Since noonday, Guly had sat in the darkened store alone. He could not go
out in search of his brother, being ignorant of the streets; and
besides, where in that great city could he have looked with any hope of
finding him? When he returned from church, and found Arthur absent, he
was not only surprised, but deeply troubled. Knowing what a stranger he
was in that vast metropolis, the thought crossed his mind that in the
proud and angry mood that was upon him, he might have wandered off, and
lost himself. But an instant's reflection told him that any one would be
able to give the direction of Mr. Delancey's store, and that Arthur, in
such a case, would not be slow to make inquiry.
He could but wait patiently, as there was no one near, either to
accompany him in a search, or to give him advice. He seated himself to
write to his mother, deeming that his time could not be more dutifully
passed.
The letter was finished and sealed, and still no news of Arthur. Guly
had seized his hat with the intent of going forth at all hazards, when
the door of his room slowly opened, and Jeff's shining face was thrust
in.
"Please, young massar, may I come in?"
"Certainly. Close the door."
The negro entered with a shuffling gait, holding a tattered straw hat in
his hands, and with a bow and sheepish look stopped directly in front of
Guly.
"Anything I can do for you, Jeff?"
"Well, I hopes you'll 'scuse my 'trusion, young massar, but I thought as
dis was Sunday, mebbe you'd be reading dat big book yourself, and would
let me hear you."
"To be sure, Jeff, to be sure. Whenever that big book is read you will
always be a welcome listener, and whenever I have time I shall always be
ready to read it to you."
"Oh, young massar, you is so good to de poor nigger--sometimes when I
look at you, I can't help tinking you'se just some angel as has lost his
wings, and a-waiting on dis airth till they grow agin."
"Hush, Jeff."
"Yes, massar; if you'se ready to read, I'se ready to listen."
Guly smiled at this misconstruction of his words, but opening the Bible
he read aloud the fourteenth chapter of John; while Jeff sat with his
elbows on his knees, and his chin in his palms, his large eyes fixed
attentively on the reader.
When the chapter was finished, Guly took the different paragraphs, and
in a simple but concise manner endeavored to explain all which was
difficult for his listener to understand.
"Thar!" said Jeff, flinging his old hat emphatically upon the floor, as
Guly ceased, "If that ain't as good as a minister, dis child guv it up,
dat's all! Oh, young massar, if you'd just call a meetin' ob de clerks
in dis store, and read and 'spound to 'em sometime in dis way, dar'd be
a better set in old massar's bizness, to say the least."
"Your master's clerks all seem to be well-disposed young men, I'm sure,
Jeff--I never see them commit a wrong."
"You'se too good yousef to see evil, sah; but mebbe de clerks _is_ good
when de Boss's sharp eye is on 'em."
"Oh!" exclaimed Guly, starting to his feet, and rapidly pacing the
floor, "What a place of sin for a young inexperienced boy to be in, and
under the influence of evil companions. Oh! my brother! my brother!"
"He'll be home by night-time, Massar Gulian, in my 'pinion. I'se jus
sorry I told you, sah, since you take on so, but it just slipped out o'
me like, an' I couldn't help it."
Guly drew a chair near one of the windows, and though he could see
neither sky above or brightness below, he gazed out upon the brick walls
before him, and his thoughts flew backward to the past. From that hour
of reflection Guly rose up wiser and older. He felt how much depended on
himself, and decided that henceforth his watchful eye should ever be
upon the brother, who, though so much older than himself, required so
much of tender counsel and care.
The sun was down when he again approached the table where Jeff still
sat, turning over the leaves of the "Big Book."
"Massar Gulian, you look in your eyes as though you was gwine to pray.
May I hear you 'fore I go?"
Guly bowed, and knelt beside his dusky friend; and as he prayed, the
great white tears rolled over Jeff's cheeks, and fell down on the box by
which he was kneeling.
The prayer was ended and Jeff rose to go.
"Good night, Jeff," said Guly, holding out his hand.
"Good night, young Massar; God forever bress your heart."
Left alone, Guly sat down to patiently await the termination of what he
could not possibly avert; but the loneliness was so oppressive, the
silence and darkness lay like such a weight upon his troubled heart,
that he determined to descend to Wilkins' room, and if he were there to
remain with him.
Having no light in his chamber, he opened the door, and slowly groped
his way down the winding stairs. When he had nearly reached the foot he
fancied he heard voices, and, surprised at such a sound coming from the
direction of the head-clerk's room, he paused to listen; but the step on
which he stood creaked loudly, and the voices ceased.
Going cautiously on in the darkness, he reached the big desk, and
further back saw a stream of light glimmering through the crevice of
Wilkins' door. He evidently was at home, but unless his ears had very
much deceived him, Guly felt certain he was not alone.
Not wishing to play the spy, the boy went forward, and was about to
knock, when through the crevice of the door his eye fell upon a scene
which again arrested his attention, and held him speechless.
Wilkins was seated at a low table, writing, apparently answering a
letter, which lay open before him, written in a peculiarly beautiful and
delicate female hand. The light of the lamp fell full upon his face,
which was very pale; and his teeth were pressed hard into his under lip.
Behind him, with one hand clasped upon the back of his chair, stood a
young girl; and though her features were of exquisite proportions and
beautiful moulding, she displayed in the slight tinge of duskiness upon
her skin, and the peculiar blackness of her large eyes, unmistakable
proofs, to an experienced judge, of the quadroon blood in her veins.
Her hair was long, and of midnight blackness; and fell in thick, close
curls over the graceful scarf which covered her shoulders. Her forehead
was high and fine, her eyebrows arched and delicately traced--her nose
free from all trace of her negro origin, and her lashes long and curving
upon her round cheek. Her mouth was small, and the lips parted over
teeth of the most perfect regularity; but in this feature, more than in
any other, as she stood watching Wilkins, as he wrote, there was an
expression of proud bitterness, which came and went over those exquisite
features, like gleams of lightning.
As Wilkins finished writing, he carefully folded and sealed his letter,
and handed it to the girl, without adding any superscription.
"There, Minny, give her that; but, remember how much depends upon your
secresy. There's a day coming when you shall meet your full reward for
all you are doing for us now."
"Yes, Mr. Bernard," she replied, addressing him by his first name, and
speaking earnestly, "I think of that myself sometimes, and tremble."
"And tremble! What do you mean?"
"Nothing, nothing; no matter now. Give me a pass, and let me be gone!
The great gun has fired two hours ago!"
"You are too white to need a pass, Minny."
"Ay! but I am a slave."
The bitter emphasis with which she uttered these last words sank deep
into Guly's young heart, and was the first intimation to him that she
was not of unmixed origin. She looked so purely beautiful, as she stood
there with that shade of scornful sadness on her face, that the boy
forgot the part he was acting in standing there, and remained with his
large eyes riveted upon her.
"Here's your pass, Minny; but, mark me, it will not be claimed of you."
As he spoke Wilkins rose, and handed her the paper. She concealed the
letter he had given her in her dress, then folded the pass between her
fingers, and prepared to leave.
The head clerk had stood still until how, watching her with a strange,
eager expression on his face; but as he saw her about to leave him he
sprang suddenly forward, and throwing one of his huge arms about her
waist, drew back her head with the other, and imprinted kiss after kiss
upon her lips.
She struggled wildly, but silently; and at last, with an almost
superhuman effort, freed herself from his grasp. She turned, as she did
so, and lifting her small hand closely clenched, struck him furiously
full in the mouth.
The blood gushed over his lips; and never, to the latest day of his
existence, not even when he saw her lie cold and still in her coffin,
did Guly forget the fearful expression in her pallid face, and the
almost demoniacal glare in her black eye, as she marked the effect of
her blow, and darted by him like some frightened bird, escaped from the
spoiler's net.
He shrank further into the darkness as she passed him, and saw her rush
toward the back part of the building, where the large windows descended
to the floor. She flung one up hastily, and leaped through it to the
ground.
The next moment he heard the swift pattering of small feet in the alley,
and the rustling of a woman's dress, as if some one were running.
The head clerk had thrown himself upon a couch, face downwards, after he
received the blow, and Guly seeing he had been unobserved, thought best
not to intrude upon him at this moment; and with a quiet, cat-like
tread, and trembling violently with the excitement of the scene he had
witnessed, he groped his way back to his own chamber.
An hour passed before he ventured to descend the stairs again; and then
he found Wilkins sitting as he had seen him in the morning, at the big
desk, with his coat off, reading.
"This is a late hour for you to be down stairs, my boy! What has
happened to make you so pale? Are you sick?"
"No, sir, but I am troubled."
And Guly stepped toward him, and laid one hand upon the desk, while he
related to Wilkins all that he had felt with regard to his brother,
since he parted from him in the morning.
"Tut, tut!" said he, shaking his head as the boy finished, "this is a
bad business. If I had not thought you were together somewhere, I would
have been with you. I'm afraid your brother has got into bad company,
which I should be sorry enough for, I promise you."
Wilkins spoke this in a tone of such kindly sympathy, at the same time
laying one hand gently upon the golden head beside him, that Guly's
overwrought feelings could no longer be restrained; and the tears gushed
thickly from his eyes.
"Don't," said Wilkins, tenderly, "don't! This will doubtless be the last
time he will wander off in this way--he is impulsive and yielding, and
you, who are less so, must guard him in future."
Cheered, though not convinced, by Wilkins' words, Guly once more sought
his own room. He had never pressed that pillow alone before, and with a
desolate and heavy heart, the golden lashes were allowed to droop, and
the boy fell into a troubled slumber.
Through a narrow chink in the roof above, a moonbeam stole, and nestled
down beside him. It lay there in Arthur's vacant place like the gleam of
an angel's smile; and all it fell upon was purity and beauty. The night
wore on. The boy slept, the moonbeam faded, and troubled dreams and
desolate darkness alone remained behind.