"Girl! girl!" cried Wilkins, striking his hand upon his brow passionately, "why do you come to call all this up now?"
"Hear me, Bernard," said Minny, laying her hand again upon his arm. "You must hear me out. My lips shall never call the past to your mind again, never; but hear me now. I kept my place, and you kept yours. We met clandestinely, when we could, and where we could; and when I found that bondage kept me from your side, and that you had neither the gold to buy me, nor the courage to have it said you bought your wife, then, then I learned the bitter lot the quadroon has to bear. I was as white as you, as free in heart and motion, with high and good impulses, and a cultivated mind; and yet I had no liberty to go abroad, and make my home with him I loved, and, for the first time in my life, I cursed the fate which rendered me a slave! A little time went on, and what a change! Oh! Heaven! that I should e'er have lived to see it! you grew cold and distant as you rose in life, and when you gained the position you now have here, I saw, because my very love made me see, that an ambitious heart had turned your thoughts higher than the poor quadroon, the beautiful but wretched slave. You loved my mistress! my master's daughter! She whom he would rather this day bury in the Potter's field than see your wife-and you know it! Oh! what agony then was mine! It was my turn then to weep, and pray, and plead; was I not your lawful wife, your own? Ha! what answer did you give me then? That our marriage was a mere form, that it was illegal, and I was-what? No marriage could be performed lawfully, you said, between a white man and a woman with the blood of my race in her veins. I wonder that I did not go mad then; I was taken terribly ill, but it was my fate to live on in misery. I lived to see you and Miss Della meet often, after that first meeting at the masked ball, and I lived to see her love you. When I found her secret out, I gave you up for ever; and from that moment my love froze up, and has hung in my heart like an unthawing icicle ever since."
"Have done, girl!" cried Wilkins, suddenly laying his heavy hands on her shoulders, as she stood before him with the starlight she so loved, just making her pale face and glittering eyes visible; "have done, I say, or I will curse you. Hence! I have heard enough of this; why do you come prating here, to tell me what I already know too well?-out upon you!"
In his impatient anger, Wilkins threw her from him, and strode hurriedly, up and down through the narrow alley, where they stood. Minny waited until his excitement had in a measure subsided, and he stood once more with folded arms before her, and his dark eyes looking into hers.
"Now," said he, speaking half in mockery, half in awe of the firm-hearted girl beside him, "now, my sin, my concentrated lightning, my beautiful passion, my quintessence of gall and bitterness, go on. I'll stand and listen now till doomsday, if you will it, though your lips drop burning coals into my bare bosom, and scorch my soul. Go on, I say, I'll listen."
Minnie drew herself up proudly before him, as she heard his words, and stood with her beautiful head erect, and her keen eye fixed upon him, unwaveringly.
"Had you possessed a soul to burn over a woman's woes, and a woman's wrongs, it would have been scorched out long ago, Bernard; but let that pass. I came to you this night, not only to tell over my own wretchedness, a reviewal of which had risen up so forcibly before me, but I came to you anew as the spirit of the past, to call up in your breast the memory of what you have been, and to ask you if the future brings a change. And now, Bernard, on all your hopes of happiness, here or hereafter, answer me truly. Do you sincerely love this girl, whose guileless heart you've won?"
"And whether I do or not, girl, is it you I must make my confessor? No, never. It is a matter which concerns you not at all. Whether my heart be black as hate, or pure as an angel's pinion, I lay it bare to no one. Whatever my feelings or intent in this matter, they are my own."
"Not so, Bernard. If ambition has prompted you to gain her affections, if love of wealth has sent you a wooer at that shrine, having in your breast no faithful heart to bestow in return for hers, let me beg, let me implore you, to stop where you are. Be merciful, compare the home which you can give, to the home from whence you take her. Compare the happiness which you can bestow to that of which you rob her, and feel, that if you take her, with all this, to a loveless breast, you take her to misery, to desolation, and death!"
"Do you deem me a villain, woman?"
"What you have been, you may be again."
Wilkins mused a moment; then, in a softer and more subdued tone, said:-
"No, no; oh no! God only knows-but never that to her, oh never!"
"Bernard! my mistress is dear to me; her happiness more sacred to me than my own. If I believed that you would ever play her false, if I believed that a sinister motive led you to accomplish this end, as I stand before you here, I would expose you as you are. I would lay bare to her the secrets of the past. I would warn her to recall the love which she has lavished on you, though the next hour should be my last, in consequence. Her happiness shall never be wrecked while I have the slightest power to guide it clear from danger."
With his impetuous spirit growing calm, as Minny became more excited, Wilkins looked upon her, as she confronted him, with her soul in her face, and his eyes kindled with the admiration his impulsive but generous heart could not but feel.
"Most nobly spoken, Minny!" he exclaimed, earnestly, "and now, as Heaven hears, let me speak what I feel is truth. Minny, there is a first love, a wavering, flickering, effervescing sentiment of youthful hearts, faithful and enduring in some instances, but not in mine, and this, God forgive me, I gave to you. True, I believed then I could never change; but the change came, with the exhalation of my heart's first passion, and though I never hated, I found I could no longer love you. Our marriage was illegal; I did not know it when it took place, but I learned it afterwards, when my love had chilled, and with perhaps a cruel, but a just hand, Minny, just to us both, I severed the cord which had bound us so sweetly, and our parted hearts drifted out of each other's sight, on the billows of life's ocean."
"Aye, Bernard, the one, a torn and shattered wreck, cast helpless on the desolate shores of sorrow and despair; the other, strong and uninjured, floating away to new and pleasant places, with only the shadow of a sad memory following it."
"Too true, Minny, too true! alas for the restless impulses of my misguided spirit. Alas for the trusting hopefulness of thine. But, Minny, as I stand before you now, with my whole heart open to your sight, I can most truly declare, that my love for Della is all that you would have it. She is trusting and innocent. I will never blight the one, or betray the other. I will hold her to my strong heart as some tender flower, which needs protection from a wintry blast, and from the world's cold breath; I will shield and guard, and cherish her with my life. God help me so to do!"
"Amen, Bernard, amen!"
"Minny, are you satisfied?"
"Yes! my heart trusts you once again. Even more hopeful for its trust for another, than even for itself."
"Bless you, Minny; and now 'tis time your anxious heart found rest. I will see you safe to your own gate, and then good-night."
Minny suffered Wilkins to draw her hand within his arm, and lead her forth once more beneath the starry skies. They walked on silently, each engrossed with their own reflections, with only the occasional interruption of the watchman, or the rattle of some noisy vehicle, hastening along the stony streets. Minny at last stopped at the entrance of the vacant court, leading to the secret garden door. As she was about to withdraw her hand from his arm, Wilkins retained it, firmly, yet respectfully, in his own.
"I have been thinking, Minny, more deeply than I ever thought before, of the great wrong which I have done you. The time may never come again when we shall meet as to-night we've met, and before we part, I must hear your lips pronounce my forgiveness."
"From the bottom of my heart, Bernard, I forgive you all that you may ever have done to me; either in word, or thought, or deed."
"I have been a wretch, Minny."
"But," continued the girl, wit
hout heeding the interruption, and speaking in an earnest, thrilling tone, "by the Heaven that is above us both, Bernard, I here swear, that if you are ever cold or cruel to the new bride you are winning, as true as there's a heart in my bosom, I will be her avenger-mark my words; though I should have to follow you to the ends of the earth, that revenge shall be mine."
A moment of silence ensued, and Minny stood like a breathing statue of retribution, with her glittering eyes fixed upon the face before her.
"Ah, Minny, the chill breath of desertion and sorrow has extinguished the last spark of affection which once glowed in your breast for me, or you could never speak thus. But fear not; your young mistress shall be to me as the apple of my eye, even as the core of my heart."
"Enough, enough. Good-night."
"Stay, Minny; can you learn to think of me kindly; and, in coming days, to witness my affection for another unshrinkingly?"
"I have already learned to do so."
"And you will not let these gloomy visions of the past rise up between you and the far-off stars?"
"Never again, never again."
He pressed the trembling hand he held between his own, and touched it to his lips.
It was drawn quickly from him; a stifled sob fell upon his ear, and he stood alone.
Slowly he turned his steps homewards, and with every echo of his solitary footfall, with every sob of the passing night-wind, came back upon his troubled heart, with thrilling sadness, Minny's last mournful words, "Never again, never again!"
Again he reached the store, and the lock, obedient to the ponderous key, turned noiselessly, and Wilkins entered. It was dark and gloomy, and a chill passed over him as he fastened the door, and groped his way along between the deserted counters. The scene through which he had just passed had called up bitter and unpleasant memories, and there came over him a sense of lonely desolation, such as he could not endure to experience. He stopped a moment as he reached the high desk, and stood there, silent and thoughtful.
"I will go to him," he muttered; "there is something holy in his presence, which will make me happier."
With cautious steps he mounted the winding stairs, and sought the room where Guly lay. The moment he approached the bedside, the boy started from his restless pillow.
"Arthur, is it you?"
"It is me, Guly," returned Wilkins, in a low voice.
"You! and you come without him?"
"I come alone, Guly."
"And has anything happened-oh! do not keep it from me! Is Arthur hurt? What brings you here, Wilkins, if it is not that?"
"I came here, Guly, with my own troubled heart, to look upon you as you slept, and to go away happier. I have no news, either good or bad, of poor Arthur."
Guly was silent a moment, then taking Wilkins' hand, he said:-
"I cannot tell you how much I thank you for the long and dreary walk you have taken for my sake. Some day I hope to be able to repay your kindness."
"Don't mention it, Guly; a mere trifle."
"It was a great deal to me; and now, Wilkins, would you just as soon lie down by me as to sleep in your own bed? It must be nearly morning, but this is a gloomy place to lie in alone, with only a troubled heart for company."
"True, Guly; I will be with you in a moment."
They lay down together, and soon slept, side by side, exhausted by watching and weariness; and the boy's fair head was pillowed on the man's breast, rising and falling there like a golden shield, resting on the bounding heart, "keeping the evil out."
CHAPTER XXI.
"'Tis done! I saw it in my dreams.
No more with hope the future beams;
My days of happiness are few.
Chilled by misfortune's wintry blast,
My dream of life is overcast.
Love, hope, and joy, adieu-
Would I could add, remembrance too."
Byron.
Arthur was at his place in the morning, almost as soon as Jeff opened the door. His face was pale and haggard, and wore upon it a look of unbroken gloom, and his eye wandered restlessly, as if dreading to meet another's gaze. He had arrived at his post so early, however, that no clerks were yet in the store, and for some time his only companion was the busy negro.
"Jeff," said he, at last, in a hesitating tone.
"Yes, massa, I'se here, sah."
"Did you sleep here behind the store-door last night, as usual?"
"Yes, massa, ob course."
"Did my brother go to bed early that you know of?"
"Well, no, massa, he didn't. He and Massa Wilkins sat back dar by de fire pretty late, sah!"
"Indeed! what could they have been talking of to keep them sitting up?"
"Well, massa, I don't 'spect 'twould be berry hon'ble in me to tell, case I know dey taut I was sleepin', and didn't know I couldn't help hearin' ebery word dey sed."
Arthur blushed as the thought crossed his mind, that the negro's sense of honor was higher than his own; but his curiosity overcame his scruples, and he went on questioning Jeff, as he rubbed up and trimmed the lamps for evening.
"Perhaps you heard my name, Jeff, eh?"
"Well, 'casionally, I 'spect I did, sah. Bery common ting for brudders to talk of one anudder," said Jeff, rubbing away on the lamp he held with redoubled earnestness.
"Did Mr. Wilkins leave the store, that you know of, after it was closed?"
"Well, I bleeb he did, sah! He couldn't a come in widout he'd been out, and I know one ob my toes got pinched in de crack ob de door by his coming in when 'twas most mornin'."
"My brother was not with him then, was he?"
"Well, I had my eyes shut, sah! and it was too dark to see if I'd a had 'em open. 'Alus de darkest hour 'fore day,' you know, sah."
"You don't know whether my brother asked Mr. Wilkins to go out, or not, I suppose?"
"Really, couldn't tell anyting 'bout it, sah," said Jeff, mounting on a wooden stool, and taking down another lamp carefully. As he gained the floor his eyes met Arthur's face.
"Bless de Lord, young massa, how came you by dat offal bump 'long side ob your head?"
Arthur drew his hat hastily over his brow, and turned away with a dissatisfied air, without giving any reply.
He stood in the door, half-angry at the unsatisfactory answers he had received, but ashamed to show, even to the black, that he felt any real interest in the matter. Preferring, too, to continue the conversation in any way rather than be left to silent communion with his thoughts, he turned suddenly, and said:-
"Jeff, wouldn't you like to be free?"
"Free, massa!" exclaimed the negro, rolling up his great eyes at his questioner, in earnest wonder; "why, what de debil put dat in your head? No, sah! I wouldn't be free for nuffin. If dares one ting in dis world more mean dan anudder, I 'spect it's a free nigger. Guy! de Lord deliber dis chile from anyting ob dat kind."
"You astound me, Jeff. This is all nonsense."
"You'se not de fuss pusson from de Norf, massa, dat's been 'stounded by what de niggers say in de Souf here. I 'member wunst old Massar hab a fren cum here from somewhar, State of York, I tink 'twas, an' he taut a great sight ob him, and took him roun' de city in de big carriage, and made big dinners for him, and 'vited all his notorious 'quaintances to meet him at his house, and all dat. Well, all de time dat Master was makin' so much ob him, dat man was catching ebery chance to try and git his niggers away from him, and de Master knowin' nuffin 'tall 'bout it, and treatin' him like a king.
"Well, one day, dis ole debbil cum to me, ('scuse me for calling him so 'fore you, Mister Pratt, but he warn't nuffin else,) an' stood an' looked at me awhile, as I was workin' away, and he sez, 'Jeffrey'-he allus called me by my hull name, and wus a kind of pious-lookin' man, wore a white neck-tie, and alus folded up his hands kinder solemn when he spoke-'Jeffrey,' sez he, puttin' on a bery long face, 'I do feel so much pity for you!'
"'Caus why, massa?' sez I.
"'Why, 'cause I see you here sich a fine, strong, young ma
n, with sich able powers o' your own, and sich excellent caperbilities to make a fine livin' for yourself, a workin' here, day in and day out, an' a givin' all your life fur de benefit ob anudder. Oh, I feel so sorry fur you!' an' he sighed when he sed dat, like a tired mule.
"'Well,' sez I, 'massa, I'se contented where I is. I hab my victuals and clothes, and a good hum, and for all I can see, dat's all my Master has. Ob de two I does tink I'm de best off. Sometimes, when I see him cum in lookin' all pale and flurried like, from his business, I tink to myself I wouldn't hab all his 'sponsibilities on my back fur de world. Guy! I'd rather be de slave dan de master, any time; and as fur when de time comes to die, I reckon I'll take jist as much out of de world as he will.'
"'Poor benighted soul,' sez he, liftin' up his hands again, mighty solemn, 'so they've really learn't you to talk so, eh? To think ob perwerting a human soul in dis way! Drefful! drefful!'
"'Now,' sez I, 'massa, nobody told me to say dat at all. Don't you 'spect brack man's got sum common sense, and can see as fur into a cane-brake as anybody else? A brack man's nebber a fool 'cept when he's coaxed to run away from a good master, sah! Better bleeb dat.'
"'But only to tink,' sez he, 'ob bein' whipped like a hoss when you do anyting wrong, and all dat.'
"'Well,' sez I, 'I 'spect if you've got any chillen, you puts de gad on to dem when dey do wrong, too. I'se got a kind Master, and one ob de bes young Mistresses in de world. Fur my part, I'm happy as de day is long.'
The Brother Clerks; A Tale of New-Orleans. Page 14