Master Byles Gridley lost himself for half a minute in a most discreditable inward discussion as to whether Laura Penhallow was probably one or two years older than Mr. Bradshaw. That was his way, he could not help it. He could not think of anything without these mental parentheses. But he came back to business at the end of his half-minute.
"I can lay the package before you at this moment, Mr. Penhallow. I have induced that woman in whose charge it was left to intrust it to my keeping, with the express intention of showing it to you. But it is protected by a seal, as I have told you, which I should on no account presume to meddle with."
Mr. Gridley took out the package of papers.
"How damp it is!" Mr. Penhallow said; "must have been lying in some very moist neighborhood."
"Very," Mr. Gridley answered, with a peculiar expression which said, "Never mind about that."
"Did the party give you possession of these doc.u.ments without making any effort to retain them?" the lawyer asked.
"Not precisely. It cost some effort to induce Miss Badlam to let them go out of her hands. I hope you think I was justified in making the effort I did, not without a considerable strain upon my feelings, as well as her own, to get hold of the papers?"
"That will depend something on what the papers prove to be, Mr. Gridley.
A man takes a certain responsibility in doing just what you have done.
If, for instance, it should prove that this envelope contained matters relating solely to private transactions between Mr. Bradshaw and Miss Badlam, concerning no one but themselves,--and if the words on the back of the envelope and the seal had been put there merely as a protection for a package containing private papers of a delicate but perfectly legitimate character--"
The lawyer paused, as careful experts do, after bending the bow of an hypothesis, before letting the arrow go. Mr. Gridley felt very warm indeed, uncomfortably so, and applied his handkerchief to his face.
Could n"t be anything in such a violent supposition as that, and yet such a crafty fellow as that Bradshaw,--what trick was he not up to?
Absurd! Cynthia was not acting,--Rachel would n"t be equal to such a performance!--"why then, Mr. Gridley," the lawyer continued, "I don"t see but what my partner would have you at an advantage, and, if disposed to make you uncomfortable, could do so pretty effectively. But this, you understand, is only a supposed case, and not a very likely one. I don"t think it would have been prudent in you to meddle with that seal. But it is a very different matter with regard to myself. It makes no difference, so far as I am concerned, where this package came from, or how it was obtained. It is just as absolutely within my control as any piece of property I call my own. I should not hesitate, if I saw fit, to break this seal at once, and proceed to the examination of any papers contained within the envelope. If I found any paper of the slightest importance relating to the estate, I should act as if it had never been out of my possession.
"Suppose, however, I chose to know what was in the package, and, having ascertained, act my judgment about returning it to the party from whom you obtained it. In such case I might see fit to restore or cause it to be restored, to the party, without any marks of violence having been used being apparent. If everything is not right, probably no questions would be asked by the party having charge of the package. If there is no underhand work going on, and the papers are what they profess to be, n.o.body is compromised but yourself, so far as I can see, and you are compromised at any rate, Mr. Gridley, at least in the good graces of the party from whom you obtained the doc.u.ments. Tell that party that I took the package without opening it, and shall return it, very likely, without breaking the seal. Will consider of the matter, say a couple of days. Then you shall hear from me, and she shall hear from you. So. So.
Yes, that"s it. A nice business. A thing to sleep on. You had better leave the whole matter of dealing with the package to me. If I see fit to send it back with the seal unbroken, that is my affair. But keep perfectly quiet, if you please, Mr. Gridley, about the whole matter. Mr.
Bradshaw is off, as you know, and the business on which he is gone is important,--very important. He can be depended on for that; he has acted all along as if he had a personal interest in the success of our firm beyond his legal relation to it."
Mr. Penhallow"s light burned very late in the office that night, and the following one. He looked troubled and absent-minded, and when Miss Laura ventured to ask him how long Mr. Bradshaw was like to be gone, he answered her in such a way that the girl who waited at table concluded that he did n"t mean to have Miss Laury keep company with Mr. Bradshaw, or he"d never have spoke so dreadful hash to her when she asked about him.
CHAPTER x.x.xII. SUSAN POSEY"S TRIAL.
A day or two after Myrtle Hazard returned to the village, Master Byles Gridley, accompanied by Gifted Hopkins, followed her, as has been already mentioned, to the same scene of the princ.i.p.al events of this narrative. The young man had been persuaded that it would be doing injustice to his talents to crowd their fruit prematurely upon the market. He carried his ma.n.u.script back with him, having relinquished the idea of publishing for the present. Master Byles Gridley, on the other hand, had in his pocket a very flattering proposal, from the same publisher to whom he had introduced the young poet, for a new and revised edition of his work, "Thoughts on the Universe," which was to be remodelled in some respects, and to have a new t.i.tle not quite so formidable to the average reader.
It would be hardly fair to Susan Posey to describe with what delight and innocent enthusiasm she welcomed back Gifted Hopkins. She had been so lonely since he was away? She had read such of his poems as she possessed--duplicates of his printed ones, or autographs which he had kindly written out for her--over and over again, not without the sweet tribute of feminine sensibility, which is the most precious of all testimonials to a poet"s power over the heart. True, her love belonged to another,--but then she was so used to Gifted! She did so love to hear him read his poems,--and Clement had never written that "little bit of a poem to Susie," which she had asked him for so long ago! She received him therefore with open arms,--not literally, of course, which would have been a breach of duty and propriety, but in a figurative sense, which it is hoped no reader will interpret to her discredit.
The young poet was in need of consolation. It is true that he had seen many remarkable sights during his visit to the city; that he had got "smarted up," as his mother called it, a good deal; that he had been to Mrs. Clymer Ketchum"s party, where he had looked upon life in all its splendors; and that he brought back many interesting experiences, which would serve to enliven his conversation for a long time. But he had failed in the great enterprise he had undertaken. He was forced to confess to his revered parent, and his esteemed friend Susan Posey, that his genius, which was freely acknowledged, was not thought to be quite ripe as yet. He told the young lady some particulars of his visit to the publisher, how he had listened with great interest to one of his poems, "The Triumph of Song,"--how he had treated him with marked and flattering attention; but that he advised him not to risk anything prematurely, giving him the hope that by and by he would be admitted into that series of ill.u.s.trious authors which it was the publisher"s privilege to present to the reading public. In short, he was advised not to print. That was the net total of the matter, and it was a pang to the susceptible heart of the poet. He had hoped to have come home enriched by the sale of his copyright, and with the prospect of seeing his name before long on the back of a handsome volume.
Gifted"s mother did all in her power to console him in his disappointment. There was plenty of jealous people always that wanted to keep young folks from rising in the world. Never mind, she did n"t believe but what Gifted could make jest as good verses as any of them that they kept such a talk about. She had a fear that he might pine away in consequence of the mental excitement he had gone through, and solicited his appet.i.te with her choicest appliances,--of which he partook in a measure which showed that there was no immediate cause of alarm.
But Susan Posey was more than a consoler,--she was an angel to him in this time of his disappointment. "Read me all the poems over again,"
she said,--"it is almost the only pleasure I have left, to hear you read your beautiful verses." Clement Lindsay had not written to Susan quite so often of late as at some former periods of the history of their love.
Perhaps it was that which had made her look paler than usual for some little time. Something was evidently preying on her. Her only delight seemed to be in listening to Gifted as he read, sometimes with fine declamatory emphasis, sometimes in low, tremulous tones, the various poems enshrined in his ma.n.u.script. At other times she was sad, and more than once Mrs. Hopkins had seen a tear steal down her innocent cheek, when there seemed to be no special cause for grief. She ventured to speak of it to Master Byles Gridley.
"Our Susan"s in trouble, Mr. Gridley, for some reason or other that"s unbeknown to me, and I can"t help wishing you could jest have a few words with her. You"re a kind of a grandfather, you know, to all the young folks, and they"d tell you pretty much everything about themselves. I calc"late she is n"t at ease in her mind about somethin"
or other, and I kind o" think, Mr. Gridley, you could coax it out of her."
"Was there ever anything like it?" said Master Byles Gridley to himself.
"I shall have all the young folks in Oxbow Village to take care of at this rate. Susan Posey in trouble, too! Well, well, well, it"s easier to get a birch-bark canoe off the shallows than a big ship off the rocks.
Susan Posey"s trouble will be come at easily enough; but Myrtle Hazard floats in deeper water. We must make Susan Posey tell her own story, or let her tell it, for it will all come out of itself."
"I am going to dust the books in the open shelves this morning. I wonder if Miss Susan Posey would n"t like to help for half an hour or so,"
Master Gridley remarked at the breakfast-table.
The amiable girl"s very pleasant countenance lighted up at the thought of obliging the old man who had been so kind to her and so liberal to her friend, the poet. She would be delighted to help him; she would dust them all for him, if he wanted her to. No, Master Gridley said, he always wanted to have a hand in it; and, besides, such a little body as she was could not lift those great folios out of the lower shelves without overstraining herself; she might handle the musketry and the light artillery, but he must deal with the heavy guns himself. "As low down as the octavos, Susan Posey, you shall govern; below that, the Salic law."
Susan did not low much about the Salic law; but she knew he meant that he would dust the big books and she would attend to the little ones.
A very young and a very pretty girl is sometimes quite charming in a costume which thinks of nothing less than of being attractive. Susan appeared after breakfast in the study, her head bound with a kerchief of bright pattern, a little jacket she had outgrown b.u.t.toned, in spite of opposition, close about her up to the throat, round which a white handkerchief was loosely tied, and a pair of old gauntlets protecting her hands, so that she suggested something between a gypsy, a jaunty soubrette, and the fille du regiment.
Master Gridley took out a great volume from the lower shelf,--a folio in ma.s.sive oaken covers with clasps Like prison hinges, bearing the stately colophon, white on a ground of vermilion, of Nicholas Jenson and his a.s.sociates. He opened the volume,--paused over its blue, and scarlet initial letter,--he turned page after page, admiring its brilliant characters, its broad, white marginal rivers, and the narrower white creek that separated the black-typed twin-columns, he turned back to the beginning and read the commendatory paragraph, "Nam ipsorum omnia fidgent tum correctione dignissima, tum cura imprimendo splendida ac miranda," and began reading, "Incipit proemium super apparatum decretalium...." when it suddenly occurred to him that this was not exactly doing what he had undertaken to do, and he began whisking an ancient bandanna about the ears of the venerable volume. All this time Miss Susan Posey was catching the little books by the small of their backs, pulling them out, opening them, and clapping them together, "p-"p-"p! "p-"p-"p! and carefully caressing all their edges with a regular professional dusting-cloth, so persuasively that they yielded up every particle that a year had drifted upon them, and came forth refreshed and rejuvenated. This process went on for a while, until Susan had worked down among the octavos and Master Gridley had worked up among the quartos. He had got hold of Calmet"s Dictionary, and was caught by the article Solomon, so that he forgot his occupation again. All at once it struck him that everything was very silent,--the "p-"p-"p! of clapping the books had ceased, and the light rustle of Susan"s dress was no longer heard. He looked up and saw her standing perfectly still, with a book in one hand and her duster in the other. She was lost in thought, and by the shadow on her face and the glistening of her blue eyes he knew it was her hidden sorrow that had just come back to her. Master Gridley shut up his book, leaving Solomon to his fate, like the worthy Benedictine he was reading, without discussing the question whether he was saved or not.
"Susan Posey, child, what is your trouble?"
Poor Susan was in the state of unstable equilibrium which the least touch upsets, and fell to crying. It took her some time to get down the waves of emotion so that speech would live upon them. At last it ventured out,--showing at intervals, like the boat rising on the billow, sinking into the hollow, and climbing again into notice.
"O Mr. Grid-ley--I can"t--I can"t--tell you or--any-body--what "s the mat-mat-matter. My heart will br-br-break."
"No, no, no, child," said Mr. Gridley, sympathetically stirred a little himself by the sight of Susan in tears and sobbing and catching her breath, "that mustn"t be, Susan Posey. Come off the steps, Susan Posey, and stop dusting the books,--I can finish them,--and tell me all abort your troubles. I will try "to help you out of them, and I have begun to think I know how to help young people pretty well. I have had some experience at it."
But Susan cried and sobbed all the more uncontrollably and convulsively.
Master Gridley thought he had better lead her at once to what he felt pretty sure was the source of her grief, and that, when she had had her cry out, she would probably make the hole in the ice he had broken big enough in a very few minutes.
"I think something has gone wrong between you and your friend, the young gentleman with whom you are in intimate relations, my child, and I think you had better talk freely with me, for I can perhaps give you a little counsel that will be of service."
Susan cried herself quiet at last. "There"s n.o.body in the world like you, Mr. Gridley," she said, "and I"ve been wanting to tell you something ever so long. My friend--Mr. Clem--Clement Lindsay does n"t care for me as he used to,--I know he does n"t. He hasn"t written to me for--I don"t know but it"s a month. And O Mr. Gridley! he"s such a great man, and I am such a simple person,--I can"t help thinking--he would be happier with somebody else than poor little Susan Posey!"
This last touch of self-pity overcame her, as it is so apt to do those who indulge in that delightful misery, and she broke up badly, as a horse-fancier would say, so that it was some little time before she recovered her conversational road-gait.
"O Mr. Gridley," she began again, at length, "if I only dared to tell him what I think,--that perhaps it would be happier for us both--if we could forget each other! Ought I not to tell him so? Don"t you think he would find another to make him happy? Wouldn"t he forgive me for telling him he was free? Were we not too young to know each other"s hearts when we promised each other that we would love as long as we lived? Sha"n"t I write him a letter this very day and tell him all? Do you think it would be wrong in me to do it? O Mr. Gridley, it makes me almost crazy to think about it. Clement must be free! I cannot, cannot hold him to a promise he does n"t want to keep."
There were so many questions in this eloquent rhapsody of Susan"s that they neutralized each other, as one might say, and Master Gridley had time for reflection. His thoughts went on something in this way:
"Pretty clear case! Guess Mr. Clement can make up his mind to it. Put it well, did n"t she? Not a word about our little Gifted! That"s the trouble. Poets! how they do bewitch these schoolgirls! And having a chance every day, too, how could you expect her to stand it?" Then aloud: "Susan Posey, you are a good, honest little girl as ever was. I think you and Clement were too hasty in coming together for life before you knew what life meant. I think if you write Clement a letter, telling him that you cannot help fearing that you two are not perfectly adapted to each other, on account of certain differences for which neither of you is responsible, and that you propose that each should release the other from the pledge given so long ago,--in that case, I say, I believe he will think no worse of you for so doing, and may perhaps agree that it is best for both of you to seek your happiness elsewhere than in each other."
The book-dusting came to as abrupt a close as the reading of Lancelot.
Susan went straight to her room, dried her tears so as to write in a fair hand, but had to stop every few lines and take a turn at the "dust-layers," as Mrs. Clymer Ketchum"s friend used to call the fountains of sensibility. It would seem like betraying Susan"s confidence to reveal the contents of this letter, but the reader may be a.s.sured that it was simple and sincere and very sweetly written, without the slightest allusion to any other young man, whether of the poetical or cheaper human varieties.
It was not long before Susan received a reply from Clement Lindsay.
It was as kind and generous and n.o.ble as she could have asked. It was affectionate, as a very amiable brother"s letter might be, and candidly appreciative of the reasons Susan had a.s.signed for her proposal. He gave her back her freedom, not that he should cease to feel an interest in her, always. He accepted his own release, not that he would ever think she could be indifferent to his future fortunes. And within a very brief period of time after sending his answer to Susan Posey, whether he wished to see her in person, or whether he had some other motive, he had packed his trunk, and made his excuses for an absence of uncertain length at the studio, and was on his way to Oxbow Village.
CHAPTER x.x.xIII. JUST AS YOU EXPECTED.
The spring of 1861 had now arrived,--that eventful spring which was to lift the curtain and show the first scene of the first act in the mighty drama which fixed the eyes of mankind during four b.l.o.o.d.y years. The little schemes of little people were going on in all our cities and villages without thought of the fearful convulsion which was soon coming to shatter the hopes and cloud the prospects of millions. Our little Oxbow Village, which held itself by no means the least of human centres, was the scene of its own commotions, as intense and exciting to those concerned as if the destiny of the nation had been involved in them.
Mr. Clement Lindsay appeared suddenly in that important locality, and repaired to his accustomed quarters at the house of Deacon Rumrill. That worthy person received him with a certain gravity of manner, caused by his recollections of the involuntary transgression into which Mr.