THE IRON-BOUND BOX.
Jane Kelly sat down resolutely and went on with her supper. The old
woman watched each mouthful that she swallowed, with working lips and
eyes that grew fiercer and larger each moment.
“Oh, mother of heaven, I shall die!” she sobbed out at last, throwing
her flail-like arms over her head. “Give me something to eat—give me
something to eat, or I will tear you—tear you in pieces!”
Jane lifted her face and looked composedly on this burst of agony. Then
without a word she went on with her meal. When she saw this, tears began
to stream over the old woman’s face; when she heard Madame De Marke
pleading piteously for a single crumb of the bread, or one little
mouthful of the steak—“One crumb, one mouthful, she would be content
with that,” Jane still never spoke, but enjoyed her meal in stubborn
silence.
“Do you hear?—oh! Jane, do you hear me?”
“Yes, I hear!”
“One mouthful, only one mouthful, dear, good Jane!”
“The box, only the box, dear, good madam!” was the mocking answer.
“Oh! will nothing but the box answer? Am I to starve?”
“If I am obliged to find it for myself, you certainly will!” said Jane,
resolutely pushing back the chair from which she had been eating. “Now
for a grand search!”
Her eyes accidentally fell on the hen-coop, as she spoke, and Madame De
Marke, struck with terror, called out,—
“No, no, do not disturb the poor things; they have done nothing!”
A suspicion instantly seized upon Jane. She advanced toward the coop,
and stooping down was about to remove it from its place.
“No, no, stop, I will tell you, Jane. Give me something to eat first,
and I will tell you about it.”
“Tell me first!” persisted Jane, with her eyes on the hen-coop, “tell me
where the box is, first!”
“Will you give me food if I do?”
“Yes, as much as you can eat.”
“Now?—at once?”
“Yes, this minute!”
“But what do you want of my gold?”
“No matter!”
“You will not take much; enough to redeem the crucifix—no more than
that?”
“Speak, or I will find it without your help.”
It seemed as if the struggle between habitual parsimony and the sharp
demands of hunger would never cease to rend that poor skeleton form. The
old woman writhed upon her bed, in absolute torture, yet her mercenary
soul clung to its gold against the very pangs of hunger. At last she
shrieked out,—
“Give me food. Give me life, but do not take all!”
“Where is the box?” persisted Jane, steady to her point.
“There, there!” cried her victim, “remove the coop. Under it is a loose
board—beneath that you will find the box.” As she ceased, the old woman
fell to weeping and moaning over her losses.
Jane removed the coop, thrust aside a loose board, and found the box
between the floor and ceiling.
“All right. Give up the key, old lady!”
Madame held out a key, which had been concealed in her bosom, weeping
bitterly all the time.
Jane opened the box, pushed aside the gold with her hand, and took out
the tarnished jewel-case.
“I will not rob you, these are mine,” she said, thrusting the case into
her bosom; “and this,” she continued, taking out a slip of paper; “this
belongs to one we have both wronged. Take your money, I have got all
that is mine!”
“Give me the gold—here, here, on the bed. Give it up, my gold! my gold!”
The old creature forgot even the pangs of hunger, in the sudden relief
produced by the words of her enemy. She grasped out handsful of the
gold, and hugging it between her thin palms, kissed it eagerly before
she would thrust it back to the box again. A moment before she had
thought it all lost, now she was laughing hysterically, and shedding
feeble tears over what had been saved.
“Here is your supper!” said Jane, drawing the broken chair forward, and
holding up the plate of food; “here is your supper!”
The gold dropped from her shrivelled hands. For one moment hunger grew
strong over avarice; she seized the offered food with one hand, and
directly began groping after the gold with the other.
While she was thus employed, Jane Kelly left the room.