RETRIBUTION.
Snugly ensconced in his own particular apartment, Mr. Granite had flung
himself in post-prandial _abandon_ into his easiest of easy-chairs.
Leisurely, and with the smack of a true connoisseur, he dallied with a
glass of exquisite Madeira. The consciousness of the enviable nature of
his worldly position never imbued him so thoroughly as at such a
moment. Business was flourishing, his health was excellent, and his
son, on whom he concentrated all the affection of which his heart was
capable, had recently distinguished himself at a college examination.
Everything, in fact, seemed to him _couleur de rose_.
It can readily be imagined that to be disturbed at such a period of
enjoyment was positive high treason against the home majesty of the
mercantile monarch.
Fancy, therefore, what a rude shock it was to his quiet, when he was
informed that Mr. Sterling wished to see him on a matter of the
greatest importance. "I cannot, I will not see him, or anybody," said
the enraged potentate; "you know, he knows, my invariable rule. It must
not be infringed, for any one whatever, much less for such a person,"
and, closing his eyes in a spasm of self-sufficiency, he again subsided
into calmness, slightly ruffled, however, by the outrageous attack upon
his privacy.
He had just succeeded in restoring his disturbed equanimity, when he
was once more startled into ill-humor by the sound of voices as if in
altercation, and a sharp knock at the chamber-door.
The next instant, to his still greater surprise and anger, the old
clerk, Sterling, who had been ignominiously dismissed since the last
interview between him and Granite, stood before him. Every particle of
his hitherto meekness and humility had apparently vanished, as for a
few moments he regarded the merchant with a fixed and penetrating look.
"What villainous intrusion is this? Where are my servants? How dare
they permit my home to be thus invaded?" cried Granite, with flashing
eyes and lowering brow.
"I am here, not for myself," replied Sterling, calmly, "but for the
victim of your rapacity--of your terrible guilt. I have intruded upon
you at this unusual time to inform you of the extremity in which
Travers is placed, and from my carelessness--my criminal carelessness.
Will you not at least remedy that?"
"No!" thundered the exasperated merchant. "Your indiscreet zeal has
ruined both you and those for whom you plead. I'll have nothing to do
with any of ye--begone!"
"Not before I have cautioned you that my lips, hitherto sealed for fear
of injury to him, shall henceforward be opened. Why should I hesitate
to denounce one who is so devoid of common charity?"
"Because no one will believe you," responded the other, with a bitter
sneer. "The denunciations of a discharged servant are seldom much
heeded; empty sounds will be of no avail. Proof will be needed in
confirmation, and where are you to find that?"
"Ah! where, indeed! you have taken care of that; but have you reflected
that there _is_ a power to whom your machinations, your schemes of
aggrandizement, are as flimsy as the veriest gossamer web?" solemnly
ejaculated Sterling.
"Canting sways me as little as your hurtless threats. What I have, I
shall keep in spite of"----
"Heaven's justice?" interposed the old clerk.
"In spite of anything or everything," savagely replied the irritated
merchant. "You have your final answer, nor is it in the power of angel
or devil to alter it; and so, the sooner you relieve me from your
presence the better I will like it, and the better it may be for your
future prospects."
"Of _my_ future, God knows, I take no care; but for the sake of those
poor young things, so cruelly left to struggle with a hard, hard world,
I feel that I have strength even to oppose the stern rock of your
obstinacy, almost hopeless though the effort may be. I am going," he
went on, seeing the feverish impatience working in Granite's face,
"but, as a parting word, remember that my dependence is not in my own
ability to unmask your speciousness, or contend against the harshness
of your determination. No, I surrender my case and that of my clients
into _His_ hands who never suffers the guilty to triumph to the end.
The avalanche falls sometimes on the fruitfullest vineyards, as well as
on the most sterile waste."
"By Heaven! you exhaust my patience," roared the other, as he rung the
servants' bell impetuously; "since you will not go of your own accord,
I must indignantly thrust you forth into the street like a cur."
"There shall be no need of that," meekly replied the clerk, turning to
leave the apartment, just as the servant entered, bringing a letter for
Mr. Granite on a silver waiter.
The latter was about to address an angry sentence to the servant, when
he perceived that the letter he carried was enclosed in an envelope
deeply bordered with black.
His heart gave one mighty throb as he snatched it--tearing it open, and
gasping with some terrible presentiment of evil, he but glanced at the
contents, and with a fearful shriek fell prostrate.
Sterling rushed to his side, and with the aid of the servant, loosed
his neckcloth, and placed him in a chair, using what immediate remedies
he could command in the hope of restoring animation. It was some
minutes before the stricken man, clutched from his pride of place in
the winking of an eyelid, gave signs of returning vitality. During his
unconsciousness, Sterling ascertained from the open letter lying at his
feet, that the merchant's son, the sole hope of his existence, for whom
he had slaved and toiled, set at naught all principle, and violated
even the ties of kindred and of honesty, had died suddenly at college.
No previous illness had given the slightest shadow of an apprehension.
He had quietly retired to his bed at his usual hour on the previous
night, and in the morning was found stark and cold. None knew the agony
which might have preceded dissolution. No friendly tongue was nigh to
speak of consolation; no hand to do the kindly offices of nature.
Slowly, slowly and painfully the wretched parent returned to
consciousness, and with it, the terrible reality of his bereavement.
Glaring around him fiercely: "Where am I?--what is this?--why do you
hold me?" he cried, madly. At this instant his glance fell upon the
fatal letter; "Oh, God! I know it all--all! my son! my son!" Turning
upon Sterling, fiercely, he grasped him by the throat. "Old man," he
cried, "you have murdered him! you, and that villain Travers!" Then he
relaxed his gripe, and in an agony of tears, fell to supplication. "It
cannot be--it shall not be--oh! take me to him--what am I to do?
Sterling, my old friend, oh, forgive me--pity me--let us away." He
tried to stand, but his limbs were paralyzed. "The judgment has
fallen--I feared it--I expected it, but not so suddenly--it may be that
there is still hope--hope, though ever so distant. Perhaps a quick
atonement may avert the final blow. Quick, Sterling--give me paper, and
pen." They were brought. "Now write," he continued, his voice growing
fainter and fainter: "I give Travers all--all--if this late repentance
may be heard, and my son should live. I know I can rely on his
benevolence--quick, let me sign it, for my strength is failing fast."
With extreme difficulty, he appended his signature to the document
Sterling had drawn up at his desire. When it was done, the pen dropped
from his nerveless grasp, his lips moved for an instant as though in
prayer--the next--he was--nothing!