "Oh, Miss Della! God forgive me for what I have done, though I never meant to do it-never thought to do it. What could have turned your thoughts on this to-day?"

  "Go away," murmured Della, faintly; "go away, so that I may open my eyes and not see you."

  Minny moved a few paces back.

  "I can see you in the glass yet; go away so that I can't see you anywhere, Minn."

  Weeping bitterly, Minny retired to the other apartment; and Della, with folded hands, sat quite still with downcast eyes and pallid cheeks, looking like a statue of meditation.

  A little French clock upon the mantle-piece struck the hour, and went on with its monotonous tick, tick-that unobtrusive voice of warning and admonition-until the half hour was sweetly chimed, and still Della sat there, pale, and still thinking. At length she rose, and with an energy unusual with her, walked hastily back and forth across the room. It had a soothing effect, and her brow was calm and resolute, yet shadowed as if with some new lesson of life, harshly forced upon her. She seated herself once more before the mirror.

  "Minny, I am ready for you now."

  Minny came, with her face calm and corpse-like, and once more essayed to bind up the rich bands of hair.

  "Place my wreath a little more front. My cheek needs the shade of that bright rose to relieve its pallor-so-that effect is charming."

  "Your hair is dressed, Miss."

  Della sprang to her feet like one who resolutely tossed some load from the heart, and taking the hand-mirror from the table, surveyed the arrangement of her hair altogether.

  "Beautiful! Minny, you have excelled yourself to-night."

  "Thank you, Miss. What dress?"

  "My India mull, and the rose-colored ribbons."

  The dress was brought, and Della stood before the full-length mirror while Minny fastened it.

  "Tie my shoulder-knots in your prettiest manner, Minny."

  "Yes, Miss; and my reward shall be a rehearsal of the list of conquests?"

  "I suppose so," smiled Della; "Minn, I pet you a great deal too much."

  "I know it, Miss; and make me love you a great deal too well."

  Della sighed.

  At this moment there was a tap at the door, and Mrs. Delancey, in full evening costume, entered the room.

  "Most ready, dort, darling?"

  "Yes, mamma, I will be down in a few minutes."

  "You look very sweetly in that simple dress; what prompted you to choose that to-night, treasure?"

  "An instinctive knowledge, I presume, mamma, that I would look very sweetly in it," replied Della, archly.

  Mrs. Delancey was a fine-looking woman-very fussy and very French. She smiled, and displayed her brilliant teeth at her daughter's answer, then stooped, and kissed her brow. Mrs. Delancey loved her child, with all the strength of affection she was capable of feeling. She was even first in her heart in some moments of pride and ambition, and second never, save to her love of fashion and display.

  "Clasp this string of pearls about your throat, it will relieve the plainness of your attire."

  "I'd rather not have it relieved, mamma."

  "What a strange whim," returned the lady, proceeding to fasten on the necklace.

  As the toilet was declared finished, Mrs. Delancey stepped back to observe the effect.

  "Charmante, ma chere!" she exclaimed. "Remember, love, your father and I wish you to be particularly agreeable to General Delville this evening. He is a splendid match, rich as a Jew, and of such fine family!"

  "He is the gentleman who was of age when papa was born, isn't he, mamma?"

  "Hush, child; what of that! He may be a little old, but all the better-you'll be left a charming young widow the sooner."

  Della lifted a bracelet from the table, and fell to examining it with the closest inspection, while her little satin-slippered foot kept up an unconscious, nervous tapping upon the carpet.

  Mrs. Delancey looked at her watch-"Nine o'clock, Della; the guests will begin to arrive, shortly. You need not come down till your father comes for you. Remember, ma chere, General Delville, particularly."

  So saying, the proud mother swept from the apartment.

  As the door closed upon her, Della stepped through the open window, and passed out upon the balcony. Minny busied herself with putting aside the jewels which had not been wanted, and other unnecessary articles of dress, which the capricious fancy of her mistress had drawn from their proper places during the process of preparation.

  A half hour passed before Mr. Delancey sought his daughter's apartment; when he entered, Della was seated gracefully on an ottoman, arranging a bouquet of orange flowers and mignonnette. It was a sweet picture, and the father stopped to look upon it.

  Della looked up, and her eye went quickly from her father's to Minny's face, then dropped again upon her flowers.

  "Are you ready, Della?"

  "One minute, papa."

  "You are looking very lovely to-night, my daughter. Be careful and have your manners to correspond with your looks. My choicest friends are here this evening, and I wish to see you Queen of Hearts."

  "Especially to General Delville?"

  "Especially to General Delville, Della. I shall be very happy to see you his wife, and it is in your power to become so if you choose."

  "I should like to know how many wives he has already, before I take that step, so that I may know how strong a fortification my eyes need against finger-nails."

  "Fie, Della! the General has never been married, and you will no doubt occupy the first place in his heart."

  "I have always hoped that when I married such might be my lot, but it cannot be in this case, I know. If General Delville has lived in New-Orleans till he has grown old enough to be my grandfather, he can't have much of a heart left."

  "Della, you astonish me!" said her father, with the frown deepening. "One would think you had no ambition whatever to make a good match."

  "Papa, do you love me at all?"

  Mr. Delancey started at the abrupt question, and gazed upon his daughter in surprise.

  "Love you, Della? the whole of my heart is centred in you."

  Della sighed, as if the answer did not quite please her, and taking her father's proffered arm, went down the broad staircase, and into the magnificent drawing-room.

  Wealth, and beauty, and state, and grandeur, all were there; yet first, and fairest, and brightest, shone the merchant's daughter. The happy father and proud mother watched her, as with a light step she flitted through the thronged rooms, the "observed of all observers," and there was a light in her eye, an animation in her tread, and a glow on her cheek, which was all the more beautiful for being rare.

  She leant upon Mr. Delville's arm, the envied object of many a young heart there; and when seated at the harp, her clear, unaffected voice rose in strains of thrilling melody. General Delville was at her side, listening with earnest attention, and turning the leaves of her music with all the grace of a more youthful courtier.

  Aware, as he was, of the sanction of the father and the eagerness of the mother, it was no wonder that the General strove to win to his withered heart so fair a flower. He had been a great traveler, and had feasted his eyes on the beautiful women of the East, and the more frigid beauties of northern climes. He had been courted rather than courting, and had gone through life dreading to take to his heart a wife, lest, when too late, he should f
ind his wealth had been the talisman that drew her there.

  But in Della, he thought he saw a sweet and guileless girl; and put forth all his attractive powers of conversation and graces of person (which, old as he was, became him well,) to interest her in himself. Her father watched the progress of their acquaintance with a delight which manifested itself, even in his cold eyes, and Della received the assiduous attentions of her white-haired admirer with a triumph for which she was excusable; yet with no desire to win him closer than now.

  The evening wore away, the splendid supper was over, and the guests, one by one, took their departure. Many a youthful suitor made his adieus to Della that night with a jealous pang, as Delville's apparent success arose to his mind. When the rooms were cleared, Mr. Delancey called his daughter to his side.

  "I cannot let you retire, Della, without telling you how much you have pleased and gratified a father's heart this night. I am more than ever proud of you; you will well adorn the station in which Delville can place you. Bless you, Della. Good night."

  "Good night, papa."

  Della moved gracefully away, and slowly mounted the broad staircase leading to her chamber.

  "No blessing of love-no blessing of affection," she murmured softly, as she went on, step by step-"only a blessing through his pride-cold, hollow, empty pride, with nothing noble, nothing lofty in it; having for foundation only an eligible match for me, or my station, or my appearance. What a life, what a life!"

  Della expected to find Minny asleep, as the hour was late; but when she entered her apartment, Minny was there, walking the floor with her hands clasped thoughtfully before her.

  "Undress me, Minn. I am weary-weary."

  "Haven't you been happy, Miss?" asked the girl, as she knelt to unfasten the slender slipper from the pretty foot.

  "Yes-and no, Minn. If triumph could make me happy, I must have been, so far as that is concerned; but in thinking of you I have been unhappy; and I have thought of you all the evening."

  "Of me, Miss, in the midst of all that gaiety!"