_The Strange Visit--The Lawyer--Walter and Mr. Flint--The Clouds--A Strip of Sunshine--Mortimer._
About two hours after the incident related at the close of our last chapter, Edward Walters stepped from the door of Mrs. Snarle"s house, waving his hand kindly to Daisy, who stood on the steps, and watched him till he turned out of Marion-street.
But we must turn back a little.
After leaving the Tombs, our friend went in search of Mortimer"s residence, actuated by an impulse which he neither attempted to control nor understand--an impulse like that which had prompted him to visit the prison. He was led into the little parlor by Mrs. Snarle, to whom he represented himself as one deeply interested in the misfortunes of Mortimer, and desirous of a.s.sisting him. His own astonishment surpa.s.sed that of Mrs. Snarle, when he found her entirely ignorant of the arrest.
While he was speaking, and Mrs. Snarle--who stood with her hand on the back of a chair, from which she had just risen--was regarding him with a vacant stare, Daisy stepped into the room, without knowing that it was occupied.
Edward Walters ceased speaking, and fixed his eyes on what, to him, seemed an apparition. He had seen that pale, pensive face in his dreams for years.
It had followed him out to sea, and in far lands where he sought to avoid it. He arose from the sofa, and approached Daisy with hesitating steps, as if he were afraid she would vanish into thin air before he reached her.
Daisy shrunk from him, and looked inquiringly at her mother. Walters laid his hand on the girl"s arm.
"Sometimes," he said, looking her full in the eyes--"sometimes the mind wanders back to childhood, and we have visions of pleasant fields and familiar places. Something we had forgotten comes back to us in shadow--voices, faces, incidents! Did you ever see a snow-storm in your thought?"
Daisy started as if in sudden pain.
Walters watched the effect of his question with unconcealed emotion.
"Yes," said Daisy, lifting up her eyes wonderingly.
"I knew it," said the man, abstractedly, taking Daisy"s hand.
The girl drew back in fear, and Mrs. Snarle stepped between them.
"My words seem strange, lady; but I knew her when she was a babe."
And he turned his frank face to Daisy.
"What do you know of me?" cried Daisy, grasping his arm eagerly.
"Everything."
"O, sir, do not deal in mystery! If you know aught of this child"s life, in mercy speak!" and Mrs. Snarle caught his hand.
"I can tell nothing now."
And with this he abruptly put on his hat, strode into the hall and out of the front door, waving his hand to Daisy, who, as we have said, stood on the steps, and watched him till he was out of sight.
We will leave Mrs. Snarle and Daisy to their astonishment, and follow on the quick foot-steps of our marine friend, to whom that day seemed crowded with wonderful events.
It did not take long for Walters to reach Wall-street, where he disappeared in one of those many law offices which fringe that somewhat suspected and much-abused locality. On the door through which Mr. Walters pa.s.sed was a tin sign, bearing, in gilt letters,
[Ill.u.s.tration: J. G. BURBANK, _Attorney at Law._]
What transpired between him and that gentleman we will leave to the surmises of the reader. After being closeted for an hour in a room whose only furniture consisted of one or two green baize-covered tables, piled with papers, and a book-case crowded with solid-looking volumes, our friend turned his thoughtful face toward the office of Messrs. Flint & Snarle.
Mr. Flint looked up from his writing, and found Edward Walters quietly seated beside him. They had not met since the interview we described at Mr.
Flint"s house; and the captain"s presence at the present time was not a thing to be desired by Mr. Flint. The visit looked ominous. Whatever doubts he entertained respecting its object were immediately dispelled.
"I read the arrest in yesterday"s paper," said Walters.
Flint, with an effort, went on writing.
"And this morning I visited the boy in his cell."
"Well!" cried Flint, nervously.
"And I found my son, John Flint!"
Mr. Flint found himself cornered, and, like a rat or any small animal, he grew cowardly desperate.
"You found a thief, sir--a miserable thief."
We will do Mr. Flint the justice to say that he considered Mortimer in that light.
"I am not sure of that," was the calm reply. "A man may be in prison, and yet be no felon; and I should doubt the guilt of any man whom _you_ persecuted. But I did not come here to quarrel. The boy is my son, and he must be released."
"_Must_ be, Mr. Walters!"
"I think I said so."
Flint regarded him with his cold, cynical smile.
"John Flint, there is nothing I would not do to serve the boy. There is nothing I will not do to crush you if you persist in convicting him. I do not know that he is innocent--I do not know that he is worthy of my love. I only know that he is my child."
There was an agony in the tone with which these words were spoken that was music to Mr. Flint. He smiled that undertaker"s smile of his.
"The law must take its course," he said. "It is impossible to stop _that_."
"Not so. The examination takes place this afternoon. If you do not appear against him, Mortimer will be discharged. You have forgotten that I have _the letter_."
"Stop!" cried Flint, as Walters turned to the door, and he a.s.sumed his usual, fawning, hypocritical air.
"If I do as you wish, what then?"
"You shall have the letter."
"What a.s.surance have I of that?"
"My word."
"Is that all?" said Flint. "Would you take mine, in such a case?"
"No," replied Walters, with delightful candor. "Your word is worthless.
Mine was never broken. Do we understand each other?"
"Yes."