 Chapter 5 of The Fortune Hunter, a novel of New York society by Anna Cora Mollett. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kelly Taylor. His name could sadden and his acts surprise. Byron. It was a bright noon. Broadway was throng with smiling faces and rainbow toilets, with fair girls who know of no other place in which to display their finery, wives who had abjured every resort of the gay world except its gayest promenade, young men who were walking against time, hoping to annihilate him by the process, all maids who came to be seen and to criticize whatever they saw. Young maids whose thoughts were engrossed in showing one another their lovers, while they seemed to be listening to the tale outpoured in their delighted ears. Among the latter was Esther Clinton, and beside her walked Augustus Brainerd. The young lady looked languid and mournful as usual, and the young gentleman as though Viv la Bagatelle was the only sentiment he could utter with sincerity. How I weary of these brick walls in this dull city, I sigh for the veudure of the woodland, the song of the birds, and the gush of the cool spring, exclaimed Esther. You are always sighing, thought Brainerd, but he answered, while you are so formed as to give charm to either the city or the country, both are like to me. They were just crossing a street, Esther, with her head bent thoughtfully downward, found her eyes of little service. With an exclamation of great terror, Brainerd suddenly drew her back, and at the same time shielding her from some impending danger by courageously stretching out his arms in front of her. My dear Miss Clinton, in another moment those vile beasts would have trampled you under their feet. I do not know when I have been so very much alarmed. Noble self-sacrificing man, this is the second time you have preserved my life, replied Esther gratefully. How can I reward you?" Mr. Brainerd was about availing himself of this opportunity of informing her in what manner she could very fully reward him, when he was interrupted by somebody seizing his disengaged arm, and very affectionately drawing it through his own. I, Brainerd, my dear fellow, how do you do, delighted to find you at last, been looking for you all over New York every day this week, delighted to see you, pretty girl you got here, he added, in a loud whisper, who is she, great country this, great women, finest women in the world, introduce me. Mr. Brainerd was so perfectly confounded that, although he did not drop at full length in the street, which was his first impulse, and though he continued to walk on, he could not gather courage to notice his friend's request. Dear Badger, however, always being at his ease, and presuming that Mr. Brainerd did not understand him, stretch his conveniently long neck forward, and with an insinuating leer, which he intended should do some execution, thus addressed the wondering Esther. How do you do, miss, feel honored to have had made the pleasure of making your acquaintance a fine day this, a very fine day, many fine days in this country, nothing like it? Brainerd saw the absolute necessity of putting a good face on the matter, and by a great effort recovered himself, turning to Esther with a pale cheek and a quivering lip he said, Miss Clinton, allow me to present my friend, Mr. Badger. Particular friend, my dear fellow, whispered Badger, how do you do again, Miss Clinton? I shall call Brainerd here one of the best friends I have in the world if he introduces me to so much beauty every day, and Mr. Badger made a short halt to accomplish the bow which he deemed it incumbent upon him to make. He is a good fellow, but rather eccentric, remarked Brainerd, Soto Volce, to Esther, for my sake bear with him until I can explain. By the power there goes Mark Matheson, did you see that olive-colored coach with those yellow linings that man owes Benninger five hundred dollars? Is it that sublime? No, Mr. Matheson, Miss Clinton, no sir, I know him not. You don't say, an acquaintance of my, a very particular friend, wife ran away from him, trying to get her back, can't do it though, law won't make her fine woman, fine, intend paying him a visit tomorrow. My dear Badger, I know you will permit me to speak freely with you, I have really something very special to say to this young lady, that misfortune in your foot makes your pace rather too slow. Excuse me if I walk a little ahead of you, not at all, not at all my dear fellow, don't let my foot annoy you, never comes in my way, I can walk as fast as you like. Mr. Badger mended his gate as Mr. Brainard quickened his, or marred it rather, for the pace at which he attempted to walk made his limp almost superfluously obvious. This is too bad, Badger, upon my word I have something particular to say to the lady. My fellow, I shall disturb you in the least, none so deaf as those who won't hear, you know, just fancy me a post, and when you've done, I want to talk to the lady myself. Now don't be too monopolizing, mustn't he, Miss Clinton? I hate you not, sir. I say that Brainard here mustn't monopolize you all together. I country this and a free one, all men enjoy its privileges equally, best things in it are the women, fine women, finest women in the world, ain't they, Brainard, hey? Your sentiment is a very just one, Mr. Badger, and say no more. Mr. Badger's drawl as he gave forth this new sentiment bore some resemblance to his mode of walking, for he made a limping pause between each word, as between every step, yet dexterously connected it with the following one. Mr. Badger, will you listen to reason, will you say no more? But I must say more, sir, and I will tell you. Why, Brainard, my dear fellow, why? Mr. Badger gave a long ludicrous searching stare into the countenance of Mr. Brainard. Why, you've been a corking champagne already this morning. You have, I know it! Mr. Badger burst into a hearty laugh, shaking his head very reproachfully at Mr. Brainard the whole time. When his mirth had somewhat subsided, he again stretched forth his swan-like throat towards Miss Clinton, and, winking his left eye at her, while he pointed his thumb at Mr. Brainard, said, Don't you see something queer about him this morning? I saw it at once, your ladyship. I've just discovered, discovered, shall I peach Mr. Brainard? Mr. Brainard's lips grew white with smothered rage. He clenched his teeth together, and scowling on Badger strove to speak, but he only gave utterance to something resembling a low growl. Did you see that lady in blue and scarlet Miss Clinton? Fine woman! Know her very well! Her husband, let us have an in to this farce, Badger. I know what you want. Call at my rooms tomorrow at ten, and I promise you that you shall be satisfied. Promises ain't so good as pie crust sometimes. Didn't I call you last you told me? And didn't I find the cage open and the bird flown? You can't come back gammin' over me anymore. Since you will talk of business, I'll tell you my intentions. I've found you now, and I like you too well to part company. When you're ready to walk home, so am I. And then we can talk this matter over at our ease. First, my feelings as a gentleman. And Badger touched the left side of his coat, prompt me to take care of the lady after that to business. Mr. Badger spoke with earnestness, but in too low a tone for more than a casual word to meet Esther's ear. But you do know you are frustrating, perhaps the only means I shall ever have of paying you. I, indeed, plenty of spoons, eh? And Mr. Badger playfully touched his nose with his thumb, and at the same time quivering his fingers to signify that he understood. Yes, as a man of sense, you must see the necessity of leaving me now, and tomorrow at ten I shall not fail you. Say no more! You attacked me in a tender place when you used the ladies as an argument, said Mr. Badger aloud. He does, Miss Clinton, I assure you he does, but since you young folks want to be laughed together, I won't spoil sport. So good morning, a very good morning, Miss Clinton, happy to have made your acquaintance. Brainerd, my good fellow, good morning! Mr. Badger swept his hat gracefully through the air and passed on. Brainerd drew a long breath which seemed to relieve his chest from some invisible weight, and his cheeks, before quite pale, became flushed with burning crimson. What a very singular person! How he alarmed me! Is he insane, Mr. Brainerd? said Esther, clinging for protection to her companion's arm. Yes, a little, that is, on one or two subjects, poor fellow, I really do pity him. Shall I tell you the truth? Pray don't mention it. The fact is that the sight of a beautiful woman completely upsets him. He must have caught a glimpse of you as we pass by, and having seen me once or before twice, he determined to claim an acquaintance for the sake of being near you. I knew his weakness and humored him. Can you pardon me? Pardon you for succoring the unfortunate? How can you ask me such a question? Brainerd drew another long breath which seemed to benefit even more than the former one. But in proportion, as his spirits rose, those of Esther sank. And Brainerd, observing her mood, thought it dangerous to resume the conversation which Mr. Badger had so inopportunely interrupted. Mr. Badger looked back once or twice as he pursued his way down Broadway and gave Brainerd a patronizing nod, which the latter gentleman could not have observed, for he never once had the civility to return it. What's next, so little wise Mr. Badger, as he drew a long and narrow strip of paper from his pocket? Let me see, Cummings, Caterfly, Nielsen, Never-Pay, Morrison, Mordont, ah, Mordont, That's just on my way, must say a word or two to that chap today, what a wry face he'll make. No gentleman, he treats a man of my standing like a dog. Gentlemen that are gentlemen, respect the talents in all its varieties. Here's from Mordont, never bled that old quiz yet. Will go hard with me if I can't find some soft place to stick the lancet today. The way darted Mr. Badger, for he knew the value of his own time and how much of it was unnecessarily consumed by his acquaintances. His onward course was only interrupted by a few hearty shakes of his hands which he thought it necessary to dispense among his particular friends. He stopped before a three-story house in Pearl Street near the battery. The building stood almost entirely alone. The faded paint on the bricks and the door, the dilapidated blinds and the yellowish shutters closed throughout the house, gave it a gloomy and deserted appearance. Mr. Badger mounted the steps. There was no bell, and the knocker was too much rusted to move without giving forth some sounds of complaint. Badger's practiced hand, however, extracted from it a noise that would have roused seven sleepers. The summons was unanswered. Again, Badger lifted the knocker and dexterously eased its stiffened hinges with another peel. Still, no answer. A third time he seized the noisy instrument and only relinquished it after taking some more severe gymnastic exercise than was his custom. The key at last turned. Several bolts were undrawn. The door opened just wide enough for the person within to ascertain who stood without, and the croaking voice of an age-female sulkily demanded, What be you making all this noise about? Very sorry to disturb you, my good lady. Very. To take so much trouble boxing your door, no use, trouble never gets paid for. Mr. Mordon at home, my respected lady. None of your lady and plebbering here, there being no ladies in this house. Mr. Mordon aren't at home. Didn't suppose he was, only asked for information. Take care, continued Mr. Badger, placing his clubfoot forcibly against the door which the woman was attempting to shut in his face. Have a word to say to you, my dear lady, always delighted to talk with the ladies. Mr. Mordon ain't home, eh? As he's coming home, though, just about his dinner hour, smelled the dinner quite strong. Good soup you make, quite good, keen nose, this. Mr. Badger designated the organ he alluded to in a manner which pointed out its locality even more decidedly than nature's lavish hand had done. I don't know when Mr. Mordon will come home. You best call again, said the old woman. Bless your beautiful all-face, not the slightest use of that. Suppose I don't know better manners when I'm visiting a gentleman. Don't trouble yourself. I'll come in and take a seat in the parlor. Oh, door opens hard, must grease the hinges. As Mr. Badger said these words, he inserted his stick into the crevice of the door, for the old woman was pushing against it with all her strength, and gently pried it open. Lorda Mercy, save us. You ain't going to knock one down and talk a manners, be you. Pardon me, my dear lady. I thought I could assist you. Stupid, door very stupid. Why, it's greasing. Mr. Badger gallantly assisted the grumbling old woman to rise from her half-recombing posture and saved her the trouble of closing the street door by shutting it himself. After this he walked along the entry and turned the first door knob, the room was locked. He tried the next, the door opened, and he entered the back parlor, followed by the old woman who continued to mutter and groan. The room was cheerless and almost devoid of furniture. A small table in the center was partially spread for dinner. Mr. Badger seized upon the well-warm armchair, which was placed before the solitary plate, and drawing it to the window, peered through the dusty panes as though he was expected to enjoy some scenery. The yard was large and filled with noxious weeds grown to the height of shrubs. Mr. Badger gazed upon them with evident satisfaction. Fine garden, rich soil, good growth here, sublime, ain't it? Take care of it all yourself, ladies, love flowers, amiable weakness, isn't it? Be not going to stay here, sir, Mr. Mordont won't be home for more than an hour. Don't let it afflict you, my dear lady, I'm quite disengaged, very comfortable here, don't mind waiting. But who's going to stay with you here to wait on you? I've got dinner to cook, all them fish will be burnt to death, I smell them burning now. Oh, don't let the fish spoil, very sorry to lose your delightful company, but dinner must be attended to, don't stand on ceremony, my dear lady, I'll entertain myself with the prospect from this window. The old woman lingered giving forth at intervals a low, creerless sound, but the odor of burning fish became so perceptible that it drew her irresistibly away. Mind you, don't stare out of this room, said she, and hobbled downstairs to save her master's dinner from the consuming element. Mr. Badger sat up while in contemplative mood, gazing on the weeds and probably reflecting on the weed-life growth of sin. When he wearied of this fascinating occupation he looked around the room, but the remnants of faded furniture were too time-war to bear much examination. Considerable of a house of this, for such an old quiz, living all alone, no use to him at all, wonder why he don't sell it, bring more than enough to pay his debts fifty times over, wonder what he does with the upper story, just take a peek now I'm here to see what the house would bring at auction. Mr. Badger left the room on his errand of investigation and ascended the stairs. He tried every door of the second story, but found them all locked. He was ascending the flight which led to the third story when he paused suddenly. His ear caught a wild, low strain of music, which seemed to proceed from some chamber above. It was the sound of a female voice. While Mr. Badger stood listening in wonder the song ceased. The next moment it burst forth again and a wilder, louder strain. Mr. Badger's composure fortunately never forsook him. Led by the sound he continued ascending the flights of steps until he found himself in the attic. Some pretty chamber maid thought he'd take a peep at all events, get her perhaps to remind her master when she's making his bed every morning of his little account. No harm in trying. The singing continued, now loud, now low, now joyful, and now sad. Mr. Badger approached the room from which it proceeded and gently tapped upon the door. The song proceeded and no answer was made. The next time he knocked louder and louder grew the song, but still no answer. He then attempted to lift the latch, but the door was locked and the key extracted. This was too much for Mr. Badger. True, his joints were somewhat stiff and they cracked reluctantly as he compelled them to obedience, but he knelt down, notwithstanding, and put his eye to the key-hell. Why that old profligate! Who'd have suspected it? Ain't this a blime? Why he's got a woman locked up here! Great country this! Great country! And Mr. Badger rubbed his hands in unfeigned delight. Fine woman, superb, pale though, very pale, not enough of her, quite, afraid the old quiz don't feed her very well. Black hair hanging down to her knees, like the mad woman in the play. What big black eyes! Who is she looking at? Nobody there? Talking to somebody, though, can't see another soul in the room, seeing it again now? What the deuce makes her squeeze her hands together in that outlandish fashion! Little white hands, white as her dress, nothing like a woman's hand, that old profligate, looking so blue all the while! And this the way he's unmuted himself? Great country this! Great country! Greatest country in the world, that's certain! Mr. Badger entertained himself a few moments longer at the keyhole, until the wind which eddyed through it made his eyes water, when, all at once, he appeared to become sensible of the impropriety of spying the actions of a lady while she was unconscious of his presence and called out, Bigger pardon, my lady, how do you do this morning, delighted to make your acquaintance Fine day, your ladyship, very fine day, is Mr. Morton at home? A wild shriek issued from the chamber at these words, and then came cries of, let me out, let me out, oh, let me out! Succeeded by agonizing sobs and moans, don't be alarmed, your ladyship, it's only me, never alarm the ladies, don't scream now, don't, only just wanted to know how you did, hope your ladyship, Mr. Badger was interrupted by the clutch of a hen which grasped him fiercely about the nape of his neck. He turned so abruptly that his head knocked against that of some other person. The old woman was bending over him. At first glance he thought the place that of a demon. So full was it of satanic rage and fury. Big pardon, my dear lady, hope I didn't hurt you very much. Here he be, master, shriek the old bell dame at the top of her cracked voice. I hope to mercy you'll pitch him out of the window or he'll ruin us. These words were succeeded by a quick heavy tread on the stairs, and before Mr. Badger could rise from his lowly posture, Mr. Mordant was standing before him. Mr. Mordant's livid countenance expressed fear and horror rather than wrath. For a few seconds the two looked at each other in silence. Mr. Mordant, as though he was too petrified to speak, and Mr. Badger with an air of virtuous yet playful rebuke, at length the latter slowly rose from his knees and exclaimed, shaking his head. Oh, you old reprobate, didn't think of you? I didn't. Hadn't sewed your wild oats yet, eh? Fine woman, fine eyes, seems like an opera woman at the part. Introduce me, will you? Mr. Mordant stretched out his arm and, touching Mr. Badger on the shoulder, hoarsely whispered, Come down! Pitch him out the window, master, screamed the old woman. Mordant looked at her with a frown exclaimed, Silence! Go in and see that all is right. You introduce me, then, said Badger. Well, as you like, don't want anybody else to ruffle the feathers of your bird, eh? Right, sir. Quite right. Mr. Badger, have the goodness to follow me downstairs. Certainly, certainly, why the old prig is growing quite civil, thought Mr. Badger. The influence of a woman, nothing like it. The influence of a woman makes lambs of us. They entered the parlor. Mr. Mordant closed the door, pointed out a chair to Mr. Badger, and sank into one himself. At first he appeared to be too much overcome to speak, and Mr. Badger very considerably looked out the window, remarking, Fine growth you've got out there! Mr. Badger, lads said, Mr. Mordant, the unfortunate discovery you have made. Not at all! Don't let it distress you, my dear fellow. Know how to make allowances for the weaknesses of human nature. No creature comfort, after all, like a downright pretty woman, like one myself sometimes. Yours looks rather pale, though. Yes, you are very considerate, sir. I am much obliged to you, Mr. Badger, and I have one great favor to ask. The lady, my—the person you saw—desires to live in the greatest seclusion as her hell. Poorly, under your say, she looks poorly. Must make her take the air. Give her color. Take my advice. Don't keep her too confined. It won't do with a woman. I thank you for your advice, sir. My request is that you will promise never to reveal the discovery you have made. Of course not. Man of honor, sir. Touch me on a tender point. I have your promise, then. Don't be sure. What in lisp a word of it for the world? By the by. That reminds me of something I forgot to mention. Slip a paper here. You'll oblige me by looking it over. Great deal of business on hand this afternoon. Like you to settle yours without delay. Dinner getting spoiled. Lady up there, look, hungry. Never mention her again if you hope to get a farthing of the money, said Mr. Mordant, so sternly that his visitor almost jumped out of his seat. Mr. Mordant opened an old desk and took from it two or three bills and some silver. This is the last money I have in the world. Take it. But, unless you hope to repent most bitterly, remember there is one subject to which you are never to elude. Oh, certainly. Five, six, seven, ten, twelve, and one, two, three, four, five shillings. Twelve dollars and five shillings. That leaves seventeen dollars yet, do you pay me tomorrow? Impossible. I have not another shilling in the world. But keep your promise. I will pay. I will call upon you next week. Don't trouble yourself. I never trouble people that way. Step around myself next Tuesday. I hope to save you from the necessity. And now, Mr. Badger, as I am somewhat fatigued, I beg your excuse me. Why, get rid of me. Gonna pay a visit to Mr. Badger pointed upwards with his thumb, and at the same time, significantly jerking up his left shoulder, silent. Never mentioned that subject again. Almost shouted Mr. Mordant, oh, beg your pardon, won't detain you. I'll call next Thursday. Present my r—oh, no, don't, don't mean to offend. Good morning. I wish you a very good morning. Don't forget Tuesday. Mr. Badger left the house well pleased with his visit, so well that he determined to deprive himself of dinner until he had paid another. Who's next? Let's see. Edgar Chadwick, ten dollars to his bootmaker. That's in Waverly Place. We'll take the bus and be there in five minutes, just to catch him at dinner. Never had a bill against him before. Green. That makes him a pony up at once. Mr. Badger held an omnibus, jumped in, and looked around to see whether any of his particular friends were present, and with whom he could transact a little business in his line. For once he was disappointed. The stage stopped for him to alight at Waverly Place. After all, his having met a single acquaintance. He took his way to one of the most elegant mansions in the street. Mr. Chadwick at home. No, sir. So, if I was the doctor's at home? The servant, being unaccustomed to visitors of Mr. Badger's character, replied, Yes, sir, he is, and Mr. Edgar will be here by dinnertime. Oh, Willie, quite right, I'll wait. Let the doctor know that a gentleman wants to see him. Yes, sir, please walk into the office. Mr. Badger walked in, and soon after, a portly-looking personage with peculiarly neat and jaunty exterior, entered the room. Dr. Chadwick, how do you do, sir? Happy to make your acquaintance. My name's Badger, sir. Badger. Fine day, fine. Had the honour to call on Master Edgar. My son's not home, sir. I was informed that you had some business with me. Not that honour, sir, sorry to say it. A slip of paper here for Master Edgar up. Fine young man, presume you're his banker. Quite a sleeve-transact business with you, sir. Small account I have the honour to collect for Mr. Wagner, the bootmaker. Let me see it. Ten dollars. Has there been any difficulty in my son's paying the account that it was placed in your hands? Can't say, sir. Mr. Wagner's generally impatient, very impatient man. Always likes the cash down, all alike, sir. Gentlemen in trade want their money, and gentlemen out of trade won't pay. Great country this, great country. Receive the account, sir. Here's the money, and I hope this is the last bill that may ever be presented in this manner against my son. Certainly, sir, it is a pleasure to be treated in this gentlemanly way. Persons of my profession, sir, know a gentleman at a glance. Your children, those two little lambs in the intricate, beautiful darlings, very like you, sir. Very like great country, this great country. Fine children, finest children in the world. As Mr. Badger ran merrily down the front steps, he came into contact with Mr. Chadwick, who was briskly ascending them. Bad pardon, sir, had a little business with you. Your father settled it. Excellent father, yours. He's a gentleman, sir, a gentleman, an honor to his country. Great country this, great fathers. And Mr. Badger, seeing another omnibus in the distance, abruptly finished his discourse and vanished. That is an odd individual I met this moment on the steps. Do you know who he is, sir? Asked Edgar as he entered the drawing-room. I am afraid his errand was to make your acquaintance. I am grieved to find that you have already commenced to receiving visits of a collector. And for so trifling a sum, he had a bill of ten dollars against you for boots. Is that possible? Why the money has not been due ten days. That speaks badly for your credit, my son. Here comes your mother. Let us go into dinner and we will talk over this matter. The family party seated themselves at table, and the worthy doctor helped his wife, his son, and himself, and dismissed the waiter before he resumed the subject of Mr. Badger. You are very young, my son, to have a bill presented to you in such a manner. Not three and twenty until next June, are you. The life of a young physician, who has his fortune to make, is not the easiest in the world. I know something of his struggles from experience. Now if a man can very easily save himself all this trouble, do you see any reason why he should not do it? No, provided he may do it honorably. But really, I do not understand you. Have patience, and I will explain. I hear the bells call you a handsome and agreeable young fellow, though your mother and I, here the doctor looked humorously at his wife, may think you an ordinary puppy, it is very fortunate that some peoples are of a different opinion. Go on, my dear sir, I am quite too polite to contradict that. Edgar, said his mother, your father takes a long time to tell his story, so I will assist in getting you at the cream of it once. Have you any antipathy to matrimony? Quite the contrary. Then of course you have no objection to a rich wife. That is another part of speech. Perhaps I have. I shall never marry a woman that I do not love. Viddledy Dee, exclaimed the doctor, all boys talk so. You'll outgrow that nonsense. Then I shall do more than my father or mother have done, replied Edgar, smiling on the contented-looking couple. The smile was reflected on both their faces, but the calculating spirit of the father would not permit him to be so soon driven from his purpose. My son, as I have said before, a young physician has to struggle. As you struggled thirty years ago, my dear sir, and at the end of that time, he may gain your enviable position, not so certain. Even if it was, I do not desire to see you go through the furnace as I have done. Not if I come forth gold seven times refined? No. No, I tell you, therefore do not jest any more, or you will make me lose my temper. I am an earnest. Some of my patients informed me yesterday that Miss Esther Clinton shows a decided preference for you. Now you cannot do better than marry her. With your permission, I think I can do much better. I do not aspire to give you quite so romantic and troublesome a daughter-in-law as Miss Esther. We will not find her money in the least troublesome, I promise you. When I marry, it will be with a woman, not a money bag. A woman who I love and whom my parents cannot help loving, but Miss Esther will never be my wife. In a word, my affections are engaged elsewhere. I last night offered her hand, and was accepted. You did, did you? And I suppose you expect my consent, said the doctor, with much anger as surprised. I hope for it. But should it be unreasonably refused, I must content myself without it. Unreasonably without it? Let me tell you, you headstrong young dog, you—Edgar, why will you exasperate your father so needlessly? Let him know the lady's name, and I daresay all will be right. I am proud in naming her. I can name Miss Arya Walton. Miss Walton, shouted the father, Miss Walton screamed the mother, Edgar, are you out of your senses? She has not a scent in the world. Pardon me, my dear mother, but had you any fortune when you married to my father? If I obtain as good a wife as my mother has been, that is all I desire. You certainly cannot find fault with my treading in the steps of my parents. But I do find fault, and I shall take care. You shall not do it, sir. Say how do you expect to support Miss Walton, interrogated the doctor? Buy my profession. If her poverty is your only objection to the lady, certainly it cannot be insurmountable. But it is not my only objection. Family consideration is something. Family purity is a great deal. Who is Miss Arya's father? And who has ever heard of her mother? I will tell you. Her father is in all probability, Mr. Mordant, and her mother some woman who was too great a disgrace for her sex for Mr. Mordant to make his wife. Is the offspring of such a woman that you intend to present to me as a daughter? If it is, sir, she never comes under this roof. I have laid up some little fortune through my hard industry, but if you bring this disgrace upon my name, I have bequeathed to you my money shall never be yours. I will give it to the orphaned asylum, rather. If you have so poor an opinion of my abilities as a physician, perhaps you think that even then it may benefit some of my offspring, replied Edgar, laughing good-humoredly. Do you make a jest of me, sir? Buy heavens. I have a great mind. Why, dear husband, do not be hasty. Edgar was always better managed by gentle means, rather than harsh. I have only one word to say, so long as he lives, he shall never marry Miss Walton with my consent. If he marries her without it, I will never leave him a shilling. You have used the very worst argument in the world by which to influence me, my dear father. I am of the opinion that nothing can be more prejudicial to the interest of a young man than the possession of a fortune. Even had I thought otherwise, you can think so poorly of me as to suppose that I would sacrifice the happiness of my whole life to mercenary considerations that I would barter enjoyment for gold. But my son, said Mrs. Chadwick gently, you will surely not marry a woman with a stain upon her name. If the stain came not through her own axe, I would not hesitate one moment to do so. Is she answerable for the sins of others? Would I be just in making her so? Then you insist on marrying the girl, demanded the doctor. Although I shall sincerely regret your groundless opposition, I do, replied Edgar. Then I can tell you that within these doors you shall never bring her, and that one cent of my money shall never go to buy her bread. Let us drop the subject for present, pleaded Mrs. Chadwick. You are both warm, and you may change your opinions. Not I, for one, said the doctor positively. And I must echo the words of my father, replied young Chadwick with equal determination. Mrs. Chadwick made an imploring signal to her husband to say no more, and he reluctantly obeyed. The rest of the dinner would have been devoured in silence but for the lively sallies of Edgar, who had probably anticipated his father's opposition. When the dishes were removed, finding the doctor unwilling to converse, he took his hat and walked out. Mrs. Chadwick then drew her chair close to her husband, and coaxingly drawing the newspaper from his hand, said, We may prevent all this disturbance, if you like, without trying to combat Edgar. I should like to know how, was the surly reply. Listen then, and see if you do not approve of my plan. Miss Walton probably does not suspect the unfortunate situation in which she sends with the world. She is a girl of great refinement and delicacy of feeling, a fig for her refinement. She was refined enough to catch my son. You are acquainting with the illimings. Suppose you call on them, have an interview with Miss Walton, and plainly inform her of your objections to the match, and your reasons. If she is the girl, I suppose her to be. She will at once refuse Edgar, and we will have no further trouble. Excellent, wife, excellent! Leave a woman alone for a plot. I'll do it. No fear, but I can work on her feelings. Not the slightest. Then you must make her promise that she will not state her reasons for rejecting Edgar to him, and not even mention your interview with her. Precisely. That will settle the matter. We'll see, Master Edgar, said the doctor, whether you will marry when I will say you shall not. We'll see. End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of The Fortune Hunter A novel of New York society. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kelly Taylor. The ballroom opens. More. Cahelas, dans nos solons, où la fou est si grande, qui sait de leurs sous les brillants de rose d'une plageur de commande, où sont nos cours. Esther Clinton stood at her mirror in a fenceful yet tasteful ballroom attire. She contemplated, with more than usual animation, the really beautiful features reflected before her. By her side Rachel, forgetful of her own disabil, a smoothing a fold here, fastening a flower there, knotting a ribbon or twisting a curl. Sprinkle a little water on my hair. These ringlets do not fall loosely enough, said Esther. Oh no, Sister, pray let them be. If they fall about your shoulders entirely uncurled, it gives you such a slovenly appearance. To your eyes which find something slovenly in careless grace, but not to those of others. Sprinkle the water, or I shall do it myself. And the ringlets entwine themselves at her touch, leaving a mass of waving hair around the face and throat of their fair possessor, which gave her the ophelia-like appearance she desired. You are quite ready now, Esther, are you not? Yes, let us go. I wonder if Miss Adair has invited Mr. Brainard. She is acquainted with the Chadwicks, is she? Is the carriage here? I believe so. I have not commenced my own toilet yet, but I shall complete it while you are putting on your gloves. How beautifully you look! Rachel ran out of the room, speedily exchanged her wrapper for a dress of unadorned white, smoothed back her find and abundant hair, saying to herself, No matter, nobody will look at me, and I must not keep Esther waiting, and returned to her sister. As she entered the room, Mrs. Clinton was holding Esther's hands, turning her around to survey her graceful contour, and kissing her forehead, cheeks, and lips, with every token of affectionate admiration. Rachel came forward rather timidly and said, Goodbye, mother. Are you ready? Goodbye! Replied Mrs. Clinton in printing another kiss upon Esther's lips and turning away from her elder daughter. Rachel was incapable of envy, but she longed for a return of the affection which animated her own bosom. As Esther drew her cloak around her, Rachel once more approached her mother and tenderly kissed her for a due. The cold pressure of the lip which met hers in return chilled her heart and damped her spirits. She entered the carriage in silence, and none saw the tear that stood in her eye. None knew the emotions that she forced herself to control. The flash of lights, the swell of music, the hum of mirthful voices soon vanished all disturbing thoughts. Rachel's countenance was perfectly serene before she entered the ballroom with Esther. They were greeted by their vivacious hostess with a flood of questions, to none of which, however, a reply was needed or expected. Miss Adair was all animation, and excitement, and agitation. The hue of her face strongly resembled that of the scarlet foals of her red and green turban. Her portly form was compressed into a robe of crimson velvet, until its proportions might almost have been called elegant. Her arms and ears and neck were encumbered with more jewels than an Indian queen would have thought it convenient to carry. And her robe was covered with a quality of rich lace, for which it must have puzzled Mademoiselle Armand's inventive genius to have found a place. Her eyebrows looked several shades darker than usual, her teeth as many shades wider, and her light woolly-looking hair was frizzed about her small gray eyes into double its ordinary tangle. She fluttered about, among her guests, dispensing smiles and queries with lavish profusion, on restless tip-toe hovering, giggling with all the gallants that beset her. To the gentleman she was especially courteous, but the arm which she accepted with most pleasure, and which she called upon most frequently to assist her in versing the room, was that of Mr. Brainerd. When Esther Clinton entered the room, this gentleman found some difficulty in dividing himself equally between the two fair ones. But Mr. Ellery was the Solomon who assisted him in the just distribution, and encouraged him when his attention flagged with the warning of, Remember both your birds are yet in the bush, keep an eye on them, or one may fly. While Brainerd was engaged in procuring Miss Adair a glass of lemonade, she turned to Esther, who was standing with clasp pens and pendant arms, gazing abstractly on the convivial scene and addressed her. Have you been long acquainted with Mr. Brainerd, Miss Esther? Esther started, looking wildly about her, then solemnly replied, Long, no, not long, as ordinary mortals compute time, yet how long in reality. Now do you think I'm handsome? Yes. How old is he? I know not. He is rich, is he not? In wealth which the gods love. But Mr. Ellery says he has a large fortune, does he not? Yes, replied Esther, sinking again into reverie. Has he any family connections here? No reply. Do you not like the colour of his eyes? Still no answer. Do you not think that he will Miss Adair accept this refreshing grot from the hands of her obedient slook? Mr. Brainerd's eye accidentally fell on Esther, and he stopped short. Only concluding his sentence with a bow, Esther believed him to be so perfectly engrossed by his passion for her that a suspicion of his ever-wasting of thought upon any other person never entered her mind. Not even when he asked her if her lovely friend Miss Walton would not add one more charm to the company by her presence in their gay assembly that night. What Miss Walton questioned Miss Adair, who overheard him. The niece of a Mr. Mordant answered Brainerd. What Mordant? He is a lawyer, I believe. Is he a widower? No, he is unfortunate enough to be a bachelor, replied Brainerd, with a fellow feeling which makes us kind. Is he rich? I think not. Where are the parents of Miss Walton? Both dead. Is she pretty? Brainerd was about to give a rapturous description of the fair Aria's charms, but prudence made him an opportune suggestion, and he replied with a parent indifference. Some persons think her so. Where does she live? In Eighth Street with a Mr. and Mrs. Liming. The Limings. Oh, I know Mrs. Liming quite well. Is it the young girl living with them that you are talking about? Quite a suspicious character. I never have anything to do with such people. The girl can never be admitted into good society. I should not consider her a proper person to visit. Mr. Brainerd looked at Esther as though he hoped she would defend her friend, but she appeared to be wholly engrossed by her own reflections. I must rouse her thought, Brainerd. This will never do. I must be making more progress. Or when shall I bring matters to a conclusion? How I dodged about to escape that eternal badger to-day. I must make one desperate push to rid myself of that fellow. I'll do it to-night. With this determination Brainerd offered his arm to Esther, and declaring that the apartment was too warm for so fragile a creature, drew her to toward the supper-room. It was empty, for supper had not yet been announced, but the table was spread with every imaginable delicacy. Brainerd chose a rosy-cheeked love-apple that lay embedded among bunches of luscious grapes, and presented it to Esther, saying, Lovely Estelle, were I a Paris, I would award the golden apple of beauty to the only Mr. Brainerd. Mr. Brainerd, I have been looking all over for you. Mr. Brainerd turned and encountered the searching glance of Miss Priscilla Adair. I am ever at your service, he said with alacrity. I really thought Miss Estelle looked faint, and although supper had not yet been served, I took the liberty of luring her here to procure some refreshment. Miss Priscilla looked but half satisfied with his excuse, and accepted the disengaged arm of Brainerd while Esther hung on the other. What shall I do with these two divine creatures, muttered Brainerd to himself, looking first on one side, then the other? Which shall I select for my wife? There will have me, of course, to much the beggar, Mr. Augustus Brainerd, to be the chooser, and now to get rid of one, it matters little which. How happy could I be with either, twer the other dear charmer away? Mr. Brainerd was just beginning to hum an appropriate air from the beggar's opera, when the master of ceremonies' command of gentlemen, take your partners, for, unfortunately, checked him. Esther requested the hand of Miss Priscilla, but, as she thought it advisable to refuse, he contented himself with leading Mrs. Esther to the head of the Catillion. It has been the complaint of foreigners, on visiting New York, that fashionable society is chiefly led by young girls just escape from the confinement of boarding schools, and young men whom the dancing master has fitted for a ballroom, but who have never fitted themselves for any other sphere. The married gentlemen at a party heard together, and discussed the rise and fall in stocks, while the married ladies, be their charms, grace, and information what they may, bloom and rose along the walls of the apartment, totally deserted by younger gentlemen, and only now and then receiving a word or an ice-cream from their legal protectors. The circle of wall-flowers is greatly increased by bells who have danced through a few seasons without obtaining a partner for life. And here Rachel Clinton took a seat, watching the dancers with as pleased an expression of countenance as though she was moving to the enlivening sound of the music among them. Her strange determination to renounce the name and privileges of Venerys had speedily rumored about, and, as she expected, her admirers no longer beheld anything about her on which to bestow their flattery. And her suitors had been suddenly frightened by her coldness and pronounced her heart too obdurate for further siege. That evening she had been following Esther about from room to room, arranging her dress whenever it became discomposed, mourning over her disheveled locks, concealing her ridiculous speeches by giving them some ingenious interpretation and rousing her from her reveries when they attracted the attention of the malicious. Esther was now dancing, and Rachel, supposing she would not need her services until the close of that cattillion, seated herself beside a talkative old lady who was chaperoning two nieces and entered into the conversation. How remarkably well Miss Adair looks tonight, observed Rachel, addressing the old lady. Yes, replied the lady. She is dashing out of late. We are to have a grand supper, I hear. It is hardly time for it yet, for my nephews have not come. They always know the supper hour, and arrive just in time. I have heard that Miss Adair intends giving a fancy ball. Do you suppose there is any truth in that report? Very likely. The fact is she is determined to settle herself this winter. Do you not mention it to anybody, but between you and me she has found out that it is high time? Well yes, if she intends to marry, I suppose that she is old enough to choose with discretion, replied Rachel, good-humoredly. Oh, I don't allude to her years. A husband is not all that she wants. She must have a rich one. I ought not to mention it, for it is quite a secret, but then you are such a judicious young person, Miss Rachel, that I am sure that it will not go any further. You know Miss Adair has two brothers, Benjamin and Joseph. Well they do say, but whether it is true or not, I can't exactly answer, that those brothers who had the sole management of her fortune have invested it almost all in fancy stocks, and speculated so largely that they have quite ruined her. So to save herself from poverty, for you know both brothers are as poor as Job's turkey, she intends to get herself a rich husband. I sincerely hope the report is not true, replied Rachel, with an expression of sympathy. Don't mention it for the world, replied her informer. You see it was my nephew who told me, and it might get him into trouble if it got wind. The report shall gain no circulation through me, returned Rachel. What report, my dear Miss Clinton, asked Mr. Ellery, who, at that instant, approached her. Oh, none of any consequence, only a bit of scandal, such as you know we ladies delight in. I never knew that before, that Miss Rachel Clinton delighted in scandal, but I must not forget my mission. I come to request permission to present you to Mr. Allen, who desires an introduction to Miss Clinton. To my sister, he means, the Catillion is just finishing, you will find her in the next room. No, it was to you, there is no mistake, he pointed you out. There may be a mistake in spite of that, replied Rachel, her lip curling almost scornfully. Perhaps it is to Miss Clinton the heiress he wishes to be presented, and supposes that I am still she. No, I assure you, he noticed you some time ago. When you were standing by Miss Esther, he has been talking to me about you since. And as a mere matter of conversation, I informed him of your extraordinary determination. As he really desires an introduction, I hope you will not refuse it. I have no excuse for doing so. Mr. Ellery bowed and went in search of the gentleman. Whom did he say, my dear, inquired the lady with whom she had been reconversing? A Mr. Allen, I believe. Is it possible? A fine young man, but exceedingly strange in his manner towards ladies, they called him the woman-hater, because he hardly ever addresses a lady. He has just returned from traveling in Europe. He is a young man of immense fortune. Do pray, take an opportunity to introduce him to my nieces. I will not forget to do so. Before Rachel could say any more, Mr. Ellery returned, conducting a rather diffident-looking but very handsome young man, whom he presented to her as Mr. Allen. Rachel's habitual forgetfulness of self, united to an amiable desire to give pleasure, usually made her an agreeable companion in society. But in this instant she became exceedingly cold and taciturn. She saw that Mr. Allen was handsome and gentlemanly, and soon discovered him to be well-informed and a skillful student of human nature. She could not fathom the motives which induced him to request a presentation to her. He asked her to dance, and she was too fond of the exercise to refuse, but little of her attention during the quadril was devoted to her partner. When it closed she remembered her promise to the old lady and presented Mr. Allen to her nieces. He entered into conversation with him, but when Rachel moved away he immediately followed her, and continued at her side the rest of the evening. Immediately after supper Rachel and Esther withdrew. Reynard conducted Esther to the carriage, pressing her fingers and saying something about the moon, which was shining in their faces as he bid her adieu. Rachel was led by Mr. Allen. As the carriage door closed he politely requested that she would permit him the pleasure of calling upon her. She was so much surprised at his whole conduct that, although looking him full in the face, the carriage drove off without her according the permission he desired. Mrs. Clinton was awaiting them in the parlor when they reached home. Have you been lonely without us, mother? asked Rachel. Oh, not at all! I had a most delightful visit from Mrs. Chadwick. She says that if anybody in the world can cure me of my tic de l'oraux, it is her husband, and I intend to send for him to-morrow. She is a delightful woman, and has such affection for my sweetest stale. For me, mother, we have but seldom met. That does not make any difference. Of course she has heard all about you from her son. From what she says, I am inclined to think he is desperately in love with you, and after all the anecdote she has related to me about him, I really did not know a young man I would rather have for a son-in-law. Do you intend to be as cruel as usual, my own astell? I am so often forced to be cruel, but to him I fear I never could be, though it would break the heart of another who loves me as well, but less wisely. My dear mother, interrupted Rachel. I am quite sure you must have misunderstood Mrs. Chadwick. Edgar is in love, but not with my sister. Rachel, Rachel, exclaimed Esther, lifting her hands and eyes to heaven, this from you. You do not flatter yourself that he comes here to see you yourself, I hope, demanded Mrs. Clinton with some asperity. You do not suppose it is you he is in love with? Far from it, mother, I have no such thought. He is in love, Arya Walton. Esther looked at Rachel, without surprise, and merely answered, You have not seen his heart as I have. What nonsense you talk, Rachel, said her mother. I understood Mrs. Chadwick perfectly well, and she gave me to understand that her son was in love with astell. Do you not suppose I have ears and some comprehension? Go to bed now, and do not say any more about it. It is astell he loves, and he has made a good choice. I shall not sleep this night until I get your father to think favorably of the match. That Mrs. Chadwick is such a delightful woman. End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of The Fortune-Hunter A novel of New York society by Anna Coral-Mawet. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Kelly S. Taylor. O joyful heart, exult not so, mistrust that prospect fair. It is the lure of death and woe, the ambush of despair. Epps Sargent. There is a happiness communicated by the presence of the happy. Our own faces spontaneously reflect the sunshine of the faces before us. Our own hearts irresistibly echo the clear joyous tones that burst from the lips to which we are listening. So thought Rachel, as she said in Aria's little chamber, looked into Aria's beaming countenance and responded to the sprightly remarks for which the most trifling circumstances seemed to give occasion. Shall our friendship be less strong? Ask Rachel after a moment's silence. When you are a wife, Aria, not unless matrimony unnaturally contracts my heart instead of expanding it as it would naturally do. And you have determined to marry young Chadwick? With your gracious permission returned Aria, bowing in mock submission, but your uncle has not yet given his consent, nor withheld it, for it has not yet been asked. I wished Edgar to talk with him when he is in a mood to give and forgive, but no favorable opportunity has yet offered itself. Do you not feel some anxiety? Not in the least. The worst thing to take on interest is trouble. Do you not remember that Shakespeare says cowards die many times before their death? So the anticipator of evil is afflicted with a thousand evils that herald the one he dreaded. That is a very happy philosophy. But I have a question to ask you. How can you, with your peculiar and confirmed religious views, marry a man whose ideas on such subjects are so unsettled as Edgar Chadwick's, he has no fixed belief even in the existence of supreme being or in the immortality of the soul, and its future happiness or misery? What he has in his own soul the rich soil in which the seed may be planted, and I would marry him to turn sower. What greater happiness can I have than in that of convincing his reason of the holy truths in which I myself believe? You follow the doctrine of St. Paul then, in that a good wife sanctifies her husband. As she sanctifies him it is in engrafting her goodness upon him, and by making him a participator of it through his sympathy with her. You have sometimes heard me speak of the influence of one person's fear upon another person. I have reason to think that when a being loves God, and therefore earnestly desires to become pure and perfect as he is, that being, if he also loves mankind, the good for their goodness, the evil that he may turn them to goodness, carries about him a sphere of love which affects and softens the heart of those with whom he communicates, that we are encircled by a spiritual sphere, through the medium of which we affect others, has become the belief of many wise and great men. Have you never yourself, in the presence of some individuals, felt a sensation of inward cold and depression, as though your faculties were all paralyzed, accompanied sometimes with a feeling of inexplicable repugnance, and have you not, in the presence of others, felt your heart grow warm, as though it were alive to every impression, while at the same time your spirits had free play? I may not have experienced precisely the sensation you described, although I have often felt ill at ease and constrained in every movement in the society of some strangers, while I could converse freely and take pleasure in the presence of others, and this without being able to account for in my own emotion. The presence of those I love always communicates pleasure. If they are pleased and pain, if they are suffering, but to return to the subject of Mr. Chadwick, he is certainly a very moral young man, and perhaps you think morality is sufficient. Excellent, but not sufficient. To be truly good, he must neither break moral or divine laws, and from that, from love of goodness, which is from love of God, and to love God, he must know him, and have communion with him in spirit. If he performs a good act through the love of display, to obtain a reward, or to win praise, or for any other consideration than because it is pleasing to heaven and in his own soul, the act is not pure, because there is impurity in the motive. If a man, through morality, abstained from evil, would you not call him good, although he is denied the existence of a God? He may abstain from committing evil deeds from the fear of loovesing his reputation, or from the dread of the consequences to himself, and in such case there would be no virtue in his motives, therefore none in his act. If he committed a sin in thought, although he dared not commit that sin indeed, he would be equally guilty in the sight of heaven which judges the action of the spirit rather than those of the body. But if he abstained from sin for the fear of injuring others, or because he felt it to be a crime, he may not acknowledge God openly, but internally he must have acknowledged him since he kept his commandment. So it is with Edward Chadwick. His mind appears to be pure for the love of purity, and though the existence of the deity has never proved to him, and therefore he does not believe it, he is in a state of reception, and will not close his eyes upon the truth when it is presented to him. He will thoroughly investigate, and to investigate is to believe. Therefore it is that I do not fear to become his wife, and that I look forward to promoting his happiness in the one way through which it can alone be ensured. I myself have enjoyed the advantages to which he has been a stranger, and to them I am indebted for the inestimable blessings of faith. I am afraid I have invents but little humility in all that I have just said, and if you condemn me, you will condemn me justly. But prosperity and happiness make us... ARIA! ARIA WALTON! broke in the harsh voice of Mrs. Lemming. ARIA started up and ran to obey the summons. Come down here, Miss ARIA, called out Mrs. Lemming from the foot of the stairs. Dr. Chadwick desires to see you. I will come immediately, replied ARIA, re-entering the chamber. What can Dr. Chadwick possibly have to say to me? Did you ever see such a foolish girl, Rachel? What will you think has become of my boasted philosophy when you see me so excited without a shadow of a cause? We good preachers are, after all, bad practicers. Make yourself at home until I come back. I am sure the doctor will pronounce me to have been seized with a scarlet fever from my fingers of grown red. Look out for the patient! ARIA hastened to the parlor. When she entered she found Mr. Lemming standing near the door, apparently about to leave the room. He had paused to say a few more words to Dr. Chadwick, who was sitting near the window, with the head of his cane pressed against his lips, and his eyes bent upon the ground. ARIA remarked with surprise the solemn, even stern expression of Lemming's habitually mild and benevolent accountants. Two crimson spots burnt brightly on his hollow cheeks, which were generally overspread with the parlor of thought and study. His eyes were bright and restless, the long silvery locks that usually waved smoothly around his high forehead stood up in tangled masses, as those his agitated fingers had been unconsciously hurried through them. The seldom ruffled serenity of his mean had given way to an air of excited indignation. When his eye rested on ARIA, he seized her hand and grasping it convulsively with his own, whispered, I'll give you strength, my child. Let not all the lessons I have taught you be in vain. He bent toward her, hurriedly kissed her forehead, and left the room. Before ARIA had time to reflect on the strangeness of his manor, Dr. Chadwick arose, and, courteously saluting ARIA, led her to a seat. This perfect composure and the gallant suavity of his manors quickly reassured her, and she entered into the conversation with her usual graceful ease. The doctor at first answered somewhat abstractly, but after a few moments he drew his chair closer to her. Once more applied his cane thoughtfully to his mouth, took her hand, looked at her with parental tenderness, and clearing his throat as if he were afraid his words would not be distinct, addressed her. My dear Miss Walton, my dear young lady, I have something very particular to communicate, that is to consult you, to talk with you about this morning. ARIA smilingly expressed her readiness to listen to him. My dear young lady, I presume you are aware of, that is to say, you have suspected, or have been apprised of, him of the fancy, the penchant, as the French call it, the penchant of which my son entertains for you? Dr. Chadwick cleared his throat as he finished uttering these words, with more strength, success, and evident satisfaction, than had attended any of his previous attempts. The rosy blood mantled over ARIA's cheeks, one moment her dark eyes were veiled by their darker lashes, the next they were raised confidingly to the doctor's face. That look was sufficient to answer his question. It almost discomposed the doctor, and would have shaken his purpose had that purpose been less firm. But he steeled his heart and continued with less deliberation. My dear Miss ARIA, I must consider myself duty bound to give you a fair statement of the case. My son is a young man, a very young man, and hardly knows his own mind on any subject. He has had no experience in the world, and does not know what it is to struggle through it. You are in the same condition. It is my opinion that two young persons uniting themselves under these circumstances will have many trials to undergo, which you are, neither of you, calculated to sustain. Dr. Chadwick paused, as though he half expected ARIA would divine his meaning and answer with dignity that she would never marry a man against the consent of his parents. He was mistaken, however, for her tone was full of affectionate gratitude as she answered. You are very good to think of these things, but we have thought of them, too, and on my account you need have no uneasiness. I can endure privations and hardships. I should not consider any trial too formidable by the side of Edgar. But it is not on your account only, returned Dr. Chadwick, rather warmly. Do you not suppose that I have some consideration for the happiness of my son? Do you not suppose that I wish to see him fighting all his days with poverty, getting the worst of the battle on the end because he is encumbered by a wife in the same situation as himself? ARIA looked aghast, and her lip quivered so violently that it impeded her utterance she could with difficulty reply. But if he is content, that is not enough, my dear young lady, not by any means enough. I hope you will hear me calmly, for I have only one word to say, which is that there is an insurmountable barrier to your union with my son. Can poverty be so insurmountable a barrier? replied ARIA, with more calmness. He would not, does not think so. I do not, and therefore I have pledged him my hand, which I cannot withdraw unless it is his wish, and much as I would ever lament your opposition to our union, it depends upon your son, not on me, whether or not that union ever takes place. But it is not the only matter, and the most insurmountable barrier. There is another, greater one, that can never be surmounted, exclaimed Dr. Chadwick, incensed by the quiet dignity of ARIA's reply to a degree which banished his usual soft tone in gracious manner. Another barrier? What other can there be? Miss Walton, I am sorry that you have forced me to make this explanation. I hope to avoid it, that is, I desire to spare your feelings, but if you insist on knowing if you feel yourself prepared to hear. I am. Please be frank and explicit with me, I entreat, replied ARIA, fearfully moved by the dark forevotings that shot through her mind. Then Miss Walton, my dear young lady, the doctor took her hand again, but its icy coolness must have chilled him for he instantly relinquished it. My dear Miss ARIA, you are too young to know much of the world, but you are probably aware that families of a certain standing usually desire to connect themselves with others of the same standing. An expression of relief passed over ARIA's feature, and she bowed her head in token that she understood. That is to say, Miss Walton continued the doctor. They would think it necessary that there should be no stain on the reputation of the family with which they connected themselves. ARIA started violently and grasping the doctor's arm gasped forth. On mine? No, no, there is not, say there is none on mine. Be calm, my dear young lady, I earnestly entreat you will be calm. As you must hear what I am about to say one day or other, I suppose it is quite as well that you should hear it now. But be calm, pray, be calm. I am, I am, go on, but be sure you are quite certain of what you say. Do not speak upon suspicion, do not for the love of heaven. It is only on suspicion, my dear, that I can speak, but that suspicion is so strong that it amounts to a certainty. You are called the niece of Mr. Mordant. I have known his family since he was a child. It is almost impossible that you should be so, at least, his legitimate niece. He was left early an orphan and had but one sister and a brother, both of whom died when they were quite young and died unmarried. If you were the child of either of them, you were, spare me, spare me, do not say that I was a child of shame. Leave me the memory of my parents to love, mother, the image that I pictured in my mind of you, the image I have dwelt upon and love that has visited me in sleep that was ever before me waking. No, no, you wrong her. My mother could never have been, her child could never have caused to blush at her memory. Calm yourself, my dear young lady. You are dreadfully overcome. You will make yourself ill. Tell me what grounds you have for this suspicion, questioned Arya, inspired by a momentary feeling of hope. I have already given you sufficient grounds, but it is not my opinion that you are really the niece of Mr. Mordant. Your resemblance to him is so strong that it is generally supposed that you are his child. His child? Father. Might I then call him father? Might I love him as a father? I, who have never known a father's tenderness, I have a father? Arya was so engrossed with having at length discovered what she had from childhood desire to know, discovered that there was a being on earth whom she might call parent, and so much tenderness awakened at this thought that she almost forgot her sorrows. When Dr. Chadwick next addressed her, it was in his softest and most conciliatory tone. You see now, my dear, how great is the barrier between yourself and my son. I shall always esteem you, and desire your welfare, as I would that of a daughter, but you see how impossible it is that either his mother or myself should think of your union. Yes, yes, quite, quite impossible. He could not wed the child of guilt and shame, of guilt, of shame. Oh, am I? Can I be the child of shame? No. No. Oh, no. She buried her face in her hands and bowed her head in an agony of tearless grief. Her frame was convulsed with strong emotion, and the cold dew burst in large drops through the fingers that were clasped against her forehead. Dr. Chadwick thought it advisable to maintain silence until Arya gradually became calmer. Soon her limbs no longer shook, but they grew cold and rigid. She lifted her head, but when her face was on comfort, not a vestige of blood shone through the transparent skin. It is inebable, and I must endure it, thought she. I have but one hope. I will see my uncle father. Can he be my father? There must be no more concealment. With God's help I can now bear anything. She turned to Dr. Chadwick and said, I know that it has wounded you to give me pain, but I am strong, quite strong. I can bear a great deal, therefore do not grieve for me. Do not tell Edgar that I suffered. Henceforth I must be nothing to him. I have been a source of pleasure. I should be almost happy if I thought I should not now be one of pain. Do not trouble yourself on his account, my dear young lady. I hope he will bear these little contraptomps like a man. Life is full of them. Now that I see you composed again, I may ask, will you grant me one request? Anything in my power, replied Arya, with almost an unnatural calmness. You must promise not to mention this interview to my son. Do not state your motive for refusing to unite yourself to him. Of course the refusal must come from you, and tell him there is no possibility of your ever changing your mind. I have particular reasons for making this request. You will confer a great favor upon me by granting it. I have your promise. If, after seeing my, my, Mr. Mordant, I find that the barrier does exist, then you have, replied Arya, firmly. That is sufficient. Of its existence I have satisfied myself. I beg your pardon. I did not intend to agitate you. We get accustomed to these things after living a wild in the world, my dear, and the custom is second nature. I must leave you now. Keep yourself calm. Good morning. Arya returned the salutation like one in a dream. Dr. Chadwick walked out of the room without venturing to look back. She remained standing, incapable of action, in the position in which he left her. At length a step on the stairs aroused her. Quietly she passed out of the parlor, ascended the stairs, unconscious of the presence of Mrs. Limming, who looked after her in wrathful astonishment. But Arya entered her own chamber, seated herself on her favorite little bench, and mechanically took up her work which had fallen beside it. My dear Arya, exclaimed Rachel in consternation. What can have happened? You are as pale as a ghost. Arya looked up, but her features neither expressed surprise nor pleasure nor pain at the sight of her friend. Have you waited for me this long, long while, Rachel? Are you not tired? You have not been gone long, my best dearest Arya. But tell me, what has happened? What ails you? You are so fearfully changed. You look like a ghost and your hands are colder than marble. Will you not tell me? Not now, not yet. But could I comfort you? No. There is but one who can give me comfort. And that one is Edgar. Oh, how I wish he were here. Arya shuddered involuntarily. No, not Edgar. Do not speak of him. I will tell you, but not now. Soon, soon. But not yet. Some heavy affliction weighs you down, beloved Arya. How icy cold you look! Why do you not weep? It would do you good. I wish I could see you shed one tear. I cannot. It will soon pass away. Do not let it make you unhappy. You see how easily I am moved. You thought me wiser, did you not? I shall be so soon, and stronger, too. She tried to look hopeful as she spoke, but her features were too much accustomed to be the fateful index of her soul, for them to obey her will. Only tell me what I can do for you, said Rachel. You can only leave me. Forgive me. I have grown rude, have I not? You are so kind. Do not think me ungrateful. I shall be better alone. I am recovering already. Rachel thought it best to obey, and tying on her hat. For the first time she left her friend, oppressed by a grief too great, for even her elasticity of spirits to throw off. A penny newspaper lay upon the table before him, but apparently he had scanned its contents. For, editorials to advertisement, it seemed to afford her interest. He threw the paper aside and began pacing the room when a knock at the street door diverted his attention. It was precisely the same hour at which Mr. Badger had honoured him with a visit some weeks previous, and as Mr. Mordant knew there were other claims against him which might have been placed in that indefagable gentleman's hands, the possibility of his neighbourhood instantly suggested itself. The same suspicion must have crossed the old Veldam's mind, as she hobbled grumblingly to open the door, for she protruded her head into the parlour and said significantly, If it be he, I warn't he don't get his ugly face inside the door this time. After the usual difficulty attending unlocking an elven bolting, the door was opened. Mr. Mordant listened with some anxiety. The first sound he heard was an ejaculation of surprise from the old woman. It was followed by a light step traversing the entry. The parlour door opened, and Arya Walton stood before him. Her first impulse was to throw herself into his arms, but he repelled her coldly and exclaimed with even more than his usual sternness. What brings you here? Was it not my express command that you should never cross this threshold? Arya's cheek grew even paler than when she entered. A sudden dizziness seized her, and she would have fallen, had not Mr. Mordant caught her rudely by the shoulder. She recovered at his touch, and at the same time regained sufficient self-possession to seat herself. Arya, child, what ails you? Are you ill? Demanded he with less harshness. Child, am I your child? They say I am. Father, may I call you by that name? And Arya threw her arms around his neck, and for the first time since Dr. Chadwick's visit burst into tears. What do you mean? Are you mad? Oh, uncle, father, beloved father, let there be no further mystery between us. You do not cannot know how I have long to be blessed with a parent's love, how my heart has yarned within me to invent the devoted affection of a child. If you are indeed my father, oh, tell me so! Let me be all that a child can be to you. I am—I am—am I not your child? Oh, to God that you were, exclaimed Mr. Mordant, with the first evolution of tenderness which Arya had ever seen him display. Then it is false, and I am not? No, you are not my child, so help me, heaven. What am I, then? Remove this mystery, I implore you. Uncle, at least you are my uncle. I will not be questioned any further, said Mr. Mordant, resuming his usual cold demeanor. It is useless to forbid me. I must question. I must know more. Have I a father? Have I a mother? Do they live? Who am I? Do you dare disobey my commands? I dare anything, rather than suffer this terrible heart-rending fears I have endured for the last few hours. Uncle, beloved uncle, do not turn away from me. If ever I needed your kindness, I need it now. If ever you had heart for a moment grew warm towards me, do not let it now be cold. Hear me this once. It is the first time I have ever disobeyed your commands, and it shall be the last. Could you but know, with what joyful heart I sprang from my bed this morning, with what heavy wretched one I now implore you to grant my request? You could not refuse. I received a visit from Dr. Chadwick today, his son, Edgar. A few days ago we have long been attached to each other, and a few days I accepted his hand. His father this morning came to me and, oh, how shall I tell you, the barrier to my union with his son, which he pointed out. Mr. Mordant listened, without attempting to interrupt her, but as she spoke the last words he struck his clinched hand against his forehead, and Arya could distinctly hear the sound of his teeth grinding against one another. Uncle, do not call me, uncle, do not touch me. You are nothing to me. Nothing! Would to God you were not. Leave me. Your presence is hateful. Your existence is a lifelong misery to me. Mr. Mordant started up to leave her, but Arya followed him and threw herself at his feet. Answer me one question, only one. Am I a child of dishonour? Am I what most dreaded to be, what he told me I was? Yes, cried Mordant, with demoniacal vehemence. The child of shame, of dishonour most foul! Go, hide your face, where it can never remind me of whose child you are! With these words he rushed from the room and the house. Arya, deprived of all power, sank crouching on the floor, but though she sat there tearless, motionless, and apparently lifeless, she was not so fortunate as to forget her misery by becoming insensible. He'd better go before he comes back, where there is no knowing what will happen, said a voice from behind her. Is it true then? Is it all true? It's just every word is true as if I'd spoke it myself. There is no use grieving your heart out about what can't be helped, nor never will. But my father and mother tell me, if you have any compassion, are they alive? Perhaps they be, perhaps they not be. It's not to me you must be coming for secrets that don't concern you. If you just don't want to wish that your tongue was better off, you won't ask that question again. You must be going. Here and done here. There's no help for it. No help indeed! Arya had hardly breathed these words before her heart reproached her. Was there not always one source of consolation for the afflicted? Were not sufferings lightened to those who granted strength to endure them? Was there not consolation, then, to be found at the throne of the giver of all strength? Doth not he ever temper the wind to the shorn lamb? Arya wrapped her shawl about her, gathered her veil in thick foals over her face, said a few kind words to old Tabitha, who stood there shaking her head and urging her with gestures to depart, and set out to return home. She was walking up Broadway at a quick pace, and was yet at some distance from the house of Mr. Lemming when she was unexpectedly joined by Mr. Brainard. Nothing could have been more inopportune than this encounter. Wherever he had been in company of her of late, he had always found some opportunity of pouring those sweet nothings in her ear, which it was almost impossible to misunderstand, although he never ventured to say anything of a positive nature lest he be checked by her coldness. But coldness from Arya he had little cause to fear, for her dread of giving pain was so great that she shrank from wounding even a person whom she did not esteem. This was the first time Mr. Brainard had ever seen her alone, and, as he walked beside her, he could not forbear expressing his rapture at their meeting in the most enthusiastic language. Arya, with a strong effort, vanished the thoughts that were filling her soul with dejection, and tried to converse on everyday topics. But she was wholly unused to disguise her feelings. And Brainard thought that her voice had never sounded so sweet, while its sadness moved him even more than her joyous tones had ever done. He loved Arya as truly as he was capable of loving anything but himself. Sensations were awakened in her presence, which he had never before experienced. His restless excitement seeking disposition then seemed wholly satisfied with the object before him. He was no longer cold and calculating, and without a wish that centered not in self. She seemed to him more than all the world. He fancied that he thought her happiness of more importance than his own. And at moments he was ready to make any sacrifice which would ensure him her continued presence, and give him the one power of contributing to her felicity. So potent was her influence over him that he now lost all control over himself. Esther, Miss Adair, Mr. Badger's persecution, and Mr. Ellery's councils were all alike forgotten. In the most passionate language he declared his love for her, conjured her at least to accord him the privilege of being near her, and of knowing that if she granted him nothing else, she did not refuse him all hope. Of marriage he did not venture to speak. A horrible thought sometimes shot through his brain which, in spite of his softened nature, prevented him. Might he not possess her and yet redeem his fortunes by marrying another? His viviated nature could not comprehend her angelic purity even while he worshipped it, and in the excitement of passion all his wildest imagination could desire seem possible and feasible. Arya was perfectly overwhelmed by this new misfortune, for such she could not avoid regarding it. Again and again she strove to interrupt Mr. Brainard, but her voice choked. She suffered so much herself that it only made her feel more keenly how dreadful it was to make others suffer. She had courage enough to perform any act of self-sacrifice, but not firmness sufficient to annihilate the hopes of another. Had she placed the construction upon his words, which a more experienced person would have given them, her wounded dignity would have taught her to silence him with a glance, to make him cower before her and loathe himself for conceiving so foul a project. But she was too guileless to detect guilt. In the passion of Brainard she saw everything to excite pity and nothing that inspired anger. When she, at length, found voice to reply, she told him that there were circumstances connected with her history that would ever prevent her forming a matrimonial connection. She felt at her duty to add that she did not reciprocate his attachment, but on this point she touched but lightly, and concluded by entreating him to spare her in future the pain which any allusion to this subject might occasion. To a man of the world, and a man blinded by passion, the gentleness of her mean gave all the hope which her language might have destroyed. Brainard, unabashed, would have wounded her by further solicitations had he not been interrupted by their meeting Mr. Liming, whom Arya induced to join them. They walked the remaining distance home almost in silence. Brainard was too much excited to speak accepting on one subject. Arya feared that her lips would betray the emotions of her heart, and Mr. Liming was habitually thoughtful and taciturn. Brainard excused himself from entering the house, but as he parted from Arya he stretched out his hand, and unwilling as she was to extend hers, she had not the heart to refuse it. Mr. Liming's back was turned, and Brainard would have pressed her fingers to his lips, but this Arya resolutely prevented, and the reproachful look with which she accompanied her action quickly overawed him. It was long past midnight before the light was extinguished in Arya's chamber. The characters she was tracing with her pen were so often blotted out with her tears that she was more than once forced to convince anew for, alas, her letter was to Edgar Chadwick.