Once!---"
The companion of Mr. Edwards glanced towards him with a meaning look. The merchants for a moment bewildered, found his mind clear again.
"Twice!" screamed the auctioneer. "Once! Twice! Three----"
"Twenty shillings," dropped from the lips of Mr. Edwards.
"Twenty shillings! Twenty shillings!" cried the auctioneer with renewed animation. The man who had been bidding against the girl turned quickly to see what bold bidder was in the field: and most of the company turned with him. The young woman at the same time drew aside her veil and looked anxiously towards Mr. Edwards, who, as he obtained a fuller view of her face, was struck with it as familiar.
"Twenty-one shillings," was bid in opposition.
"Twenty-five," said the merchant, promptly.
The first bidder, seeing that Mr. Edwards was determined to run against him, and being a little afraid that he might be left with a ruinous bid on his hands, declined advancing, and the locket was a.s.signed to the young merchant, who, as soon as he had received it, turned and presented it to the young woman, saying as he did so--
"It is yours."
The young woman caught hold of it with an eager gesture, and after gazing on it for a few moments, pressed it to her lips.
"I have not the money to pay for it," she said in a low sad voice, recovering herself in a few moments; and seeking to return the miniature.
"It is yours!" replied Mr. Edwards. Then thrusting back the hand she had extended, and speaking with some emotion, he said--"Keep it--keep it, in Heaven"s name!"
And saying this he hastily retired, for he became conscious that many eyes were upon him; and he felt half ashamed to have betrayed his weakness before a coa.r.s.e, unfeeling crowd. For a few moments he lingered in the street; but his companion not appearing, he went on his way, musing on the singular adventure he had encountered. The more distinctly he recalled the young woman"s face, the more strangely familiar did it seem.
About an hour afterwards, as Mr. Edwards sat reading a letter, the Quaker entered his store.
"Ah, how do you do? I am glad to see you," said the merchant, his manner more than usually earnest. "Did you see anything more of that young woman?"
"Yes," replied the Quaker. "I could not leave one like her without knowing something of her past life and present circ.u.mstances. I think even you will hardly be disposed to regard her as an object unworthy of interest."
"No, certainly I will not. Her appearance, and the circ.u.mstances under which we found her, are all in her favor."
"But we turned aside from the beaten path. We looked into a by-place to us; or we would not have discovered her. She was not obtrusive.
She asked no aid; but, with the last few shillings that remained to her in the world, had gone to recover, if possible, an unredeemed pledge--the miniature of her mother, on which she had obtained a small advance of money to buy food and medicine for the dying original. This is but one of the thousand cases of real distress that are all around us. We could see them if we did but turn aside for a moment into ways unfamiliar to our feet."
"Did you learn who she was, and anything of her condition?" asked Mr. Edwards.
"Oh yes. To do so was but a common dictate of humanity. I would have felt it as a stain upon my conscience to have left one like her uncared for in the circ.u.mstances under which we found her."
"Did you accompany her home?"
"Yes; I went with her to the place she called her home--a room in which there was scarcely an article of comfort--and there learned the history of her past life and present condition. Does thee remember Belgrave, who carried on a large business in Maiden Lane some years ago?"
"Very well. But, surely this girl is not Mary Belgrave?"
"Yes. It was Mary Belgrave whom we met at the p.a.w.nbroker"s sale."
"Mary Belgrave! Can it be possible? I knew the family had become poor; but not so poor as this!"
And Mr. Edwards, much disturbed in mind, walked uneasily about the floor. But soon pausing, he said--
"And so her mother is dead!"
"Yes. Her father died two years ago and her mother, who has been sick ever since, died last week in abject poverty, leaving Mary friendless, in a world where the poor and needy are but little regarded. The miniature which Mary had secretly p.a.w.ned in order to supply the last earthly need of her mother, she sought by her labor to redeem; but ere she had been able to save up enough for the purpose, the time for which the pledge had been taken, expired, and the p.a.w.n broker refused to renew it. Under the faint hope that she might be able to buy it in with the little pittance of money she had saved, she attended the sale where we found her."
The merchant had resumed his seat, and although he had listened attentively to the Quaker"s brief history, he did not make any reply, but soon became lost in thought. From this he was interrupted by his visitor, who said, as he moved towards the door--
"I will bid thee good morning, friend Edwards."
"One moment, if you please," said the merchant, arousing himself, and speaking earnestly, "Where does Mary Belgrave live?"
The Friend answered the question, and, as Mr. Edwards did not seem inclined to ask any more, and besides fell back again into an abstract state, he wished him good morning and retired.
The poor girl was sitting alone in her room sewing, late in the afternoon of the day on which the incident at the auction room occurred, musing, as she had mused for hours, upon the unexpected adventure. She did not, in the excitement of the moment, know Mr.
Edwards when he first tendered her the miniature; but when he said with peculiar emphasis and earnestness, turning away as he spoke--"Keep it, in Heaven"s name!" she recognized him fully. Since that moment, she had not been able to keep the thought of him from her mind. They had been intimate friends at one time; but this was while they were both very young. Then he had professed for her a boyish pa.s.sion; and she had loved him with the childish fondness of a young school-girl. As they grew older, circ.u.mstances separated them more; and though no hearts were broken in consequence, both often thought of the early days of innocence and affection with pleasure.
Mary sat sewing, as we have said, late in the afternoon of the day on which the incident at the auction room occurred, when there was a tap at her door. On opening it, Mr. Edwards stood before her. She stepped back a pace or two in instant surprise and confusion, and he advanced into the desolate room. In a moment, however, Mary recovered herself, and with as much self-possession as, under the circ.u.mstances, she could a.s.sume, asked her unexpected visitor to take a chair, which she offered him.
Mr. Edwards sat down, feeling much oppressed. Mary was so changed in everything, except in the purity and beauty of her countenance, since he had seen her years before, that his feelings were completely borne down. But he soon recovered himself enough to speak to her of what was in his mind. He had an old aunt, who had been a friend of Mary"s mother, and from her he brought a message and an offer of a home. Her carriage was at the door--it had been sent for her--and he urged her to go with him immediately. Mary had no good reason for declining so kind an offer. It was a home that she most of all needed; and she could not refuse one like this.
"There is another unredeemed pledge," said Mr. Edwards, significantly, as he sat conversing with Mary about a year after she had found a home in the house of his aunt. Allusion had been made to the miniature of Mary"s mother.
"Ah!" was the simple response.
"Yes. Don"t you remember," and he took Mary"s unresisting hand--"the pledge of this hand which you made me, I cannot tell how many years ago?"
"That was a mere girlish pledge," ventured Mary, with drooping eyes.
"But one that the woman will redeem," said Edwards confidently, raising the hand to his lips at the same time, and kissing it.
Mary leaned involuntarily towards him; and he, perceiving the movement, drew his arm around her, and pressed his lips to her cheek.
It was no very long time afterwards before the pledge was redeemed.
DON"T MENTION IT.
"DON"T mention it again for your life."
"No, of course not. The least said about such things the better."
"Don"t for the world. I have told you in perfect confidence, and you are the only one to whom I have breathed it. I wouldn"t have it get out for any consideration."
"Give yourself no uneasiness. I shall not allude to the subject."