"Nor heaven nor earth hath been at peace
To-night."
Shakspeare.
The Friday night, which had been set aside by Clinton for his meeting
with Arthur, arrived. It came in "clouds, and storm, and darkness," with
darting lightning and crashing thunder, and all the wild fierceness
which ever characterizes a thunder-storm in that climate.
Arthur had been nervous and ill at ease all day; a fact which all
noticed, but which was attributed to anxiety on Guly's account, who,
contrary to expectation, was still unable to be about.
Evening came, the store was closed, and all the clerks were out, save
Quirk, Arthur, and Wilkins, who still lingered within, talking of Guly,
and commenting on the unusual wildness of the storm. Through the day,
Quirk had managed to slip a scrap of writing-paper into Arthur's hand,
which had been duly read, and destroyed, and both now waited an
opportunity to act upon what it contained.
Quirk quietly lighted a cigar, and, seating himself, turned
good-naturedly to Wilkins, remarking:--
"I suppose you know, old boy, that I got my discharge from these
premises t'other day."
"Indeed!" returned the head-clerk, coldly, striking a match to light a
cigar for himself.
"Yes, cleared out, within a fortnight, bag and baggage; all on account
of that deuced little spree we had here the other night. By-the-by, Mr.
Wilkins, I believe _you_ have had a finger in this pie. How could you
treat a fellow so?"
"I told you I would report you."
"Well, 'twasn't hardly fair, I vum. I didn't do more than the rest, but
I suffer all alone. However, I don't bear anybody any ill will, and hope
when we part it will be on good terms."
"I hope so, I'm sure."
"I've a bottle of prime old Port left of the other night; what say you
to taking a drink this stormy time, to our future good friendship?"
"I've no objections--most certainly."
Quirk went to the other end of the store, and took a bottle and some
glasses from under the counter. He filled three of the glasses, and
handed one to each of his friends, and kept the other for himself.
"Here's oblivion to the past, and brightness for the future."
Wilkins smiled, nodded, and the glasses were drained to the bottom.
At this moment Quirk caught sight of Jeff, who had just been in to see
Guly, but who now stood with his great eyes fixed upon the group before
him, with a mixture of wonder and sadness in his glance.
"Ah, Jeff! oughtn't to forget you to-night. Have some?"
"Don't care, massa."
Quirk filled another glass to the brim.
"Now, Jeff, you must give us a toast, or you can't have the wine."
"Guy, massa, who ever heard of a nigga's toastin' white folks," replied
Jeff, showing his whole range of ivories.
"Must give us something."
"Well, den, massa, if I must, I must. Here's hopin' you'll never be less
de brack man's fren dan now you am."
The negro's toast was drunk with a hearty good-will, Quirk only pausing,
thoughtfully, to ask if he spoke in general terms of the colored race,
or referred to himself singly; to which Jeff merely said "Yes," leaving
the matter as obscure as before.
When his cigar was finished, Quirk buttoned his coat to the throat, and,
taking an umbrella, shook hands with Arthur and Wilkins, and proceeded
toward the door.
"You might stay, and share Arthur's bed to-night," said Wilkins, calling
after him. "It's a dreadful storm to go out in, and he is alone, you
know--Guly being in my bed."
"Thank you," returned the other, "not to-night."
"I wish you would," joined in Arthur; "that's a gloomy old room to be
alone in, in such a noisy night as this."
"Hope you ain't afraid of spirits," laughed Quirk. "I would really like
to stay, but I have an engagement to meet a friend at the St. Louis
bar-room to-night, and I ought to have been there half an hour ago.
Good-night."
He opened the door, and passed out, while a gust of wind and rain swept
in through the opening.
Arthur shuddered. "Really," said he, speaking to Wilkins, "I believe I
am nervous to-night; I feel as fidgetty as an old woman; yet I have seen
the time when I could glory in such a storm as this, and climb to the
summit of old Cro'nest, on the Hudson, in its midst."
"You have been dissipating a little of late, you know," returned the
other, patting his shoulder; "that makes a difference. Then, you have,
no doubt, been anxious about your brother, and that makes a difference.
Perhaps Jeff had better take his bed to your room to-night, and lie
there. He will be better than no company, with the lightning and thunder
on such a spree about one's ears. What say you?"
"But Jeff is needed here."
"No, he isn't. He only lies behind that door in the capacity of a big
watch-dog," returned the other, laughing, "to bark if he hears any one
breaking in, and he hasn't had cause to do that since I've been here.
Jeff, take your mattress to Master Pratt's room, and sleep there
to-night."
Jeff obeyed, glad himself to be near somebody during this fierce battle
of the elements; and Arthur told him to go on up stairs with the light,
and he would be with him presently.
Leaving Wilkins smoking in the store, Arthur stole softly into Guly's
sick chamber. A night-lamp was burning on the table, casting its mellow
light faintly through the apartment, and displaying the sufferer's pale
features, as he lay asleep, with his bright hair floating back upon his
pillow.
Arthur knelt by the bedside, and took one of his brother's burning hands
in his, and bowed his head upon it. He uttered no word, heaved no sigh,
but knelt motionless and silent--so silent that his heavy heart-throbs
were audible. When he raised his head, tears were on his cheeks, and, as
he bent to press his lips to Guly's, those tears fell down upon that
fair, pale brow, and glittered there like gems.
Dashing away these traces of what he deemed his weakness, Arthur passed
out of the room, and shaking hands with Wilkins, as he bade him
good-night, mounted the winding stairs, and entered his own chamber.
"Massa Pratt," said Jeff, turning on his mattress, as Arthur entered the
room, "you don't think as how your brudder's gwine to die, do you?"
"Die! Heavens, Jeff, no! What put that in your head?"
"Don't know, sah! don' know nuffin' 'bout it."
Arthur slowly undressed, and placing his clothes near the bedside, lay
down upon his pillow.
"Jeff, do you ever expect to get to sleep in such a tumult as this?"
"Guy, massa, guess I does. Neber was so sleepy afore in all my life.
'Spect it's dat wine dat makes it; I don't often git sich drinks as dat.
Massa Quirk mighty good just on de ebe of lebin de business. Yah! yah!"
In a few minutes Jeff was asleep; and his loud breathing was audible,
even above the howling of the storm. Arthur lay still for half an hour,
restless, and with ear strained to catch the faintest sound coming up
from the store below. But all was still, and he rose up, and dressed
himself, throwing over his other garments a cloak, which he wrapped
closely about him, as if preparing to breast the weather. He laid his
hand on the small door, leading down the steep staircase into the court,
and was about to pass forth, when, with a sudden impulse, he dropped the
cloak from his shoulders, and opened the door leading down to the store
instead. Arthur could not go out upon his mysterious errand, without
casting one more look upon his brother's face. Perhaps he felt it might
possibly give him strength to resist temptation, or might urge him to
forego some premeditated evil; whatever it was that prompted him to seek
his side, he obeyed it, and in a moment stood in the door of Wilkins'
chamber. The light of the night-lamp revealed the form of the head clerk
lying stretched upon his bed, sound asleep, and breathing heavily; one
of his strong arms encircled Guly, and his broad breast pillowed the
boy's head.
Arthur looked at them earnestly, fearless of their waking, for he had
seen (what none of the rest observed) Quirk sprinkle into Wilkins' wine,
as also into Jeff's, a few grains of a drug, intended to make their
slumbers deep; and Guly, he knew, slept an invalid's sleep, heavy from
weakness and exhaustion. After gazing at them for awhile, Arthur stepped
to the table, and extinguished the lamp, then drew the door close after
him, and groped his way back up stairs. Again he wrapped the cloak about
him, drew his cap over his brows, and went down into the court. He
paused once more, as he opened the alley-door with his pass-key, and
turned his eyes back toward the spot he was leaving. The darkness was
impenetrable, but he gazed earnestly back as if all were distinctly
visible, then closed the door behind him, and went shudderingly forth
into the tempest. He had crossed that threshold for the last time
bearing in his breast a crimeless-soul, and he felt it instinctively.
Gaining the street, he hurried on till he had reached the saloon where
he had seen Quirk and Clinton the night after the lost bank deposit. He
hastily inquired of Quibbles if either of his friends were there, and on
being informed that Quirk had just come in, he desired to be shown to
his presence, and found him in the same room they had occupied before,
smoking and drinking there by himself.
"Come at last, eh, Pratt? All snug?"
"All asleep--Jeff in my room, as you suggested."
"Good! Now for Clint."
"But what was the use of all these preliminaries at the store? I
scarcely understand."
"Oh, you're a little springy as yet; after to-night you'll understand
more about these things. Clinton will explain everything when we get
there. Now, if you're ready, come along."
They went out together, Arthur first swallowing several glasses of wine,
for the purpose, as he said, of keeping his spirits up.
The walk to Clinton's house was a long one, and on such a fierce night
as this, particularly disagreeable; swollen gutters, slipping pavements,
and deluged streets, rendering it next to impossible to keep one's
footing.
Arriving, at last, at the door of a small but neat domicile, Quirk
rapped, and they were admitted by a small black girl, who showed them
into a pleasant little apartment, lighted cheerfully, prettily
furnished, and tastefully arranged. A table stood in the centre of the
apartment, and Clinton was sitting by it when they entered, reading to a
young and pretty woman, who was busily engaged with her needle, and
rocking a cradle, containing an infant son, with her foot.
She rose gracefully as Clinton introduced her as his wife, and received
his friends with ease and dignity. Arthur felt not a little astonished
to find Clinton a husband and a father, and told him as much. He blushed
slightly, and replied that every one knew these facts that knew him
well, and laughingly advised Arthur if he wished to be happy to become
one too.
Mrs. Clinton then rose, and going to the sideboard, set out wine for the
guests, and Arthur observed that it was served on a silver salver and in
cut crystal--articles scarcely corresponding with the small house, and
very pretty, but plain furniture.
"Is the back room lighted?" said Clinton to his wife.
"No, but it shall be, if you wish it."
"I do. My friends have a little business to transact with me."
Arthur noticed that when Clinton said this, his wife looked at him very
penetratingly, as if she would read his thoughts, but turned away
re-assured by the bright smile he gave her, and lighted the room.
"Now," said Clinton, when they were alone, "let's at once to business. I
had intended this night only for planning; but we must plan and work
both, to-night, for we may not have such another storm in a month.
You've good pluck, eh, Pratt?"
"Same as ever."
"Good. You got my note and fixed the wine, Quirk?"
"Just so."
"And you are sure you're ready, Pratt, to help to carry out the plan
I've laid for you?"
"Ready for anything short of murder."
"All right, then, there's no murder in the case, only a nice little game
of lock-picking and so on. No backing out now, and beforehand we must
all take this oath: that if any one of us is nabbed, and should by any
chance suffer the penalty of the law, he shall not implicate any of the
others."
"That's fair," said Quirk; "all stand the same chance."
The oath was administered, and each one laid his hand upon the Holy
Book, saying: "I swear," "I swear," "I swear."
"Now," said Clinton, "what I propose is this: that we just walk into
your boss's store this night, and walk out of it with goods enough to
make us rich men. We can do it easy as guns."
Arthur turned pale and remained silent.
"What's the matter, boy," said Clinton, laughing, "you ain't going to
play chickenheart, are you?"
"No," said Arthur, ashamed to confess his dislike to the plan, "but why
can't you take some other store?"
"Because we havn't the men drugged in any other store, and, in case of
detection, we're safer there than any where else."
"How so? I should think the chances in that case would be equal
anywhere?"
"Oh, no. I'm somewhat related to the proprietor of your store, and when
he found 'twas me, he'd hush the matter up--and let it go," said
Clinton, quietly.
"Related to Mr. Delancey! Pray, how nearly?" asked Arthur in
astonishment.
"Oh, quite near. But no matter about that now, maybe you'll find it all
out one of these days. Another reason for choosing that particular store
is, we can get in with less trouble. Look there."
Clinton, as he spoke, flung down upon the table a heavy brass key,
which, to his amazement, Arthur saw was the one he had lost on his
Carrollton ride.
"How in the world came you by this?"
Clinton laughed--"If you lost it, I must have found it; but no time is
to be lost, and if we're all agreed let's go to work."
"All agreed," said Quirk; but Arthur was silent; sitting with his head
bent down, as if closely examining the key, but in fact to hide the
emotion he knew was visible in his face.
"Well, then," said Clinton, rising and unlocking an armoire which stood
in one corner of the room, "here are some bags for us, which I have had
prepared expressly. Each of us will take two; and with what else we can
carry about our persons, they will be enough. Here, Pratt, are yours.
What the devil ails you, man, to look so down?"
"Nothing ails me," replied Arthur, rising and taking the bags, with an
effort to look interested and cheerful.
"Well," continued Clinton, "now, my plan is this: all you have got to do
is to unlock the door and go in; for Quirk tells me that early this
morning he managed to fill the bolt socket in the floor, so that the
bolts wouldn't sink; and that he is certain Jeff was too fuddled with
the wine he gave him to note the difference. If this was so, you can go
in without the slightest difficulty, and as you two know all about the
store, which I don't, while you are gathering the goods, I will saw off
one of the window shutters, and cut out a pane of glass, so that it will
seem the entrance was effected by that means. Here are the implements,
you see," said he, holding up a saw and file.
"Aye," said Quirk, "but you'll need a diamond to cut the glass."
"I'll use this," said he, showing the ring on his finger.
"Just as it is?"
"Yes, as good so as any way. Now, the first thing you do after getting
in, is to pull out that filling from the bolt sockets if you care to
save yourselves, then pitch into the goods. Get the lightest and most
valuable--silks, embroideries, rich laces, everything of that kind, but
avoid the linens, cloths, and all that, as too heavy, and besides might
be detected by the stamp. Lock and bolt the door after you when you go
in, and you, Pratt, pocket the key; for no doubt it will be asked for
to-morrow. I'll have a place ready for you to get out. And now let's be
off--here are dark lanterns for you."
"But the watchman," suggested Arthur.
"Oh, never fear a watchman such a night as this; he's snugly asleep
somewhere, no doubt--and if he should come too near, this would 'his
quietus make,'" said Clinton, displaying a glittering dagger.
Arthur shuddered visibly.
"You promised no murder, Mr. Clinton."
"And I'll endeavor to keep that promise, Mr. Pratt," laughed Clinton.
"Now let's be going."
They went out without again seeing Clinton's wife.
The storm swept on unabated, and Quirk and Clinton, arm-in-arm, started
on ahead, while Arthur, reluctant, and remorseful, but ashamed to betray
his feelings, followed in their footsteps, the suffering victim of his
own and another's pride.
The store was reached. The noise of the tempest rendered much caution
unnecessary, for thunder, wind and rain were so loudly uniting their
forces that almost any noise would but have seemed the natural effect of
their fury. But it was with extreme caution that Arthur applied the key
to the lock, opened the door and permitted Quirk to enter. The latter
instantly stepped to the window, and assisted Clinton in taking down a
shutter, and the last named gentleman, with file and saw, soon gave it
the appearance of having been taken down by such instruments alone from
the outside. He then proceeded to cut out one of the large panes of
glass, while Quirk and Arthur, having opened the bolt sockets and
fastened the door with lock and bolt, proceeded to collect the goods.
Suddenly Arthur stopped, and turning to Quirk, whispered faintly: "I
can't go on. Oh, this is awful, awful! Think of my poor brother, sick,
maybe dying, in that room yonder, and I engaged thus! Oh! I never, never
can go on!"
"Furies!" muttered Quirk, between his teeth, "this is a pretty time for
such thoughts! The brat in yonder is doing well enough, I'll be bound;
but if you give him time to come out here and see you, he would die for
certain. You may just as well yell out and give us all up to the police
as to stop now--a nice body you are to take _revenge_."
That one last word acted as a spur, and Arthur again resumed the packing
of the bags, and Quirk coming up to him, said, softly:--
"Now you're a man again--ain't ashamed of you now. Here's a mask for
you, tie it on. I don't fear detection, but it won't do any harm to wear
it. I've got one for myself."
Arthur obeyed mechanically, and tied the mask over his features and went
on with his work. Boxes were rifled, drawers were emptied and shelves
left vacant. The bags were filled. Everything light and valuable that
could be stowed away in them had been, and Quirk and Arthur passed them
up into the window for Clinton to set into the street. He lifted them
all out, and wrapped them in oil cloth to prevent the goods from being
damaged by the rain. He placed them in a pile beneath the window arch,
so that they might be easily lifted away even by two strong pair of
arms, and left them there, certain that the raging storm would prevent
all chance of discovery. Quirk had crept out also, through the open
pane, after having placed the goods in the window, and now seated
himself upon the pile and wiped his brow, like one wearied with a long
fatiguing task.
Arthur had wrapped his cloak around him preparing to leave, when Clinton
again made his appearance at the window and vaulted into the store.
"I want to see if you have made a clean sweep," said he, taking Arthur's
lantern from his hand, and passing lightly up through the store with a
practised tread and running his eye eagerly over the shelves. "Velvets,"
said he, suddenly pausing to read the lable of a large box. "Why the
devil didn't you get them?" and forthwith he drew it down and turned its
rich contents out into an immense bandanna handkerchief which he drew
from his breast.
"Oh, for Heaven's sake don't stop for them!" whispered Arthur,
nervously, "let's be gone!"
"Zounds, man! here's a little fortune in itself," returned the other,
carefully tying them up. "I'd be a fool to leave these."
Neither saw, so intent were they on what they were doing, the door of
Wilkins' room swing slowly open, and a white-robed figure, bearing a
night-lamp, glide ghost-like toward them. So feeble was the light it
held, it scarcely served to reveal the way, and one trembling foot
struck against a store stool, making sufficient noise to attract the
attention of the robbers. They both turned suddenly, the light of their
lantern fell that way, and they stood face to face with Guly.
In an instant Clinton's hand was on his dagger; it rose glittering high
in air, and aimed at Guly's heart, descended with a fearful plunge
toward that pure young breast.
"Murderer!" cried a voice behind him, and a counter blow from a well
directed hand, sent the instrument of death clattering upon the floor.
At the sound of that voice, though it had come from beneath a mask, Guly
uttered a cry of anguish a thousand times more heart-rending than would
have been a death cry, and sank senseless upon the floor, the lamp going
out in its fall.
Trembling with horror, Arthur felt himself pushed forward by Clinton's
strong hand in wild haste to the window. Self-preservation was strong
within him, he bolted through, Clinton followed, and they once more
stood in the street.
"We'll take care of the bags," whispered Clinton, hurriedly, to Arthur;
"you fly up that alley, get you to bed, and take care of yourself,
you'll only hinder us if you go along--pull off your boots."
Loaded with their booty, Clinton and Quirk passed away like shadows in
the stormy darkness, and bewildered, yet aware of the stern necessity
for obeying Clinton's advice, Arthur drew off his boots and darted like
light up the alley, noiselessly unlocked the small door, fastened it,
and once more breathed in his own room. Quick as thought he rinsed the
mud from his boots in some water he knew where to find, turned the India
rubber cloak wrong side out and hung it on the peg whence he had taken
it, undressed, all in that to him fearful darkness, and once more sought
his pillow, without causing a break in the loud snoring of Jeff who
still slumbered on his mattress, unconscious of the trouble soon to fall
on his devoted head.
Clasping his hands upon his wildly beating heart, Arthur lay still to
listen for any sound to indicate that life had returned to Guly, or that
Wilkins had awakened. For the first time, he bethought him of his mask,
and raising his hand to his face found it had fallen off, probably, he
concluded, in his hurried flight through the window.