THE WILL.
At a splendid escritoir Mr. Granite sat, in his own room, surrounded by
the luxurious appliances which wait upon wealth, however acquired. The
face of the sitter is deadly pale, for he is alone, and amongst his
most private papers. He has missed one, upon which the permanence of
his worldly happiness hung. Diligently has he been searching for that
small scrap of paper, which contained the sentence of death to his
repute. Oh! the agony of that suspense! It could not have been
abstracted, for it was in a secret part of his writing-desk; although
by the simplest accident in the world it had now got mislaid; yet was
he destined not to recover it. In hastily taking out some papers, it
had dropped through the opening of the desk, which was a large one,
upon the carpet, where it remained, unperceived. In the midst of his
anxious and agonized search, there was a knock at the door, and even
paler and more heart-broken than the merchant himself, Sterling
tottered into the room.
"Well, my good Sterling," said the merchant, with a great effort
stifling his own apprehension, "I am to be troubled no more by that
fellow's pitiful whinings. I was a fool to be over-persuaded; but
benevolence is my failing--a commendable one, I own--but still a
failing."
"I am glad to hear you say that, sir, for you now have a great
opportunity to exercise it."
"Ask me for nothing more, for I have done"--interrupted Granite;
fancying for an instant that he might have placed the missing document
in a secret place, where he was sometimes in the habit of depositing
matters of the first importance, he quitted the room hurriedly.
"Lost! lost, for ever! I have killed the son of my old benefactor!"
cried Sterling. "He can't recover from the shock--nor I--nor I! my
heart is breaking--to fall from such a height of joy into such a gulf
of despair--I, who could have sold my very life to bring him
happiness." At that moment his eye caught a paper which lay on the
carpet, and with the instinct of a clerk's neatness solely, he picked
it up and put it on the table before him. "The crime of
self-destruction is great," he continued, "but I am sorely tempted.
With chilling selfishness on one side, and dreadful misery on the
other, life is but a weary burden." Carelessly glancing at the paper
which he had taken from the floor, he read the name of Travers; he
looked closely at it, and discovered that it was an abstract of a will.
Curiosity prompted him to examine it, and his heart gave one tremendous
throb, when he discovered it to bear date after the one by which Henry,
in a fit of anger, was disinherited by his father.
The old man fell upon his knees, and if ever a fervent, heartfelt
prayer issued from the lips of mortal, he then prayed that he might but
live to see that great wrong righted.
He had but just time to conceal the paper within his breast, when
Granite returned.
"You here yet?" he cried. "Have I not done enough to-day? What other
beggarly brat do you come suing for?"
"For none, dear sir," said Sterling. "I would simply test that
benevolence, of which you spoke but now--the money which you sent to
Travers"----
"Well, what of it?"
"I have lost!"
"Pooh! old man," continued the other, contemptuously, "don't think to
deceive me by such a stale device; that's a very old trick."
"You don't believe me?"
"No."
"After so many years!" cried the old man, with tear-choked utterance.
"The temptation was too much for you," bitterly replied the merchant.
The old leaven exhibited itself once more. "You remember"----
"Silence, sir!" cried the old man, drawing up his aged form into sudden
erectness, while the fire of indignation illumined his lustreless eye.
"The majesty of my integrity emboldens me to say that, even to
you--your cruel taunt has wiped out all of feeling that I had for
you--fellow-sinner, hast thou not committed an error also?"
"Insolent! how dare you insinuate?"
"I don't insinuate; I speak out; nay, not an error, but a _crime_. I
_know_ you have, and can prove it."
"Away, fool! you are in your dotage."
"A dotage that shall wither you in your strength, and strip you of your
ill-bought possessions," exclaimed the old man, with nearly the vigor
of youth; "since Humanity will not prompt you to yield up a portion of
your _stolen_ wealth, Justice shall force you to deliver it all--aye,
all!"
"Villain! what riddle is this?" cried Granite, with a vague
presentiment that the missing paper was in some way connected with this
contretemps.
"A riddle easily solved," answered Sterling. "Behold its solution, if
your eyes dare look at it! A will, devising all the property you hold
to Henry Travers! There are dozens who can swear to my old employer's
signature. Stern, proper justice should prompt me to vindicate his
son's cause; yet, I know that he would not purchase wealth at the cost
of your degradation. Divide equally with him, and let the past be
forgotten."
There was but one way that Granite could regain his vantage-ground, and
he was not the man to shrink from it.
With a sudden bound, he threw himself upon the weak old clerk, and
snatching the paper from him, exclaimed--
"You shallow-pated fool! think you that you have a child to deal with?
The only evidence that could fling a shadow across my good name would
be your fragment of miserable breath, which I could take, and would, as
easily as brush away a noxious wasp, but that I despise you too
entirely to feel your sting. Go, both of you, and babble forth your
injuries to the world! go, and experience how poor a conflict
starveling honesty in rags can wage against iniquity when clad in
golden armor! I defy ye all! Behold how easily I can destroy all danger
to myself, and hope to him at once." So saying, he held the paper to
the lamp, and, notwithstanding the ineffectual efforts of Sterling to
prevent it, continued so to hold it until a few transitory sparks were
all that remained of Henry Travers's inheritance.
Sterling said not a syllable, but, with a glance at the other, which
had in it somewhat of inspiration, pointed upward, and slowly staggered
from the room.