It was strange that Mrs. Gray did not speak, but some unaccountable feeling kept her silent, and after she heard him cautiously enter his room again, the reflection that there was nothing but his own little property in the stand, tranquilized her. "He wanted something from the drawer, and so came down softly, that I might not be disturbed," she thought.
Thus the kind lady rea.s.sured herself, and with these gentle thoughts in her mind she fell asleep.
Mrs. Gray awoke early in the morning, and softly entered the spare bed-room. It was empty. No vestige of her brother"s visit remained. Like a ghost he came, like a ghost he had departed. She went up stairs--the nephew was gone. Some time during that day she happened to think of his visit to the work-stand. It was only the old copy book that he had taken.
CHAPTER XI.
THE MOTHER"S LETTER.
What though her gentle heart is breaking!
What though her form grows pale and thin!
His iron heart knows no awaking, Nor tears nor anguish moveth him.
It was two nights after Thanksgiving. Leicester had thrown himself upon a couch in his chamber. A little sofa-table was by his elbow, and upon it a small and richly chased salver, overflowing with notes and letters.
Most of them were unopened, for he had been absent several days, and it often happened that when he once knew a handwriting, and did not fancy the correspondence, letters remained for weeks unread, on that little table, even when he was at home.
But this morning Leicester seemed to have nerved himself to read everything that came to hand. Bills, letters heavy with red wax from the counting-room, and even dirty, square-shaped missives, stamped with keys or thimbles, pa.s.sed successively through his hands. These coa.r.s.e letters he took up first, sorting them out with his white fingers from the rose-tinted and azure notes, glittering with gold and fancy seals, with which they were interspersed. These notes, breathing a voluptuous odor, eloquent of that sentimental foppery from which deep, pure feeling recoils, Leicester flung aside in disgust.
When all the business letters were read, he selected from this perfumed ma.s.s three little snow-white notes, traced in delicate characters, that seemed yet unsteady with the trembling hand that had written them. A single drop of pale green wax, stamped with a gem, held the envelopes, and in all things these notes were singularly chaste, and unlike those he had left so contemptuously unread. He broke the seals coldly, and perused each note according to its date. The contents must have been full of eloquence, wild and pa.s.sionate; for they brought the color even to his hardened cheek, and toward the last he became somewhat excited.
"By Jove, it is a pity these could not be published. How the creature writes--a perfect nightingale pouring forth her heart in tears. After all, it is amusing to see downright, earnest love like this.
One--two--three--I wonder if there are no more!"
He began tossing over the notes again. "Yes, yes, here is another, like a snow-drop in a cloud of b.u.t.tercups. How is this?--the seal black, the handwriting delicately rigid--that of my lady mother."
He spoke a little anxiously, and, unfolding the note, read the few lines it contained with a darkened brow.
"Ill--is she, poor girl?--ill, and delirious at times--unfortunate that--physicians must be called, nurses--all a torment and a plague. My friend Robert has been of little use here, after all; I did think his handsome face might have helped me safely out of the whole business.
Now, here is the question--shall I go up--re-a.s.sure her--take her away from the old lady--brave her friends? No, it is not worth while; a bullet through the brain must be unpleasant, especially to a reflecting mind; and these haughty southerners make short settlements. Besides, I hate scenes. But then the girl is ill, has fretted herself to the brink of the grave. These are the very words--I wonder my stately mamma ever brought herself to utter anything so pathetic. Well, she _has_ suffered--the worst is over. When all hope is extinguished she will find consolation, or die. Die--that would end all; but then death is so gloomy, and she does write exquisite letters."
If is lips ceased to utter these cold thoughts, and falling back on his couch he closed his eyes, still holding the open note in one hand. It was terrible to see how calm and pa.s.sionless his features remained while he settled in his mind the destiny of one who had loved him so much.
After some ten minutes, he opened his eyes, turned softly on the couch, and laid down his mother"s letter.
"No, I will not go near her," he said, "and yet this is another heart that I am casting away--another that has loved me. How soon--how soon shall I have need of affection? A whole life--conquest upon conquest, and yet never truly loved save by these two women--the first and the last. It is strange but this moment my heart softens toward them both.
What, a tear in Leicester"s eye!" and with a look of thrilling self-contempt the bad man started up, scoffing at the only pure feeling that had swelled his bosom for months.
A waiter stood in the door. "Sir, there is a man below, who says you told him to call."
"What does he seem like?"
"A hack-driver. He says you employed him one rainy night, a long time ago, and ordered him to come again when he had news to bring?"
"What, a tall, awkward fellow, with a stoop in the shoulders--tremendous feet and hands?"
"That"s the man, sir."
"Send him up, I did tell him to call."
A few minutes, and Jacob Strong stood in Leicester"s chamber, self-possessed even in his exaggerated awkwardness, and with a look of shrewd intelligence which recommended itself to Leicester at once. In their previous acquaintance, the man of the world had seen this applied solely to self-interest in the supposed hackman, and he hoped to make this rude, sharp intellect useful to himself.
It would have been a strange contrast to one acquainted with them both--the deep, wily, elegant man of the world--the honest, firm, shrewd man of the people. These two were pitted together in the game of life; and though one was unconscious, looking upon his antagonist as an instrument--nothing more--and though the other was often compelled to grapple hard with his pa.s.sions, that they might lead him to no false move--the game was a trial of skill worth studying.
"You told me to find out who the lady was, and where she lived, sir. It took time, for these great people are always moving about, but I have done it."
"I was sure that you were to be depended on, my good fellow; there is your money. Now tell me all about her. Who is she? Where does she live, and when have you seen her?"
Jacob took the offered piece of gold, turned it over in his palm, as if estimating its value, and then laid it on the table, before Leicester.
"I don"t jest like to give up the money," he said--eyeing the gold with well-acted greed; "but perhaps you will help me in a way I like better."
"How!--what can be better than money?" questioned Leicester. "I thought you Yankees considered the almighty dollar above all things."
"Once in a while there may be things that we like better than that, though we do love to plant the root of evil whenever we can get seed, jest as I want to plant that are gold eagle where it will bring a crop of the same sort."
"Oh, that is it!" said Leicester, laughing, "I thought there must be something to come. But do you remember the old proverb about a "bird in the hand?""
"Wal, yes. It seems to me as if I did remember something about it,"
answered Jacob, putting his huge hand to his forehead; ""a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush," isn"t that the poetry you mean?"
"Yes, that is quite near enough. Now tell me about this lady, and we will talk of the reward after. You found the number of the house?"
"No. It wasn"t numbered; but that made no difference, she didn"t live there; only staid there one night. Besides, she wasn"t a lady, only a kind of help, you know!"
"A governess or waiting-maid--I thought so," exclaimed Leicester. "Very well, where is she now?"
"She went away with the folks that she had been living with, up to Saratoga, and about; then she came back, and they all went off together across the water, to where she came from."
"What, to Europe? Then that is the last of her! Very well, my good fellow, you have earned the money."
Jacob looked keenly at the gold, but did not take it.
"Maybe," said he, shifting his weight from one foot to the other--"maybe you can tell me of some one that wants a hired-man, to drive carriage, or do almost any kind of ch.o.r.es. I"m out of work jest now, and it costs all creation to live here in New York."
Leicester was interested. His personal habits rendered an attendant necessary, and yet he had of late been unable to supply himself with one that could at the same time be useful and discreet. Here was a person, evidently new to the world, honest and with a degree of shrewdness that might be invaluable, ready to accept any situation that might offer.
Could he but attach this man to his person, interest his affections, what more useful agent, or more serviceable dependent could be found?
Still there was risk in it. Leicester with his lightning habit of thought revolved the idea in his mind, while Jacob stood looking upon the floor, inly a-fire with intense excitement, but to all outward appearance calm.
"You don"t know of any one then?" he said, at last, with a.s.sumed indifference. "Wal, I don"t see how on arth I shall get along."
Leicester looked at him searchingly. Jacob felt the glance, and met it with a calm, dull expression of the eye, that completely deceived the man who was trying with such art to read him to the soul.
"What if I were to engage you myself?"
"Wal, now, I should be awful glad!"