"So Mr. Delancey thought, and he said probably you did it," returned Arthur, though in the tone of one who tells what he feels assured is false.
"The deuce he did!" exclaimed Clinton, filling the glasses again, and holding up his own to conceal the flush upon his face.
"Well, it's too bad anyhow," said Quirk, with returning good nature. "You don't get any credit for honesty, and have to bear the loss besides-outrageous!"
"How did the old man know anything about me?" said Clinton, with an indifferent air; "I'll have to call him out, if he touches upon my character in this style."
Quirk laughed, and Arthur hastened to explain to Clinton how the remark had been made, and how light a bearing, after all, it had upon himself.
Clinton received it with a careless bow, as if, at best, he considered it a matter of no consequence.
"And so he actually insinuated that you had it, eh, in the end?"
"Yes-and that's the most I care for; if he had believed me honest, I could have borne the rest unmurmuringly; but to be thought a thief!"
"It seems hard enough, don't it?" said Clinton, in a tone of sympathetic kindness, well-calculated to win on the trusting heart beside him, and laying one hand familiarly on Arthur's knee.
"It's a deuced piece of business, that's all about it!" cried Quirk, growing excited with the wine he had swallowed; "it's an insult I wouldn't take from any man-old or young, or little or big; I'll be dem'd if I would."
An insult! that was a light in which he had not exactly placed it before, and Arthur's blood rose at the thought. Clinton remarked it, with a twinkle of gratification in his keen eye, which he strove to conceal from Arthur's observation.
"It's enough to drive one desperate! I scarcely know what I should do under such circumstances," said he, suddenly, with his eyes fixed keenly upon Arthur's flushed face.
"There's no way for me to do but to put up with it," returned Arthur, doggedly; "I've got to stay there, and make it up; and I may as well do it quietly as to make a disturbance about it, because it's got to be done."
"It's enough to tempt one to try the strength of the old adage--," continued Clinton, thoughtfully, and pausing in the midst of his sentence.
"What's that?" asked Arthur, without looking up.
"Why, to take the game as well as the name," said the other, with a short laugh, and without taking his eyes from Arthur's face.
"True enough," cried Quirk, "you might as well be a thief as to be called one, according to my opinion."
Arthur placed his elbow on the table, and looked into the lamp-blaze thoughtfully, with his head on his hand.
"You are both ready to advise," said he, after a moment's silence, "but I doubt if either of you know what you'd do in my case, after all."
"I'd be avenged," said Clinton, resolutely; "but you are not me, and I don't ask you to do as I would."
"That's just the thing!" cried Quirk; "and if you can hit upon a plan, carry it out; there'll be some satisfaction in that."
"Revenge!" said Arthur, bitterly; "how can I be revenged? It would be a sparrow struggling against a vulture."
"You admit you have been wronged?"
"Most unjustly so."
"And you would be avenged, if you could?"
"Yes, if I spilled my heart's blood."
Arthur had drank deeply of the wine, and his blood was heated with it, and his worst passions aroused. He had been goaded into the belief that he had been grossly insulted and had taken it submissively, and that revenge was his only resource. He threw aside his chair, and strode back and forth across the narrow room, with the excited tread of the caged lion.
Clinton watched him furtively from beneath his brows for a moment, then rising, linked arms, and leaned toward him in a confidential manner.
"My poor friend, I pity you from the bottom of my heart; count upon me whenever you are in want of a friend, will you?"
"Always, Clinton; thank you."
"And if I should try to think upon some good plan, lay some good plot, by which you could gain retribution for this great wrong, would you then be courageous, and carry it out handsomely?"
"Would I? Never fear me there. I'll show you that I'm not one to bow my neck to the insults of a money-holder. I'll carry out anything you say."
"Bravo! my boy; you've got the right kind of spirit in you; that's what I like to see-you're a man of pluck."
"About when do you think you'll have this grand plot ready for me, eh?"
"The first dark night."
"You'll consult the clerk of the we-weather as to when that is c-coming, eh?"
"I suppose so," said Clinton, laughing. "Meanwhile, come down to my house the last of the week, say Friday night, and I'll have all things in cap-a-pie order for you."
"How do I know where to find you, my more than brother," said Arthur, clasping Clinton's hand closely.
"Quirk knows the way. You'll come?"
"Depend upon it."
"Good! that's settled; now for a bumper on it."
"Well, I don't know, Clinton; I-I-declare I'm afr-afraid I'll be (hic) drunk if I drink any more."
"Nonsense! down with it; let's finish the last bottle."
The wine was swallowed, and Clinton, taking Arthur's hand in his, shook it heartily.
"Ah! my boy, you've proved yourself 'one of us' to-night; glad to claim you as a b-hoy. Whenever you're in want or trouble, signal the b-hoys, and you'll be helped out of it. It's a better society than any of the Odd Fellows or Free Masons can ever be, and costs you nothing besides. What say you now for a stroll?"
"Agreed! for my part, I am ready for anything."
"Then hurrah, boys!" cried Clinton, beginning to sing a lively air; and lighting their cigars, they passed out into the saloon.
"Put all this in my bill, Quibbles," said Clinton, as he passed that gentleman, on his way to the door.
"That'll do, sir-all right."
With noise and laughter, and rude jest, the drunken trio went down the street. It needed but a glance to show that the younger of the three, he with the bright complexion and jetty hair, was but a novice in dissipation, and more than one felt a glow of pity, as he jostled past them in the light of the bright windows of Royal-street. Alas! alas! Arthur; where was the ghost in your heart now? that haggard figure, pointing ever with its skinny finger backward!
They kept on until they reached St. Ann-street, into which they turned; as they did so, their attention was attracted by the appearance of a slight female figure, with a short cloak about her shoulders, and the hood drawn over her head. The moment she heard the unsteady steps behind her she hurried her pace, which was already rapid, and sped along with feet winged with fear.
"By Jove! that's a graceful little minx!" exclaimed Clinton.
"She's inclined to lead us a chase, too," said Quirk.
"Let's after her."
"Agreed."
And with a shout, the three started in pursuit, scarce conscious, in their excitement, of the object they had in view.
With a scream, the light form bounded onward, and fled away like the wind. Strong limbs followed; but her feet were fleet, and lightly clad, and with the hood falling from her head, and hands clasped upon a parcel she carefully carried, she seemed almost to fly before her pursuers. With a cry of delight, she saw the gleam of a lamp come through an open door, a little beyond, when, as she attempted to spring an intervening gutter, her foot struck the curb-stone, and she fell to the earth.
In an instant she was lifted in the arms of Quirk and Clinton.
"Oh, grandpapa! grandpapa!" she shrieked, in thrilling accents, "what will become of your poor, poor Blanche? Help! help!"
Her cries were unheeded by her merciless captors, and they bore her down an adjacent street.
CHAPTER XX.
"Oh! Clifford, how thy words revive my heart!"
King Henry VI.
"Villains!" cried a deep, powerful voice, as a huge form met them, in full career, staggering through th
e darkness; "villains! unhand this girl, or, by Heavens, you'll rue the hour you ever placed a finger on her."
"Help! help!"
"And who are you, I'd like to know, that dares to put his finger in our p-p-pie?" returned Quirk, trying to dash past the tall figure with his burden.
"I am one that dares to protect defenceless virtue, whenever I see it thus assailed. This girl is not what you take her for, or she would never cry for help; and I tell you to put her down, or I will make you," returned the other, lifting his strong arm, and still preventing them from passing.
The girl struggled in the grasp of her captors, and moaned.
The new comer sprang forward with a bound, and clasping his arms about her, strove to draw her from their hold.
"Not so fast, not so fast," said Clinton, placing one hand over the girl's mouth; "remember we're three to one here, and if you don't want your head broke, you'd better keep away."
"That's the kind," said Arthur, coming forward; "hold on to her, Clin-"
The words were no sooner spoken, than the speaker fell to the pavement, leveled by a heavy blow from the arm of the intruder, and a second blow sent Quirk, staggering, into the gutter, while at the same moment the girl was snatched from the now yielding arms of Clinton.
As she gained her feet, she flung back her hair from her eyes, and looked up in the face of her rescuer.
"Monsieur Wilkins!"
"Good Heavens! is this Blanche?"
At the mention of Wilkins' name, Arthur and Quirk sprang to their feet, and started on a run down the street, followed by Clinton.
"A devilish muss this," cried Quirk, as they paused on a corner, a few blocks from the scene of their discomfiture.
"It was too dark for him to recognize a soul of us," returned Clinton; "if it hadn't been for the lamp gleam coming suddenly through that window, she would not have known him."
"I hope he didn't know me," said Arthur, rubbing his forehead, which had struck the pavement as he fell, and feeling considerably sobered by his fall, and the recent flight. "I don't want this scrape to go back to Guly."
"Who's that? your young milk-and-water brother! Pshaw! what does he know about the fun of such things? If you want to enjoy yourself, I advise you to keep your sprees a secret from him; he has no soul to appreciate such affairs."
"You are more than half right there."
"He's the kind of character I can't bear to be near," said Quirk, emphatically.
"You couldn't pay him a higher compliment than to say that," returned Arthur, warmly.
"Well, well, don't get into a miff about a trifle now. Clint, where shall we go to?"
"I shall go home, I reckon; my head aches," said Arthur.
"No, you won't go home either," replied Clinton, pulling him along with him, good-naturedly. "Let's make a night of it, now we have begun. What do you say for the Globe ball-room? There's a high affair there to-night, and
'We'll dance all night till broad daylight,
And go home with the gals in the morning.'"
"Agreed," said Quirk; "come along, Pratt. Your foot's in, and it'll be dirty, whether you pull it out first or last; you may as well have the good of it."
With a heart responding to this idea, Arthur suffered his companions each to take an arm, and went on with them to the Globe ball-room. The haggard ghost, the pale figure of warning and remorse, was gone for ever from Arthur's heart.
Wilkins, the moment he discovered who it was he had rescued, gave scarce a thought to the flight of those who had opposed him; but, with a gush of thankfulness in his heart, he drew Blanche's arm within his, and led her back toward her own house.
"How came you to be in the street at this hour, Miss? Do you know it is after midnight, and young girls like you are never safe in these streets at such hours?"
"Oh, sir," said Blanche, bursting into tears, "my grandpapa was taken very ill. I had no one to send, you know, and of course I had to go for assistance myself. I looked all up and down the street, and saw nobody, not even a watch-man; so I put on my cloak, and ran for the doctor. He wasn't home; so I went a little further to see old Elise, who always gives me medicine that helps grandpapa, and she detained me a little while preparing it; and when I came out, they came behind me; I tried my very best to run away, but I fell down, and they caught me. Oh, Mon Dieu! Monsieur! what if you hadn't come just as you did!"
"You would have been a most miserable little girl, without doubt, Miss Blanche."
"I can never thank you enough, Monsieur."
"You can repay me by never going out at such a time again."
"And when another case comes just as extreme, Mr. Wilkins, what can I do? I couldn't let poor grandpapa die, could I?"
There was such an earnest intonation of voice in these words, and such a simple innocence of manner, that Wilkins couldn't repress a smile.
"If I furnish you with a tidy little black girl, will you take good care of her, Miss Blanche, and let her do your errands?"
"Oh, Monsieur, that would be too much for you to do."
"No; I own a number of slaves, and the daughter of one of them is too young to be put out to a place, and is just old enough to work for you."
"You are so very kind!"
By this time they had reached Blanche's home, and as she tripped up the steps, she said:-
"Come and see grandpapa to-morrow, Mr. Wilkins; and let him thank you for his kindness to his little house-keeper."
"I will come, Miss Blanche."
"And, Monsieur," she added, coming out again after she had passed into the door, "bring Guly with you, won't you?"
"Oui, Mademoiselle."
The door closed, and Wilkins passed on, thoughtfully, towards Royal-street. In the excitement of the recent adventure, he had almost forgotten what had called him forth at that time of night, and now walked on, like one who wanders forth purposeless, into darkness and solitude. But suddenly, in passing a brilliantly lighted café, the thought of Arthur crossed his mind; and, for the first time, the idea flashed upon him, that he might have been one of those concerned in the capture of little Blanche.
He stopped short, and was about to turn back, to endeavor to trace the fugitives, when he remembered that Arthur had as yet but just commenced the downward path, and that he could not already have become so fallen as to commit so base an act as that which he had just witnessed. It had been too dark to recognize faces, and his own excitement had prevented him from thinking to notice the voices; and the more he thought of it, the more convinced was he that Arthur was not among them. He had sat with Guly by the fire until the midnight hour had passed, waiting for Arthur's return; but when the fire died out, and the lamp faded, and he still was absent, he persuaded Guly to go to bed, promising that he would seek his brother before he slept. Guly would fain have accompanied him, but Wilkins induced him to remain, not wishing to familiarize the pure heart of his boy-friend with the scenes in which he felt convinced he must look for the wanderer.
Wilkins faithfully kept his word, and left no place unsearched wherein he thought it possible to find Arthur. He believed he would find him in some one of the popular places of resort, standing ever open, with their false glitter and dangerous splendor, to lure their victims to destruction. But 'the wee small hour ayont the twal' found him still searching, and still unsuccessful.
Disappointed, with lingering steps he turned toward the store, but, as he stepped upon the sill, a slender figure darted from the alley-way, and laid a chill and trembling hand upon his arm.
"Bernard!"
"Heavens, Minny! what brings you here?"
"Hopes and fears, and memories, and sorrows, which will not die."
"Pshaw, girl! harping on the old string yet! What of your mistress?"
"She is well, and by this time happy in her dreams."
"And did she send you to me? how came you here?"
"I came here with the pass, which gives any negro a right to the highway; and though I forged it, it served me well."<
br />
Minny stepped back into the shadow of the archway, and Wilkins, obeying the convulsive grasp of that delicate hand, followed her.
"Bernard," said she, dropping her voice almost into a whisper, which echoed deep and clear through the dark and narrow alley, "I have come to you to-night, for the last time in my life, to stand before you for a moment in the light of other days."
She paused, as if some smothered emotion overcame her; and the trembling hand upon his arm slipped down, and was clasped an instant in Wilkins' grasp. It lingered there but a moment, one wild sad moment to Minny, and was withdrawn hastily, with a gush of tears.
"I cannot tell you," she proceeded to say, in a tone of touching sadness, and speaking every word with impressive distinctness, "I cannot tell you what came over me to-night, as I sat by the tall window, looking up at the pale stars, and listening to the night-wind, but it seemed to me like some vivid dream, or some shadowy vision of the past, and as my mistress fell asleep, I sat there still, looking up at the stars, with my vision between me and them. Listen, Bernard, and let me tell you what it was."
Wilkins' heart was touched by the soul-reaching sadness of the girl's manner, and he folded his arms patiently upon his breast, and leaned back against the brick wall of the archway, with his head bent forward to listen.
"I saw myself, Bernard, at first, as I was when first you came here. I knew none of the sorrows of my situation then, if there were any; at least I did not think it was anything to be a slave, and I was light-hearted and innocent, and very happy. I saw myself tripping along with my basket in my hand, as I so often used to do in my frequent errands to the store, and I met you, and at last, one moonlight night, you started with me from the store, and talked with me kindly and gently, and left me only at the gate of the great house where I lived. Bernard, do you remember?"
"Yes, Minny, I do remember."
"And the next night, and the next-and still the next-they all came before me to-night so clearly. You were by my side, and talking sweetly, gently, lovingly. Yes, you told your love to me, Bernard; I saw you in my vision to-night as plainly as I saw you in reality then. On your knees before me, me the quadroon, clasping my hand, kissing it, blessing it, praying, imploring, beseeching me to be your wife. You were younger then, and less ambitious. I loved you so passionately, so wildly-Oh! my God! with what intenseness-and I told you so. To-night, looking up at those stars above me, I seemed to hear the old cathedral bell, I saw the doors swing slowly open, I heard the solemn service, you clasped me to your heart-your own."
The Brother Clerks; A Tale of New-Orleans. Page 13