The Brother Clerks; A Tale of New-Orleans.
Page 27
It was late before Guly parted from his kind friends, and when he did, it was with a sigh of regret for his own fate, though he could not help rejoicing in his generous heart at Blanche's good fortune. As the pretty and innocent brodeuse, he had hoped to win and wear her as his own; but as the adopted daughter of one of the wealthiest ladies in the Crescent City, accomplished, rich, polished, and refined, this Blanche he dared not, could not hope to win. It was a height to which he, a poor salaried clerk, could never aspire.
With a heavy heart he wended his way through the star-lit streets, dreaming of the days of the blind grandsire, and the little work-table at which he used to thread needles for Blanche, and wondering if those times ever would return.
CHAPTER XLI.
"Hast thou loved in the good man's path to tread,
And bend o'er the sufferer's lowly bed?
Hast thou sought on the buoyant wings of prayer
A peace which the faithless may not share?
Do thy hopes all tend to the spirit land,
And the love of a bright unspotted band?
Are these thy treasures?"--
It was twilight, and Mr. Delancey was sitting at his high desk, with his eyes looking thoughtfully out from under his pale brow. Changes had come upon him, and it was evident that though the strong will was there, the fire of that stern pride that once glowed there was crushed out, and burned now only in a few smouldering embers. Cholera had taken his wife from his side, and he inhabited the great house on Apollo-street, a desolate and childless old man.
"Gulian," said he, as the boy approached him with a bow, "how is it that you always can succeed in preserving your amiability and politeness under all circumstances? I cannot understand."
"Simply, sir," replied Guly, with a smile, "by remembering the one great law which God has given us to write upon our hearts, 'Do unto others as ye would that others should do unto you.'"
"Humph!"
Guly stood in silence, looking up into the hard, pale face beside him.
"I have been thinking of you to-day, Gulian, something for your advancement. You have served me faithfully, and I wish to do something for you."
"You have already done for me much, very much."
"And you have never presumed upon it. I would do more. Do you think you could love me?"
"Love you, Mr. Delancey?"
"Even so; I am loveless and childless in my old age; be to me a son, I will strive to be to you a father."
The merchant opened his arms, and Guly for the first time felt himself held to that proud heart with a cordial grasp of affection.
"Be to me a son," continued Mr. Delancey, "and all my wealth, all that I possess, shall be yours. I am old, and want some one to love me; some one to miss me when I am gone. Do you consent?"
Guly thought of Blanche, and his heart bounded; but the next moment his own noble self came back, and he answered promptly: "I will gladly be to you, Mr. Delancey, the son you desire. I will love you, cherish you; do as a child should do toward a parent. But your wealth I cannot take. Let me see that distributed between those children who were disinherited by your wounded pride, and I shall be happy and contented in performing those duties which belong to you, from which you so cruelly cut yourself off."
"Children? my children? I have none."
"Where is Clinton's wife and his little son? Have they no claim upon your kindness?"
"It may be, it may be."
"And Clinton himself, he has been pardoned out, and is wasting his young life to gather a pittance which you could so easily bestow."
"Has he not disgraced and shamed me?"
"Pardon me, my friend; but was not the primal fault your own? Was he not driven to his desperate course by a father's pride and unkindness?"
"It may be, oh, it may be."
"Write their names upon that scroll from whence they have been crossed, and restore them once more to their rights and happiness."
"And leave you poor?"
"I am better accustomed to poverty, and can fight my way while I have strength and God's help."
Mr. Delancey drew some papers from his desk and spread them before him.
"Since you so desire, my will shall be altered; I had hoped to make you happy in the possession of my wealth; if it will make you happier to see it in the possession of others, it shall be done. Young man, you have acted nobly."
The merchant bent over his desk and wrote rapidly for some time. Lifting his head at last, he called Guly to affix his name, then folded and put them once more out of sight.
"There," said he, "it is done; if any error lay there, I have done all in my power to repair it now."
"And you will receive your reward."
The merchant said nothing, but sat with his head leaning on his hand. "I cannot tell," said he, "what can have put such thoughts into my mind; perhaps, 'tis because I am growing old they come there; but I have been thinking of the other side of the river to-day, the River of Life."
"My dear friend," said Guly, turning suddenly and taking the merchant's hand respectfully in his; "I am heartily glad that your thoughts have been turned seriously in this direction. It is a subject which ought to frequently intrude upon our minds, and I am inclined to think, that whether our passage across that river be pleasant or painful, lies much with ourselves. We should live to die, even as we would die to live."
Delancey shook his head.
"I have lived many years," said he, with a sad look which Guly never remembered to have seen in that hard face before, "and to-day, for the first time, the thought has forced itself upon me, that I have lived to very little purpose. I have had no aim for life, and the account of my stewardship here below must fall far short of what is required."
"There are very few," replied Guly, encouragingly, "who can strike the balance-sheet of life, and be content. Your reflections are, no doubt, the natural effect of the sad season we have passed through, and of your desolate loneliness."
Mr. Delancey leaned forward, and held his hand on Guly's arm, impressively:-
"Young man, while you are yet young, let me warn you to beware of a purposeless life; have an aim, have a mark, struggle for it, grasp at it, and though you may never reach it, you will die happier."
The merchant relapsed again into silence, and Guly turned to a window, to note the fury of a wild storm which was raging without. Suddenly there came a blaze of light, instantly followed by a loud and crashing peal of thunder.
"How fearful! that bolt must have passed near, or struck us," said Guly, turning toward the merchant. There came no answer, and the boy went up, and laid his hand upon the old man's shoulder. He was sitting bolt upright in his chair, with his stony eyes fixed upon vacancy, as he was so often wont to sit. Guly lifted one of the bony hands in his, but it dropped heavily, lifelessly, back upon the desk. Mr. Delancey was dead! The fearful lightning had borne him across life's river, without pain and without warning.
CHAPTER XLII.
"Man wants but little here below."
Mr. Delancey's funeral was scarcely over, before Guly received a message, stating that his friend the dwarf, was very ill, and desired to see him. The ragged boy, who brought the message, offered to act as guide to the cripple's hovel, remarking, that Richard said Monsieur would give him a dime for so doing. The money was readily bestowed, and in a few minutes Guly stood by the bedside of his wretched friend. Everything about the place indicated poverty, destitution, and filth, and the dwarf lay curled up, in the last stages of cholera, beneath the few rags which served him for a covering. It was evident no physician had been called, and it was now too late for one to do any good.
"Hih, hih, Monsieur," squeaked the poor old man; "come, at last, eh? Look a long time for you; very cold, Monsieur, very."
Guly took the cramped and chilling hands in his, and strove to warm them there.
"Hih, hih, Monsieur; poor little dwarf's time's come at last. Can't talk much, Monsieur; but got very much to say."
&n
bsp; "Don't exert yourself much, Richard."
"Only one little. I must improve my time. Ugh! Monsieur; that cramp was very dreadful!"
A moment of silence ensued, broken only by the rattling respiration of the expiring dwarf.
"Underneath this bed, Monsieur, and underneath the broad plank in the floor-when I am gone, Monsieur, look, and you will find one strong box. It holds a little money-only a little-which I have got for little odd jobs and begging. After I am under the ground, that is yours. You are the only one ever really kind to poor Richard, and now that he's going away for ever, he wants you to remember him kindly."
"I could do it without this, Richard, always."
"No matter, Monsieur; dat is yours. Ugh! Monsieur, 'tis so cold. Don't forget-under the broad plank. Think I'll be a straight man in the other world, Monsieur?"
"Yes, Richard."
"Think you will know and love me there?"
"I hope so, Richard."
"So do I; in my heart, I do. Ugh! ugh! how cold. Give me your blessing, Monsieur."
"God bless you, Richard."
"Ugh, Monsieur, I am going. Good-bye. There is a time when life ceases to be sweet. Hih, hih!"
The poor cripple threw himself over towards the wall; and, with a shivering moan, died.
Guly gave the remains of his friend a decent funeral, and afterwards proceeded to find the strong-box, which his last request had been for him to seek. He found it in the designated place-strong-box indeed, and very heavy. On lifting the lid, the following words, scrawled on a bit of paper, in the dwarf's own hand, met his eye:-
"For Gulian Pratt-the only man who ever gave me money without seeming to begrudge it."
Just beneath was written:-
"Love ye one another."
Upon counting the contents of the box, Guly found himself the possessor of forty thousand dollars, the miserly savings of his crippled friend. Verily, "Cast thy bread upon the waters, and after many days it shall be returned to thee."
He had enough to wed Blanche now! With a bounding heart, the boy hurried to her side, to tell her all. He did so, in the presence of Mrs. Belmont.
"It required no fortune on your part," said the lady, kindly, "to have made your suit prosper with Blanche. To have known she loved you would have been sufficient, for to see her the bride of one whom I know to be so noble and good, is the highest boon I could ask for her. You are both, however, too young as yet to wed; but if, in two years' time, you find your love unchanged, you then shall have my sanction and my blessing."
Two years! dear reader, they pass quickly with young hearts, and they were soon flown. In the softened shadow of the old cathedral windows-at the altar, where once before they had stood with Della and Bernard-Blanche and Guly took their places, side by side, with no one to divide them now or ever, in after life. There had come but little change upon them since we saw them last, save that Guly's hair had more of the brown and less of the golden about it, and his face grown even more noble in its lofty expression. As the ceremony was ended, they turned to leave the church, but a stranger, tall and dark, stood in their path.
There was a moment's doubtful pause, then the brothers were clasped in each other's arms!
Those who had filled the building, to note the marriage ceremony, filed slowly out; and the wedding-party still stood in the dim and shadowy aisles, forgetful of all about them in this new joy-the delight of this unexpected meeting-and the hurried explanations which, even here, Arthur was induced to give. He told of long and lonely months in distant lands, of weary hours and heavy days, of fierce struggles with his rebellious spirit; of battles with his stubborn pride, and resistance to the force of evil habits. He told, too, with his handsome lip quivering with emotion, how the wild struggle ceased at last, and "the peace of God, which passeth all understanding," came to his troubled breast.
"And," continued he, "with my love and trust in 'Him who doeth all things well,' once more restored to my rebel heart, I found myself possessed of renewed energy, and an indomitable spirit of perseverance, which seemed to conquer all difficulties. I made many friends, and acquired much wealth, and then started for my native land. I rfeached it,-a crowd about these doors drew me hither, and you know the rest. The old times at No. -Chartres-street hang over my manhood only as a finger of warning, and I have learned that they alone can tread a prosperous path in this life, who follow God's Guide-board, which is the Bible, and trust to His finger to point it out to them."
The joyous party left at once for the shores of the Hudson. There Arthur re-purchased the old homestead for his mother, and remained "a single man," the comfort and blessing of her old age. And every summer sees Blanche and Guly there, while "Uncle Arthur" looks out upon the lawn, watching the bright figures flitting among the trees, and smiles to see the shadows falling by them, as in the olden time.
THE END.
FB2 document info
Document ID: f2e95099-9250-4468-9dd2-1b3357c45f7d
Document version: 1.1
Document creation date: 28.01.2012
Created using: EmEditor 8.05, FB Editor v2.3, Fiction Book Designer software
Document authors :
Ghost mail
Source URLs :
http://www.munseys.com/book/21871/
Document history:
Форматирование эпиграфов - Antc (версия 1.1)
About
This file was generated by Lord KiRon's FB2EPUB converter version 1.1.5.0.
(This book might contain copyrighted material, author of the converter bears no responsibility for it's usage)
Этот файл создан при помощи конвертера FB2EPUB версии 1.1.5.0 написанного Lord KiRon.
(Эта книга может содержать материал который защищен авторским правом, автор конвертера не несет ответственности за его использование)
http://www.fb2epub.net
https://code.google.com/p/fb2epub/