SANCTIMONIOUS RESPECTABILITY.
The room seemed to have been fitted up as a library, for the walls were
filled with bookcases and the tables were covered with richly-bound
volumes and the newest pamphlets. Still it was evidently the common
working-room of a business man; for near one of the windows was a long
writing-table surmounted by a cabinet, filled with large packages of
papers and deeds.
Seated by the table was a tall, thin man, in whose features were those
lines and furrows which long years of constant occupation will bring
upon the face, with a serene moral composure which would have deceived
even a keen-eyed man of the world.
But now in that solitude the calmness which a long life of dissimulation
had given the countenance was gone, and the undercurrent of passion
showed through like a turbid bottom seen beneath smooth waters.
That man was Nathan Lawrence, a leading partner in the house where
Michael Hurst found employment, and the person whom the young man had so
unexpectedly seen at the gambling-hall upon the previous night.
He was sitting with paper before him and a pen in his hand, but he had
not yet written a line, although it was full an hour since he had taken
his seat there.
The events of the past evening had evidently left an impression upon
him, which he could not readily shake off, for his losses had been
large, even for one of his great wealth, and he might well pause to
reflect upon the consequences of many nights of misfortune like that.
In the eyes of the world, Nathan Lawrence possessed the reputation of
being a moral man—not religious, perhaps, in the strict sense of the
word, but perfectly upright and conscientious. He was to be seen every
Sunday in his seat in church, uttering the responses with the utmost
fervor, and was always foremost in every public charity or philanthropic
act which was sounded abroad. In short, he was a man who possessed the
esteem of all who knew him; and when once or twice strange reports had
gone abroad concerning him, the source of which no one could explain,
they had been indignantly refuted by his large circle of acquaintance,
and for a time he had risen almost to the dignity of a martyr from that
attempted persecution.
In the business world no man’s credit stood higher. He was the head of
one of the most influential firms in the country, and his slightest word
was considered equal to the bond of any common man.
This was the man whom young Hurst had discovered at the gambling-house.
Had he known that fact, with the desperate condition and daring
character of the youth, Mr. Lawrence would scarcely have sat at that
table with so much composure, dwelling only upon the sums which he had
lost, for the reputation so falsely gained was dearer far to him than
wealth or life itself.
While Mr. Lawrence sat gloomily absorbed in his library, a low knock
sounded at the door, and a domestic entered the room, and paused before
him with grave respect.
“What is it, Peters?” Mr. Lawrence asked, after a second’s silence,
laying down his pen, and seeming to rouse himself from some important
calculation.
“There is a gentleman below who wishes to speak with you, sir.”
“Did he give his name, Peters?”
“Mr. Hurst, sir.”
“Hurst? What can he want? Did you tell him that I was occupied?”
“Yes, sir; but he said that he had just come from the counting-house,
and wished to see you on some business of importance.”
“Show him up, Peters, and remember I am at home to no one else.”
The servant left the room, and Mr. Lawrence again took up his pen, but
his hand shook, and he could not frame a letter, although his face
looked cold and stern as before. The past night had left him strangely
nervous; and simple as was the fact of his clerk calling upon him, he
was startled by the sound of his name.
In a moment the servant again opened the door, and young Hurst entered
with his usual air of careless composure.
Mr. Lawrence turned slowly round with his most dignified manner, and
surveyed his clerk from head to foot.
“Good morning, Mr. Hurst,” he said, with haughty blandness; “my servant
said that you desired particularly to see me. Business from the office,
I suppose?”
Hurst returned his glance without faltering, and replied with the
familiar ease of an equal:
“Partially so, Mr. Lawrence, partially so.”
The rich man looked at him in astonishment. It was the first time that
one of his clerks had ever ventured to address him, save with profound
respect, and he could not comprehend the singular assurance of this
young man.
“I am very much occupied this morning,” he said, with dignity; “let me
hear your message at once.”
“I have none, sir,” replied Hurst, with the same unchanging assurance.
“I always employ my servant in any thing of that sort.”
“Mr. Hurst!” exclaimed the man of respectability, “what is the meaning
of such language? and why have you intruded upon me this morning?”
“Ah, that is the bore of business; one never has a moment for himself or
friends.”
“Sir, I am not in the habit of classing my hired clerks among my friends
exactly. If you have any business, state it at once: if not, I must
request you to withdraw.”
“I met with a little misfortune last night, my dear sir,” said Hurst,
coolly seating himself near the merchant, and leaning his arm upon the
writing-table. “I have come to you for counsel, not only as the head of
the firm, but as a man of the world.”
“Really, sir, this is a strange proceeding. I cannot imagine any thing
in which my advice can be of value to you; I believe you receive your
salary regularly—beyond that I have nothing to do with your affairs.”
“Last night,” continued Hurst, as quietly as if he were a millionaire,
and speaking of some insignificant loss, “I had the ill-luck to lose a
thousand dollars at cards——”
“Enough, sir,” interrupted Mr. Lawrence; “I will not tolerate a gambler
in my establishment for an hour—you are discharged.”
“The most disagreeable thing in the whole affair,” pursued Hurst,
calmly, as if the other had not spoken, “is that the money was not
mine.”
“You have not dared——”
“Yes; it belonged to the firm. It was very careless on my part, but,
after all, the sum is so trifling!”
“I will hear nothing farther; the law will deal with you. I am a just
man—I thank heaven that I can look back on my life without being forced
to blush for a single act—but I never falter where my duty is
concerned.”
“I knew, of course, that we could arrange the little matter at once, and
so I tore myself away from a very charming woman in order to call upon
you.”
“A gambler and a swindler! Young man, what can your associations have
been to leave you at this age so utterly depraved? Had you come to me in
a spirit of repentance, my feelings would all have been in your favor,
but you enter my house with insolent bravado, and acknowledge your theft
without a blush. Do you know what is before you? Do you know the penalty
of an act like this?”
Hurst was leaning back in his chair, toying with his watch-chain, and
wore upon his lips the same smile of conscious superiority.
“Even if I were inclined to aid you, my partners would not permit it.
Young man, you are lost!”
“The money you mean, my dear sir. _Apropos_ of losses, I was sorry to
see last night that you were as unfortunate as myself.”
The merchant dropped his pen, and sat gazing into that insolently
handsome face, pale and aghast.
“I hope it was not enough to inconvenience you! We must try fortune
again to-night; she may be more propitious.”
Mr. Lawrence struggled for composure. Dissimulation came to his aid, and
except that the deathly pallor did not leave his face, he looked calm.
“You must be mad, young man; I can account for your conduct in no other
way.”
Hurst smiled again. He knew well the man with whom he had to deal; that
death itself would be preferable, in his eyes, to the loss of one atom
of the respectability which he had made his bulwark. The youth felt his
advantage, and knew that when the man was convinced that he had learned
all, he would cringe for mercy like the poltroon he was.
“Did you stop for supper?” he asked. “I hurried away, for I had an
engagement of importance.”
“Leave this room!” exclaimed Mr. Lawrence; “I will not be insulted under
my own roof.”
“My dear sir, how you misunderstand me! These little annoyances will
occur to all the votaries of the green table: I have no hesitation in
alluding to them.”
Once more the man endeavored to intimidate him, though his voice shook
as he said,
“If you remain here, you will be arrested. I advise you to leave the
city, or remember the consequences.”
“Nonsense!” returned Hurst, contemptuously. “You forget we are both men
of the world, not gray-bearded Puritans. We must assist each other, Mr.
Lawrence; these are but trifles.”
He laid his hand upon the merchant’s arm and looked full in his face,
smiling still, but with a deadly gleam in his eyes, which seemed to
fascinate the other like the glance of a serpent. An ashen gray settled
over his features; he trembled from head to foot, as if the young man
had dealt him a heavy blow.
“You know—you saw!” he gasped. “Good God, my reputation!”
“My dear Mr. Lawrence,” said Hurst, laughing gayly. “I am sure last
night must have shaken your nerves—let us change the subject.”
“Mr. Hurst, I hope you will forgive my rudeness—I was very much hurried.
Your affair is extremely unpleasant, but I will endeavor to conceal the
loss from my partners, and will help you away. What say you to New
Orleans?—charming place.”
All this was uttered in breathless haste, rendered still more apparent
from the other’s composure.
“Thanks, but I have no desire to leave New York—quite impossible to
exist elsewhere.”
“You cannot remain here! I am very willing to help you; I have always
felt an interest in you; I assure you money will be no object, and I am
certain that my secret——”
“My dear Mr. Lawrence, how little you know me! I have completely
forgotten the events of last night, or shall do so the moment we have
replaced that little check—we will not refer to it again. I am glad to
have met you this morning—in the confusion of business men have no time
to become acquainted. I hope I shall have the pleasure of seeing you
thus again?”
“Nothing would gratify me more,” returned the merchant, with trembling
lips. “Mrs. Lawrence receives every Saturday—I shall be happy to present
you.”
“And I to avail myself of the invitation. You know Mrs. Ransom?”
“The authoress? yes, very delightful woman.”
“A most intimate friend of mine; nothing would gratify her so much as to
know that you considered me your friend.”
“Delighted to hear that; she so seldom goes out—genius has its
peculiarities.”
The wretched man was so ghastly and white that his appearance might have
softened his deadliest enemy; but the youth in whose power he found
himself knew no relenting. He liked to taste his revenge drop by drop,
and would never cease while there was still a chord in his victim’s
heart that could be wrung.
“By-the-way, Mr. Lawrence, do you know Mr. Bentley?”
“Well, very well; an extremely rich man.”
“I know that he has a charming daughter,” replied Hurst, laughing again.
“I met her at Mrs. Ransom’s. Perhaps you would present me there?”
The merchant paused for a moment, writhing under that insolent
assumption of power; but Hurst’s eyes were still fixed upon him, and he
could only falter out,
“With pleasure, of course.”
“Indeed I must say good-morning,” Hurst said, rising. “On Saturday you
say Mrs. Lawrence receives?”
“But this thing—you understand!” exclaimed Lawrence, catching him by the
arm. “Tell me that my secret is safe—money—any thing—name your terms.”
“Do not insult me,” returned Hurst, coolly. “Between equals such offers
are not endurable.”
“Excuse me—I——At least the check shall be sent down.”
“Of course, of course!”
“May I mention one fact?”
“I shall listen with pleasure.”
“I shall be delighted to receive you at my house; but it is quite
possible that you might prefer to give up your situation—travel in
Europe. We have long thought of sending an agent there. I shall always
be willing to assist you in any way.”
“I am infinitely obliged. If I decide to leave your establishment or the
country, I will come and talk the matter over with you. Good-morning,
Mr. Lawrence! On Saturday? Till then, _au revoir_.”
He passed out of the room with the same careless ease and went
down-stairs.
The merchant fell back in his chair completely exhausted by the
excitement of the last hour. He looked like a man just recovering from a
terrible illness. When he strove to rise from his seat he fell back,
covering his face with his hands, and murmuring broken words of despair.
Hurst left the house and returned to his home. His face was lit up with
fierce exultation, and his eyes fairly blazed with light.
“This is the beginning,” he muttered, “and it promises well! The fair
Gillian is almost reached—patience, patience, the end is not far off.”