usually retired to rest. All indications of bustle and stir in the
streets had long since ceased, and not a sound was heard, except the
occasional tread of a belated straggler, hurrying to his home; the
sharp ticking of the clock, and the plethoric snoring of Spite, who
made it a rule never to go to bed before his master; and who, being
a methodical dog in habit, and an obstinate one in disposition,
could not be induced to depart from old usages. As each successive
hour was heralded by the voice of the clock just mentioned, Spite
rose, looked at the time-piece, then at his master, as if to say,
'Halloo! old fellow, do you hear that?' gaped; sauntered round the
table, and resumed his former position, each time lessening the
distance between himself and the fire, as its embers gradually
crumbled to ashes. Still, Harson continued his occupation; tossing
over, examining, and studying the papers and letters, in utter
disregard of hints and admonitions. Apparently, he became more
troubled as he advanced in his investigation. His brow contracted;
his breath came thick and fast; the color deepened in his cheek;
his eye kindled, and more than once he threw the papers impatiently
on the table, and rising up paced the room with rapid strides. This
occurred at intervals, during the whole evening, until finally, he
came to a letter which caused his anger to boil over. Starting to
his feet, and clasping his hands, he exclaimed: 'Good God! shall
such things be? and wilt Thou not protect the innocent, and punish
the guilty?'
'But why ask?' added he, suddenly: 'I know, that even now, through
channels which were least dreamed of, justice is working its way
to the light. Confirm me, great GOD!' added he, fervently, 'in my
purpose of seeing right done; and grant that I may never swerve from
my course, until that purpose is accomplished!'
Had the culprit against whom he uttered this invocation and prayer
heard the muttered threat which succeeded it, and witnessed the
kindling face and stern, determined eye of the person who had
uttered them, his heart, had he been a man of ordinary mould,
might have sunk; but as the culprit in this case was no other than
Michael Rust, who had no belief in an hereafter; who entertained
suspicion against all men, and who never yielded his point under any
circumstances; it is possible that it would have produced no other
result than increased watchfulness, increased determination, and
bitter hatred.
'I have read of such schemes as these,' muttered Harson; 'but I
never expected to have anything to do with them myself--never. Can
there be no doubt that these came from Rust,' said he, turning them
over in his hand? And is there no doubt that he is at the bottom of
all this villainy? The letters certainly bear a different name from
his; but such things are common; and Ned says that he can produce
proof of it. They can scarcely be forgeries, vamped up to obtain
money from me; for many of them were written years ago; and bear
post-office stamps, whose dates correspond with the dates within.'
He stood at the table, thus talking to himself, and turning over
the letters, until his eye rested on one written in a delicate
hand, and indorsed, 'Mary Colton to Henry Colton.' Harson opened
it, mechanically, and ran his eye over it. It was very short, and
breathed a heart broken by some grief which was only alluded to, but
not mentioned. It ran thus:
'MY DEAR HENRY: With all others, hope has darkened into despair;
but I will not give up yet; I cannot. It would kill me, if I
did. Go on, my dearest Henry; make all efforts. I feel that you
have done all that can be done, and that all means have been
tried without success; but even yet, do not cease; and I will
pray for you, and bless you, for your disinterested kindness;
and GOD will reward you.
'Yours, affectionately,
MARY COLTON.'
"_Disinterested kindness!_" muttered Harson; "_God will reward
you!_' Yes, 'Henry Colton,' God _will_ reward you! Sooner or later,
the reward always comes; and you'll get it. Yes, if I live, 'Henry
Colton,' it shall be my especial business to see that you receive
it!' 'But,' said he, looking at the clock, 'enough of this. It would
almost make a young man gray to wade through the details of such
villainy. An old man like me must spare himself. I've had enough for
one dose; so I'll sleep on it, and take the rest in the morning.
Ha! Spite,' said he, stooping down, and patting the dog; 'better
be a good, honest dog, like thee, my old cur, than a man with such
a heart as some have. The temper's a trifle, Spite; so don't be
worried about your's, for your heart's right, my old dog! There's
no double-dealing about you. I don't know whether God blesses an
honest dog, or not; but I believe he does, in some way or other.
Come pup, I'll not keep you up longer.'
Saying this, he gathered up the papers, and placed them in a small
box, which he locked, put under his arm, and followed by Spite, left
the room, for the story above. He paused, and listened at a door
at the head of the stairs; then turning the knob so as to make no
noise, he went in. It was a small room, having a thick rag-carpet on
the floor, and a dressing-table covered with white muslin, standing
between the windows, whose curtains were as white as snow. In one
corner was a bed. On a chair, at the side of it, lay a child's
clothes; and in the bed itself was a girl, of about five years of
age, with her light hair streaming over the pillow like a web of
gold. There was little trace in her face of the outcast whom he had
taken from the streets but a few weeks before; for the thin cheek
had filled up, and the flush of health had succeeded the paleness of
suffering and illness. Her eyes were closed, and their long lashes
drooped over her cheek; but she did not sleep soundly; for once
or twice she muttered to herself, as Harson bent over her: 'Come,
Charley; we've been looking for you a long time. Come!'
'She's dreaming of the boy,' thought he; 'but be of good heart, my
poor child; we'll find him yet.'
He leaned down, until his gray hair mingled with her bright locks,
pressed his lips to her forehead, and went quietly out into the
entry, where his presence was greeted with no little satisfaction
by Spite, who had been shut out, and was becoming somewhat testy at
being kept in the dark.
It was not long before Harson, with a thick counterpane up to his
very chin, was sleeping as soundly in his own bed as Spite was under
it.
What dreams hovered around the old man's pillow, or whether he had
any, we cannot tell; but certain it is, that when the morning sun
broke through a small opening between the window-curtains, flinging
a long, thin streak of gold across the carpet, Harson was still
sound asleep; and it is quite uncertain how long he might have
continued so, had not the same ray of sunshine, in its passage
across the room, fallen directly across the centre of the right eye
of Spite, who had been drifting about the apartment since day-break;
and who now vented his disapprobation of the liberty taken, in an
irritable yelp.
Harry sat up in bed. 'What ails thee, pup?' said he, rubbing his
eyes.
Spite, however, was not in a communicative mood; but walked to the
door, and seating himself, surveyed the knob with great attention.
Harson rose; threw on a dressing-gown, and going to the door, let
him out, shutting it after him.
He then went to a basin, as portly and capacious as himself, dashed
nearly a pailful of water into it; bared head, neck, and shoulders,
and plunged them in. Out he came, very red in the face, with water
dripping from nose, and chin, and eye-brows. Then in again he went;
and then followed such a rubbing, and puffing, and blowing, and
spouting, that he seemed like a young whale at his gambols. This
ceremony being repeated some half dozen times, and the same number
of towels having dried him, he proceeded to dress himself.
It might have been observed, however, that during the whole time,
his thoughts were wandering; for he walked to the window, with
some article of apparel in his hand, and stood looking into the
street, in a state of deep abstraction; and then, drawing a long
breath, continued his dressing, as if it had struck him that he was
neglecting it. Then again he seated himself on the side of his bed,
and sat for some minutes, looking on the floor.
'It's terrible, terrible!' said he, 'but it's not too late to remedy
it. Thank God for that!'
Putting on one thing after another, sometimes upside down, sometimes
getting his feet in his sleeves; then thrusting an arm in the
wrong side of his coat; tying and untying his huge white cravat
half a dozen times, and enveloping the half of his face in its
ample folds; doing every thing wrong, and rectifying his mistakes
with the greatest gravity, and without the slightest appearance of
impatience, Harson finally found himself fully established in coat
and jacket, with no other mistake than the trifling one of having
buttoned the lower button of the last article into the top button
hole. Having duly surveyed himself in the glass, to see that all was
right, without having detected his mistake, he went out.
He stopped at the door of the child's room. His footsteps had
apparently been recognized, for it was ajar; and a pair of bright
eyes were peeping out to welcome him.
'Annie, is that you? Ha! child, you're a sad sleepy-head. You'll
lose your breakfast. This won't do--this won't do. Spite was up long
ago.' He shook his finger at the child, who laughed in his face; and
then, flinging the door open, showed herself fully dressed.
'Wrong, Harry; wrong, wrong again,' said she, springing out, and
addressing him in the familiar manner that he always liked: 'I am
dressed.'
The old man took her in his arms, kissed her cheek, and carried her
down stairs; and did not put her down until they were in the room
below.
'Come, Harry, there's breakfast; and there's your seat; and here's
mine,' exclaimed she, leading him to the table. 'Martha has got here
before us,' said she, shaking her head at a demure-looking woman of
fifty, in a faded cap, with a rusty riband round it, who was already
seated at the table, preparing the coffee. 'Here, Spite--come here.'
Spite was not a dog given to the company of children. He was by
far too old, and sedate, and dignified for that; but there were
occasions on which he could unbend, and these fits of relaxation
generally came over him just at meal-times, when he permitted the
child not only to pat him, but even to uncurl his tail. Doubtless
the sight of the creature-comforts which garnished Harry's table had
its effect in producing this change, although it is possible the
knowledge that the child devoted fully half of her time to supplying
his wants, (a thing which his master sometimes neglected,) may have
had its weight. Obedient at any rate to the summons, Spite hopped
from a chair on which he had been seated, and placed himself at her
side, watching every mouthful she swallowed, and licking his lips
with great unction.
Harson's breakfast-table was, as the neighbors said, (particularly
the poor ones, who now and then chanced to drop in at it,) enough to
awaken an appetite in a dead man; and if dead people are peculiarly
alive to hot coffee and mutton-chops, and hashed meats, and warm
cakes, and fresh rolls, like snow itself, and all these things set
off by crockery which shone and glittered till you could see your
face in it; and table-linen without a speck or wrinkle in it, there
is little doubt but that a vast number of departed individuals must
have found their mouths watering at exactly half past seven each
morning; that being the precise hour at which these articles made
their daily appearance on Harson's table. But certain it is, that
whatever may have been its effect upon them, it had little upon
Harson; for he scarcely touched any thing, nor did he bestow his
usual attention on those about him, but sat sometimes with his eyes
fixed on the cloth, sometimes staring full in the face of the old
house-keeper, who looked at the ceiling, and on the floor, and in
her cup, and coughed, and hemmed, and fidgetted, and grew so red,
and confused, and embarrassed, that before Harson was even aware
that he was looking at her, to use her own expression, 'she thought
she should have dropped.' But this was only of a piece with all
the rest of his actions, during the morning; for to all remarks or
questions, his only answer was an emphatic 'humph!' a species of
reply to which he particularly devoted himself during the meal; and
it was not until he observed the others had finished their meal that
he hastily drank off his coffee at a draught, and rose from the
table.
'You need not remove the things now, Martha,' said he, as the
rattling of the crockery announced that this process was commencing.
'The noise disturbs me. I wish to be alone for a short time; and
after that you can do as you please.'
The house-keeper made no reply; but went out, taking the girl with
her, and leaving Harry to his meditations.
That these were neither pleasant nor composing, was quite evident;
for after walking up and down with his hands in his pockets, and
muttering to himself, he finally stopped short, and apparently
addressing Spite, for his eyes were fixed upon him, and Spite
returned the look, as if he supposed that he was being consulted, he
broke out with:
'What am I to do? This matter on my hands; and Ned, poor Ned, kicked
adrift by the old man, and Kate breaking her little heart about
_him_; and her father quietly led by the nose to the devil. There's
no doubt about it; that fellow Rust's at the bottom of it all; and
no one except me to unravel this knot. God bless me! it bewilders
my brain, and my old head spins. But Annie, Annie, my poor little
child! if I forsake thee, may I never prosper! How now, Spite?'
This exclamation was caused by a somewhat singular proceeding on the
part of Spite, who, after looking at him as if deeply interested in
the tenor of his remarks, suddenly uttered a sharp bark, and bolted
from his chair as if shot from a gun. The cause of this movement was
soon shown in the person of a man dressed in a very shabby suit of
black, with a beard of several days' growth, who stood just inside
the door, and who, after a familiar nod to Harson, asked:
'Is all the family deaf except the dog?'
'When a man enters a stranger's house, it is but proper to knock,'
said Harson, sharply.
'Did you want your house battered about your ears?' inquired the
stranger; 'for I _did_ knock, until I was afraid it might come to
that. Perhaps you're deaf, old gentleman; if so, I'm sorry for you;
but as for your d--d dog, I wish he was dumb. I can scarcely hear
myself speak for him.'
This explanation cleared from Harson's face every trace of anger;
and silencing the dog, he said: 'I did not hear you; and yet I am
not deaf.'
'Well, I made noise enough,' said the other. 'Is your name Henry
Harson?'
Harson answered in the affirmative.
The stranger took off his hat and stood it on a chair; after which,
he thrust his hand in his pocket and pulled out a letter. 'That's
not it,' said he, throwing it in his hat; 'nor _that_,' continued
he, drawing out a handkerchief, which he rolled in a very tight
ball, and transferred to another pocket.
'I've got a letter somewhere, _that_ I know. It must belong to the
mole family, for I put it uppermost, and it's burrowed to the very
bottom; d--d if it hasn't! Ah! here it is,' said he, after a violent
struggle, bringing up both a letter and a snuff-box. The former,
he handed to Harson, and the latter he opened, and after applying
each nostril sideways to its contents, took a pinch between his
fingers, returned the box to his pocket, and seating himself snuffed
deliberately, all the while eyeing the breakfast-table, with a
fixed, steady, immovable stare.
The thread-bare, poverty-stricken look and hungry eye of his visitor
was not lost on Harson, who, before opening the letter, glanced at
the table and at the stranger, and then said: 'It's early; perhaps
you have not yet breakfasted, Mr., Mr., Mr ----'
'Kornicker,' said the stranger.
'Kornicker, Mr. Kornicker. If so, make yourself at home and help
yourself while I look over this letter; no ceremony. I use none with
you. Use none with me.'
It was a tempting sight to poor Kornicker; for there stood the
coffee-pot steaming away at the spout; and the dishes, far from
empty, and such rolls as he was not in the habit of meeting every
day; but mingled with all his defects of character, was a strong
feeling of pride which made him hesitate, and it is probable that
pride would have carried the day, had not Harson, divining something
of his feelings, added:
'Perhaps it's scarcely civil to ask you to the table, when I have
left it myself; but I should not stand on a trifle like that with
you; and I hope you'll not with me. Those rolls are excellent; try
them.'
He said no more; but going to the window, broke the seal of the
letter and commenced reading.
Left to himself, Kornicker struggled manfully; but hunger got the
better of all other feelings; and at last, drawing his chair to the
table, he commenced a formidable attack upon its contents.
'So you're with Michael Rust,' said Harson, after he had finished
reading the note, going to the table, and standing opposite
Kornicker.
Kornicker's teeth were just then engaged in a severe struggle with a
roll, and he could do nothing but nod an affirmative.
'Who is he?' inquired Harson; 'what's his profession?'
Kornicker swallowed his roll, and kept it down by half a cup of
coffee; and then said:
'As to who he is; all I know is, he's sometimes an old man;
sometimes he isn't; sometimes he wears a red handkerchief on his
head, and sometimes he don't; but who he is, or what he does, or
where he goes to, or where he comes from, or who he knows, or who
knows him, curse me if _I_ know. That's all I can tell you, Sir.
He's a mystery, done up in the carcass of a little, dried-up man, of
a d--d uncertain age. May I trouble you for the milk?'
'Humph!' said Harson, in a very dissatisfied tone, at the same time
passing the milk; 'and yet you are in his employ?'
Kornicker nodded.
'It's strange,' muttered he, 'quite strange.'
'D--d strange,' said Kornicker, burying his face in a huge
coffee-cup, 'but true,' continued he, setting it down.
'True,' repeated Harson; 'true that you are in his employ; are in
the habit of daily intercourse with him; attend to his concerns; see
him constantly, and yet do not know who he is?'
'Partly correct, partly incorrect,' quoth Mr. Kornicker, pushing
his cup away. 'I'm in his employ--correct. I know nothing of him;
correct again. As to the rest--incorrect. Sometimes, I don't see him
for weeks; sometimes I have something to do--often nothing. I never
know when he's going, or when he's coming back.'
Harson stood quiet for some time. 'This is all very strange. Don't
you know who are his acquaintances, or associates?'
Kornicker shook his head.
'Who comes to see him?'
'Nobody.'
'Do you never hear him speak of any one?'
'Never heard him name a soul, till the other day he named Enoch
Grosket, and to-day you.'
'Do you know nothing of his mode of life, or intentions, or plans,
or whether he's honest or dishonest, or how he lives, or where his
money comes from, or what his family is?'
'Nothing,' said Kornicker. 'Indeed it never struck me till now how
much there was to know on the subject, and how little conversant I
was with it.'
'Shall _I_ tell _you_ who he is?' asked Harson.
Mr. Kornicker replied, that any information in his then
unenlightened state would be acceptable.
'Well, then, he's one of the veriest villains that ever disgraced
human nature. He's ----'
'Come! come! none of that! hold up, old gentleman!' interrupted
Kornicker, sitting bolt upright; and grasping the handle of a
coffee-cup with a somewhat hostile tenacity. 'I've just been eating
your bread, backed by not a little meat, and no small quantity of
coffee, and therefore am under obligations to you; and of course, a
quarrel with you would be greatly against my stomach. But you must
recollect, that Rust is my employer. What I eat, and drink, and
snuff, comes out of his pocket; and although he was small in some
matters, yet he helped me, when it required a good deal of salt to
save me; my fortunes were not only at an ebb, but they'd got to dead
low tide. I'm bound to stand up for him, and I'll do it. I've no
doubt he's the d--dest rascal going; but I'll not hear any one say
so. If I do, damme. So no more of that. Come, come,' said he, after
a somewhat hostile survey of Harson's person, 'you don't look like
the man to make a fellow regret that he's broken your bread.'
Quizzical as was the look of Kornicker, and vagabond as he seemed,
there was something in the open, blunt manner in which he defended
even Rust, that found an answering note in the bosom of Harry, and
he said:
'No, no, I am _not_. You're an honest fellow; but I suppose there's
no harm however in wishing you a better employer?'
'No, not at all,' said Kornicker, after a minute's reflection; 'I
often wish _that_ myself; but,' said he, with a philosophical shake
of the head, 'some people are born with a silver spoon in their
mouth, and I wasn't one of them; mine must have been iron; and I'm
rather inclined to think that there must have been no bowl to it,
for it always held mighty little.'
There was a mixture of comicality and sadness in the tone in which
he spoke, which left Harson in doubt in what strain to answer him.
At last he drew a chair to the table; leaning his two arms upon the
back of it, and surveying his guest attentively, he asked: 'What's
your business, if I may be so bold?'
'Law,' replied Kornicker, leaning back. 'I'm the champion of the
distressed; see widows and orphans righted, and all that sort of
thing. It's a great business--devilish great business.'
'And is Michael Rust a lawyer?' inquired Harson.
'No, I attend to that part of his concerns. He's a mere child in
matters of that kind; but devilishly wide awake in others; but come,
old gentleman,' said he, suddenly breaking off, 'I'm to thank you
for a breakfast; now let's have an answer to the letter. It's time
to be off.'
Harson glanced at the letter, and then said:
'Do you know the contents of this?'
'Not a word of them,' replied Kornicker.
'Nor what it's about?'
'No. Rust is neither confidential, nor communicative,' replied
Kornicker. 'So, what you've got to say say in writing. I don't want
the trouble of thinking about it, or trying to recollect it.'
'Humph!' said Harson. 'There's nothing here requiring a great
stretch of either. He wants me to meet him at his office, on very
particular business; a request somewhat singular, as I never laid
eyes on him in my life.'
'Quite singular,' ejaculated Kornicker.
'But I _know_ much about him; and _that_ leaves me no desire to be
more intimate with him. What do you think of it?'
'I think you're in luck,' replied the other; 'you're the first
that ever was asked inside the door since I've been there. Several
very nice, pleasant fellows of my acquaintance, have dropped in
occasionally, and although his office is nothing to brag of, d--n me
if he didn't invite them to air themselves in the street, and not to
come back! It was quite mortifying, especially as I was there at the
time.'
'What did you do?' inquired Harson.
'You've never seen Rust, you say?' said Kornicker, in reply to the
previous question.
Harson answered in the negative.
'Well, Sir, if you _had_, you wouldn't ask that question. I looked
out of the window, and held my jaw--that's what I did; and that's
what I'd advise _you_ to do in the same trying circumstances. But
come, Sir, give me the answer.'
Harson, after a moment's thought, said: 'It isn't worth while to
write. Tell him I'll come, or send some one. You can remember that?'
Kornicker replied that he thought he could; and taking up his hat,
and shaking hands with Harson, and favoring Spite, who was examining
the quality of his pantaloons, with a sly kick, he sallied out
toward Rust's office.
CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.