As Mr. Sandford walked homeward, the streets seemed to close up behind
him; he was shut out from the scenes of his activity, no more to return;
State Street was henceforth for him a thing of memory. He had played his
game there, while admirers and friends watched his far-seeing moves. He
had lost; and now, after checkmate, he must resign his place. How he
struggled against the idea! He could not bring himself to acknowledge
that the past was irretrievable. His spirit seemed in prison, shut in as
by the bars of a dungeon, against which he might tug and rage in vain.
At home, dinner was on the table, waiting for him. As he entered the
hall, he met his sister-in-law. She saw the fatal news in his face, and
with a sinking heart gave him her usual greeting. Marcia took her place
at the table, but with less animation than usual. Charles sat down with
his studied indifference. Each one seemed to be absorbed in separate
spheres of thought, and the courses came on and were removed in painful
silence. At last Mr. Sandford spoke.
"I suppose I need not tell you that it is all over."
"All over!" exclaimed Marcia.
"Yes,--I have failed; so has Fayerweather; so has Stearine."
"Failed?" said Marcia, in an incredulous tone. "I thought it was the
great people,--I mean people in business, or with estates, that failed."
"Well, have I not been in business?"
"Yes,--as secretary, and you have a salary. How can a man with a salary
fail?"
"Quite easily. Suppose the Vortex fails? My salary would stop."
"That isn't failing, is it? Then Pompey might fail, if he didn't get his
pay for brushing your boots."
Mr. Sandford gave a contemptuous look.
"That shows how much you know about business."
"I never did know about your business; nor does anybody, I believe. I
never could understand how, with your little property, you had these
'transactions,' as you call them, where you owed people and people owed
you so many thousands."
"It is not necessary for you to know. Women can't understand these
things."
"But women feel their effects, and it's a pity they could not learn
about what concerns them."
"Will it change your situation at once?" asked Mrs. Sandford of her
brother.
"I can't say; probably not at once; but without some aid, all I have
must go."
"What! the house?" exclaimed Marcia.
"Yes,--the house, Marcia, and the furniture. We shall be stripped."
"The deuse!" said Charles.
"Heaven help us! what shall we do?"
"I haven't had time to form any plan. I trust, indeed, that Heaven will
help us, as you rather lightly wished."
His face wore a touching look of faith and resignation, while at the
same time his hand rested with secret satisfaction upon his pocket-book.
The conversation was disagreeable to Charles, and he sauntered off to
the drawing-room.
Mrs. Sandford inwardly determined to return to her home, or at least
to go elsewhere in the city, so as not to be a burden to her
brother-in-law; but she remained silent. Mr. Sandford balanced his
knife, sliced his bread into figures, then hummed and beat a tattoo upon
the table,--sure indications of forgetfulness in one so scrupulous
as he. At length, with a bland voice, but a sharp, inquiring eye, he
said,--
"How is it about this painter, Marcia? Are you going to marry him?"
She looked fixedly, as she replied,--
"Why do you ask? You know I am going to marry him."
"Oh, it's settled, is it? You know, sister, you have had similar
intentions before,--several times, in fact,--intentions that haven't
come to much."
She did not answer further; a flush of anger came, then went, leaving
her pale face with a rather sterner expression.
"While I was prosperous, I was not disposed to be mercenary; though I
did think you were not worldly-wise. Now that I am destitute, you can
see that to marry a man not worth a dollar, and with a precarious
profession, is not what it would have been."
"Mr. Greenleaf earns a good income, doesn't he?"
"He hasn't sold a picture, except to friends whom I persuaded to buy."
"You have friends and influence still?"
"I don't know; a man's friends don't last long after his money is gone.
Besides, nobody wants to buy now. Raphael himself couldn't sell a
picture here till times improve. A painter is a pretty butterfly for
fine weather; what is he to do with his flimsy wings in such a hurricane
as this?"
"I think I understand you, Brother Henry. You begin afar off; but I
know what you are coming to. You want to bring up that odious Denims
again,--a man whom I hate, and whom you yourself would show out of
doors, like a vagrant, if it were not for his money!"
The effort exhausted her, and she breathed painfully.
"You think yourself quick. I haven't mentioned Denims. In fact, you have
treated him in such a way that I am quite sure he would never trouble
himself to be even civil to you again."
"I am glad of it,--the fool!"
"Sister Marcia, I have borne much from your turbulent temper. You are a
spoiled child. Fortune has let you have your own way hitherto; so much
the worse for you. But circumstances have changed. I can no longer
supply you as though you were a duchess. In fact, I don't know what
may be before us. I hope no actual want. [_Another grip of the
pocket-book_.] But I advise you to consider whether it is for the
interest of a dependent woman to go out of her way to thwart and insult
me."
"You would compel me, then, and threaten starvation as the alternative?"
"What odiously blunt language you use!"
"I only translated your roundabout phrases as I understood them."
"You need not be violent."
"You cannot cajole me by soft words, when your purposes are so obvious.
You think Denims may save the wreck of your fortune; and you are willing
to sacrifice me, if he were ten times the brute he is, to further your
ends. But I shall marry Greenleaf."
"Greenleaf will be a powerful protector! I doubt if he can raise money
enough to pay the clergyman for marrying you! He will be without a
shilling in a month, if he is not now. Go to him, Sister Marcia. I
would, now. You can live in his attic studio, you know. In such a
romantic place you would never be hungry, of course."
Mrs. Sandford interposed,--
"Don't, Henry! This is not the way."
Marcia's eyes flashed through her tears, as she answered,--
"You say _you_ are ruined,--that the house and furniture must go. How
much better off shall I be here?"
"Well, you have your choice."
"And when the time comes, I shall take it."
Sobs and tears followed, but her lips were firm and her hands clenched.
"As you please, sister."
"You come home ill-tempered, and the rage which you could not or dared
not give vent to in the street you pour out here."
"Perhaps you would have been pleased, if I had not come home at all?"
"I'm sure we should have been quite as happy without you."
"Very well. I may leave you, yet."
"I don't care how soon."
New sobs and a firmer pressure of the lips.
Oddly enough, at that moment, Mr. Sandford was summoned to the
drawing-room, where a man was waiting for him. Fearful of the result, he
went to his own room, first, and left the precious pocketbook, and then
descended to the hall.
Notwithstanding the words she had spoken, Marcia waited with breathless
anxiety her brother's return; for the sound of voices, in earnest, if
not angry, conversation, rose through the house. Presently he came back
with a look his face seldom wore,--a fierce look that transformed his
handsome features to a fiend's.
"You have your wish, Sister Marcia,"--and the words were shot out like
fiery arrows,--"I am to leave you, and go to jail."
"To jail?" exclaimed both at once, in terror.
"Yes,--to jail. Gratifying to you, I suppose. 'Tis to me,--very."
"What is the meaning of this?" asked Mrs. Sandford.
"It means, that one of my creditors pretends to believe that I am about
to abscond, and has had me arrested, that I may give bail not to run
away with an empty pocket."
"Can't you get out?"
"Some time, undoubtedly; but not till I give bail."
"For how much?"--
"Twenty thousand dollars."
"Can't you get some one to become security?"
"I don't know. Perhaps I might get Greenleaf!"
Marcia winced, but did not answer the taunt.
"Good-bye, my dear and independent sister!"
Marcia turned her back upon him, confounded between sorrow and
resentment.
Crowding his hat over his eyes, Mr. Sandford left his house and walked
with the officer towards Cambridge Street.
"Gone to jail!" exclaimed Charles, returning, "How doosid awkward! What
a jolly wow it will make when it gets about town! By gwacious, if you
aren't cwying! Go to bed, both of you; I'll go to the club."
He went accordingly; and the women, who could ill console each other,
were about to go to their own rooms when the door-bell rang again.
"What next, I wonder?" asked Marcia, in despair.
"Please, Ma'am," said the servant, "there's a man at the door, who looks
quare, and says, if he can't see Mr. Sandford, he must see you."
"Tell him I am ill,--and besides, I don't transact my brother's
business."
"Yes'm."
But she soon returned with a new message. The man would not go. Mrs.
Sandford at once went to the hall to learn what was the matter, leaving
Marcia trembling in every limb. The conversation was not carried on in
whispers; in fact, Marcia heard every word.
"Sorry to disturb you, Ma'am, especially as Mr. Sandford isn't at home;
but duty is duty, and must be 'tended to. My orders is, to 'tach the
furnitur', and stay till I git a receipter."
Mrs. Sandford's reply was inaudible. The voice proceeded:--
"Can't help it, Ma'am. Won't be back to-night, won't he? Bad, cert'in.
But duty is duty, as I said afore. I'll bunk here on the sofy, an'
to-morror we'll see what's to be done."
Another pause.
"Oh, you won't run off 'ith anythin'? I s'pose not. But duty is duty,
as I said afore, and I must mind orders. 'Stick by till you git a
receipter,' sez he. 'I will,' sez I,--an' I must.--Never mind about
bedclose. I c'n sleep jest ez I be. You jest go up-stairs. I'll make
myself 't home."
Glad to be out of the society of the officer, Mrs. Sandford started to
go upstairs, but was recalled by the voice.
"I say, Ma'am! A long night afore a chap, all by himself."
Mrs. Sandford trembled with mingled terror and rage.
"No 'bjection to light the gaas, I 'spose, so's't a feller can read a
paper? Thought o' that, and brought the 'York Herald' and 'Clipper.' If
you don't like tobarker, you c'n shet your doors and the smell won't git
in."
"Do what you like. I can't prevent you."
"Oh, well, no 'fence, I hope? Good-night, Ma'am."
Mrs. Sandford found Marcia walking about the room in great excitement.
"The odious wretch!" exclaimed Marcia. "If Henry were only here, or even
Charles, he should be horsewhipped, pitched out of the house. To sleep
with his dirty clothes on my sofa! I'm glad it's to be sold. I never
could touch the filthy thing again. Then his pipe! Good heavens, what is
to be done? The abominable wretch! I smell the tobacco now, worse than
an Irishman's. The smoke will be all through the house. Faugh! it
suffocates, nauseates me!"
"Be calm, Marcia. We will go to the upper chambers, shut the doors, and
open the windows for fresh air. It's only for one night. We can't go
away, you know; and we can't get the fellow away, of course."
"I wish I had died when I was sick. This disgrace, this infamy, this
shocking barbarity, is worse than death. What are we to do? and where
are we to go? Ruin is a light thing to talk about, I have read of ruin
in the papers, until it has become a matter of course;--I begin to know
what it means."
It was a changeful, terrible beauty that beamed on her face. She looked
like an inspired priestess before the altar,--then like Norma in
her despair,--then like the maddened Medea in Rachel's thrilling
impersonation. Then disgust and fright overcame her, and her sensitive
womanly nature bore sway. It was more than she could bear, this
accumulation of misfortune, disgrace, and insult. Her soul rebelled,
contended desperately with fate, till, overcome, she sank into her
chair, and suffered herself to be led to her room.
Shut up in their retreat, the women waited for the morning with
sleepless eyes, or with only transient lapses of consciousness. Sometime
after midnight, they were startled by the sound of a body falling
heavily in the hall, and, an instant after, by the shout of "Burglars!
thieves!" They rushed to the staircase in extreme fright, and soon
learned the cause. The wary officer evidently did not believe the tale
that had been told him respecting the absence of Mr. Sandford; and, that
nobody should go out or in without his knowledge, he had drawn the sofa
across the hall, completely cutting off all passage. A small jet of gas
was left burning. Charles, returning late from the club in a mild stage
of inebriation, entered the house by means of his latch-key, not without
difficulty, and at once fell headlong over the sofa, and the worthy
official sleeping thereon. When he heard the cry of "Burglars!" it
occurred to him that he must have been knocked down by one of the gang;
and he joined his own voice to the uproar,--
"BuggLARS! buggLARS!"
An instant after, there was a grip on his collar.
"Now I got ye, ye vill'in! What ye doin' on here?"
"What _you_ doin' on, you rasc'l, inagen'l'm'n'shouse thistim'o'night?"
"Arnswer me, you scoundrel, breakin' into a peaceful dwellin'!"
"Tha'swhat_I_wan'to know.--How'd _you_com'ere? What'syerbusiness?
Le'gomycollar. I'lsen'forp'lice. Le'go!"
Tipsy as he was, he managed to give his assailant a pretty substantial
token of regard under the ear, with his knuckles.
"Now young'un, you're drunk! I won't hit you back, 'cause a case for
manslaughter might be expensive. How'd you break in here, when you are
so drunk you can't stand? I don't see how you could get in with the door
open."
"Noneo'yerimp'r'ence! Cl'out! Adecen'bugglar'sbad'nough;
yousmokerot'nt'baccah. G'off! youdirtybugg_lar!_"
"Young chap, it's time to stop this nonsense, or I'll have you in the
watch-house in no time. Who are you? and how came you here?"
"Tha'sit; who _are_ you? tha'swhat_I_wan'know."
"Charles!" (_from above_.)
"WhocallsCh'rl's? HereIam. Igott'afellah, the bugg_lar_. Callp'lice!
P'LICE!"
"Charles!" (_once more_.)
"Do you belong here, young chap?"
"B'long'ere? 'vcourseIdo; wherethedevilsh'dIb'long?"
"You are not Mr. Sandford?"
"Howd'yeknowIa'n't? I _am_ Mis'rr-Sanf'd."
"You are Mr. Sandford's brother, are you?"
"No, Mis'rr Sanf'd's _my_ bro'rr."
"Well, if you've got brains enough to understand, listen to me."
"I'm all 'tensh'n, 's Balaam said to th'ass. G'on, ol' fellah!--an' then
g'off!"
"I am an officer, sent to 'tach your brother's furnitur' and stuff; and
as there's nobody here to go bail, I hed to stay and look arter things."
"H'mushbailyewant? I'llgi'bail. An' I'll plankzemoney.
I'vegotsev'ndollars'n'alf."
"Charles!" (_the third time_.)
"Wha'nyewant?"
"They want you to go to bed, where you b'long."
"Gotobed? 'llseeyoudam'f'st! Leave'nofficer'nth'ouse? Guessnot!"
"Young'un, I say, take your hand out of my neckhan'kercher! Hold up!
None o' yer chokin' games! Quit, I say! or, by hokey, I'll settle ye!"
"_Thought_sh'dmakeyesquawk, ol't'bacc'worm! Go'n'tocl'out?
Go'n'tovacateprem'scs?"
"Ooo-arr-awkk!" said the man, under the pressure of a tightening cravat,
at the same time giving the assailant "a settler," as he had threatened.
The two unfortunate women had hitherto looked down upon the conflict, as
celestial beings might upon the affairs of men, with no small degree of
interest, but clad in robes too ethereal to descend. But when they saw
Charles felled to the floor, and a deathlike silence ensued, they forgot
their fears, and rushed down the stairs. The officer had already raised
Charles up. He was stunned, senseless, and his face was covered with
blood.
"You brute! you have murdered him!" exclaimed Marcia.
"Guess not, Ma'am. Wet his head in col' water, put him to bed, an' he'll
sleep it off."
"It's useless to talk to such a fellow," whispered Mrs. Sandford;
"besides, we want his aid to carry Charles upstairs."
"Ye see, I couldn't help it, Ma'am. He nigh about choked me to death,
and I give him fair warnin'."
"Never mind now about the quarrel," said Mrs. Sandford; "you help him
upstairs to his room, and we'll bathe his head."
While the officer was carrying the young man up-stairs, Mrs. Sandford
put on a shawl, and, by the time he had reached the second flight, she
opened a door, and lighted the gas with a taper, saying,--
"In here, if you please. My brother Henry's room is the most
convenient."
The officer's eyes twinkled.
"So this is Mr. Sandford's room?"
"Yes, but he is absent, as you were told before. Lay Charles on the bed,
if you please. There, that will do. I will attend to him now. You can
return to the lower story."
"In a minit, Ma'am. Duty is duty, and this 'ere accident saves some
trouble," casting sharp glances around the room.
The facts, that Sandford had drawn from the bank, and that he had
borrowed from Tonsor, were known to the creditors. The officer had
determined, therefore, to make what search he could for the money. The
unlooked-for accident had given him the opportunity he wanted.
"What do you mean, Sir? Go back to your place."
"Softly, Ma'am, softly! Duty is duty; an' 'f any damage is done, I'm
responsible."
His eyes fastened upon a dressing-case that lay on a table near the
mirror,--apparently the last article handled by the occupant of the
room.
"No robbery, Ma'am," said he, opening the case, and taking out its
contents. "Razors and brushes, and such like, is personal, and not
subject to levy; but these, Ma'am, you see, air."
He held up a pocket-book full of bank-notes.
"I'll count 'em before you, Ma'am, if you please, so's there'll be no
mistake. Thirteen thousand! A pretty good haul! I'll go down, now. If
anythin's wantin' for the chap when he comes to, jest le'me know."
With a gleam of intense satisfaction on his sharp and vulgar features,
the officer descended the stairs.