THE TEMPTER AND THE TEMPTED.
The serpent, coiled within the grass,
With open jaw and eager eyes,
Watches the careless wild bird pass,
And lures him from his native skies.
Leicester went to his room humming a tune as he moved along the
passages. Soft and low the murmurs fell from his lips, like the
suppressed cooing of a bird. Now and then he paused to brush the
moisture from his coat. Once he fell into thought, and stood for more
than a minute with his eyes beat upon the floor. One of those lone
wanderers in hotels, that sit up to help off early travellers, happened
to pass just then, and interrupted his reverie.
"Oh, is it you Jim," said Leicester, starting, "I hope there is a fire
still in my room."
"Yes, sir, I just looked in to see if the young gentleman was
comfortable," answered the man.
"What young gentleman, Jim?"
"Why, one that called just after you went out, sir. I told him you left
no word, and might be in any minute, so he has been waiting ever since."
This information seemed to disturb Leicester, but he checked a visible
impulse to speak again, and moved on.
Leicester found in his chamber a young man, or rather lad, for the
intruder did not seem to be more than nineteen. His complexion was fair
as an infant's, and silky as an infant's were the masses of chestnut
curls, rich with a tinge of gold, that lay upon his white forehead. The
boy was sound asleep in the large, easy chair. One cheek lay against the
crimson dressing-gown, which Leicester had flung across the back of this
chair on going out. The other was warmed to a rich rose tint by the
heat. His lips, red and lustrous as over-ripe cherries, were just
parted, till the faintest gleam of his teeth became visible. The lad was
tall for his age, and every limb was rounded almost to a tone of
feminine symmetry. His hands, snowy, somewhat large, and dimpled at the
joints, lay on his chest indolently, as if they had been clasped and
were falling apart in his slumber, while each elbow fell against, rather
than rested upon the arms of his seat.
An air of voluptuous quiet hung about the boy. Wine gleamed redly in the
half filled glasses, fragments of Leicester's supper were scattered
about, and all the rich tints that filled the room floated around him,
like the atmosphere in a warmly toned picture. Leicester observed this,
as he entered the room, and, with the feelings of an artist, changed one
of the candles, that its beams might fall more directly on the boy's
face, and fling a deeper shadow in the background.
The deep, sweet slumber of youth possessed the boy, and even the
increased light did not arouse him; he only stretched himself more
indolently, and, while one of his hands fell down, began to breathe deep
and freely again. The motion loosened several folds of the
dressing-gown, adding a more picturesque effect to the position.
Leicester smiled, and leaning against the mantel-piece, began to study
the effect quietly; for he was one of those men whose refinement in
selfishness, forbade the abridgment of a pleasurable sensation, however
ill-timed it might be. The boy smiled in his sleep. He was evidently
dreaming, and the glow that spread over his cheek grew richer, as if the
slumbering thought was a joyous one.
Leicester's brow darkened. There was something in that soft sleep, in
the warm smile, that seemed to awake memories of his own youth. He gazed
on, but his eye grew vicious in its expression, as if he were beginning
to loathe the youth for the innocence of his look. Again the boy moved
and muttered in his sleep--something about a picture; Leicester heard
it, and laughed softly.
At another time, Leicester would not have hesitated to arouse the
youth, for it was deep in the night, and he was not one to break his own
rest for the convenience of another; but he had been greatly excited,
notwithstanding that cool exterior. Old memories were stirred up in his
heart--pure as some memories of youth ever must be, even though breaking
through a nature vile as his--like water-lilies dragged up from the
depths of a dark pool. Those memories disturbed the very dregs of his
heart, and when thus disturbed, some pure waters gushed up, mingled with
much that was black and bitter. He had no inclination for sleep, none
for solitude, and with his whole being thus aroused, anything which
promised to occupy thought, without touching upon feeling, was a relief.
It would not do. The exquisite taste, the intense love of artistical
effect that brightened his nature, could not long rob his spirit of
those thoughts that found in everything a stimulus. In vain he strove to
confine himself to simple admiration, as he gazed upon each new posture
assumed by the sleeping boy. His own youth rose before him in the
presence of youth asleep. He made a powerful effort at self-control. He
said to his thought, so far shalt thou go and no farther. But the light
which gleamed across the throat of that sleeping boy, exposed by the low
collar and simple black ribbon, was something far more intense than the
beams of a waxen candle. Spite of himself, it illuminated the many dark
places in his own soul, and forced him to see that which existed there.
Thus he fell into a reverie, dark and sombre, from which he awoke at
length with a profound sigh. The boy still smiled in his sleep.
Leicester could no longer endure this blooming human life, so close to
him, and yet so unconscious. He laid his hand on the youth's shoulder
and aroused him.
"Robert!"
"Ha! Mr. Leicester--is it you?" cried the boy starting up and opening a
pair of large gray eyes to their fullest extent.--"Really, I must have
been asleep in your chair, and dreaming too. It was not the wine, upon
my honor. I only drank half a glass."
"And so you were dreaming?" said Leicester, with a sort of chilly
sadness. "The vision seemed a very pleasant one!"
The lad glanced at the miniature on the mantel-piece, and his eyes
flashed under their long lashes.
"The last object I saw was that," he said. "It haunted me, I suppose."
"You think it pretty, then?" was the quiet rejoinder.
"Pretty! beautiful! I dreamed she was with me in one of those far off
isles of the ocean, which Tom Moore talks about. Such fruit, ripe,
luscious, and bursting with fragrance--flowers moist with dew, and
fairly dripping with sunshine--grass upon the banks softer than moss,
and greener than emerald--water so pure, leaping----"
"It was a pleasant dream, no doubt," said Leicester, quietly
interrupting the lad.
"Pleasant--it was Heavenly. That lovely creature, so bright, so----"
"Do you know how late it is?" said Leicester, seating himself in the
easy chair, and bringing the boy down from his fancies with the most
ruthless coldness.
"No, really. I had been waiting some time, that is certain. Then the
dream--but one never guesses at the length of time when----"
"It is near one o'clock!"
"And you are sleepy--wish me away--well, good bye then!"
"No; but I wish to talk of something beside childish visions!"
"Childish!" The boy's cheek reddened.
"Well, youthful, then; that is the term, I believe. Now tell me what you
have been doing. How do you like the counting-house?"
"Oh, very well. I'm sure it seems impossible to thank you enough for
getting me in."
"Has the firm raised your salary yet?"
"No--I have not ventured to mention it."
"You have won confidence, I trust."
"I have tried my best to deserve it," answered the boy modestly.
Leicester frowned. The frank honesty of this speech seemed to displease
him.
"They are beginning to trust you in things of importance--with the bank
business, perhaps?"
"Yes, sometimes!"
"That looks very well, and your writing--I hope you have attended to the
lessons I gave you. Without faultless penmanship, a clerk is always at
disadvantage."
"I think you will not be displeased with my progress, sir."
"I am glad of it. It would grieve me, Robert, should you fall short in
anything, after the recommendation I procured for your employers."
"I never will, sir, depend upon it--I never will if study and hard work
will sustain me," answered the youth, earnestly.
"I do not doubt it. Now tell me about your companions, your amusements."
"Amusements, sir, how can I afford them?"
"Certainly the salary is too small!"
"I did not complain. In fact, I suppose it is large enough for the
services!"
"Still you work all the time?"
"Of course I do!"
"And those who receive twice--nay, three times your salary do no more."
"That is true," answered the boy, thoughtfully, "but then I am so
young!"
"But you have more abilities than many of those above you who are far
better paid."
"Do you think so--really think so, Mr. Leicester?" said the youth,
blushing with honest pleasure.
"I never say what I do not think!" answered the crafty man with quiet
dignity, and keeping his eyes fixed upon the boy, for he was reading
every impulse of that warm young heart. "You have abilities of a high
order, industry, talent, everything requisite for success--but
remember, Robert, the reward for those qualities comes slowly as society
is regulated, and sometimes never comes at all. The rich blockhead often
runs far in advance of the poor genius."
The youth looked grave. A spirit of discontent was creeping into his
heart. "I thought that with integrity and close application, I should be
sure to succeed like others," he said, "but I suppose poverty will stand
in the way. Strange that I did not see that before."
"See what, Robert?"
"Why, that starting poor I am only the more likely to be kept in
poverty. I remember now one of our clerks, no older than I am, was
promoted only last week. His father was a rich man, and it was whispered
that he would sometime be a junior partner in the concern."
"You see, then, what money can do."
"Well, after all, my good old aunt has money, more than people imagine,
I dare say!" cried the boy, brightening up.
"What, the old lady in the market? Take my advice, Robert, and never
mention her."
"And why not?" questioned the boy.
"Because selling turnips and cabbage sprouts might not be considered the
most aristocratic way of making money among your fellow clerks."
The boy changed countenance; his eye kindled and his lip began to curve.
"I shall never be ashamed of my aunt, sir. She is a good, generous
woman----"
"No doubt, no doubt. Go and proclaim her good qualities among your
companions, and see the result. For my part, I think the state of
society which makes any honest occupation a cause of reproach, is to be
condemned by all honorable men. But you and I, Robert, cannot hope to
change the present order of things, and without the power to remedy we
have only to submit. So take my advice and never talk of that fine old
huckster-woman among your fellow clerks."
Robert was silent. He stood gazing upon the floor, his cheeks hot with
wounded feeling, and his eyes half full of tears. When he spoke again
there was trouble in his voice.
"Thank you for the advice, Mr. Leicester, though I must say it seems
rather cold-hearted. I will go now; excuse me for keeping you up so
late."
"You need not go on that account," said Leicester, "I am not certain of
going to sleep at all before morning!"
"And I," said Robert, with a faint smile, "somehow this conversation
makes me restless. That sweet dream from which you aroused me, will not
be likely to come back again to-night!"
Robert glanced at the miniature as he spoke, and a glow of admiration
kindled the mist still hanging about his eyes.
"Perhaps," said Leicester, quietly, and with his keen glance fixed upon
the boy, "perhaps I may introduce you to her some day."
"To her," cried the youth. "Alive! is there any being like that alive?"
His face was in a glow, and a bright smile flashed over it. Nothing
could have been more beautiful than the boy that moment.
Leicester regarded him with a faint smile. Like a chemist, he was
experimenting upon the beautiful nature before him, and like a chemist
he watched the slow, subtle poison that he had administered.
"Alive and breathing, Robert; the picture does not quite equal her in
some things. It is a little too sad. The quick sparkle of her more
joyous look no artist can embody. But you shall see her."
"I shall see her," muttered Robert, turning his eyes from the miniature.
"What if my dream were to prove correct?"
"What--the lone island, the flowers, the magical fruit!" said Leicester
with a soft laugh that had a mocking tone in it.
"That was not all my dream. It seemed to me that she was in trouble,
and in all her beauty and her grief, became my guardian angel."
"You could not select anything more lovely for the office, I assure
you," answered Leicester.
"She must be good as she is beautiful," answered the boy, turning an
earnest glance on his companion; for without knowing it, his sensitive
nature had been stung by the sarcasm lurking beneath the soft tones in
which Leicester had spoken.
"At your age, all women are angels," was the rejoinder.
"And at yours, what are they then?" questioned the lad.
"Women!" answered Leicester with a scornful curve of the lip, and a
depth of sarcasm in his voice, that made the youth shrink.
The arch hypocrite saw the impression his unguarded bitterness had made,
and added, "but this one really is an angel. I may not admire her as
much as you would, Robert, but she is an exquisite creature, timid as a
young fawn, delicate as a flower!"
"I was sure of it!" exclaimed Robert with enthusiasm, for this frank
praise had obliterated all impression made by the sarcasm in Leicester's
voice.
"And now," said Leicester taking his hat from the table, "as you seem
quite awake, and as I positively cannot sleep, what if we take a
stroll?"
"Where could we go at this time of night?" said Robert, surprised by the
proposition.
"I have a great fancy to let you see the inside of a gambling house for
once," was the quiet reply.
"A gambling house? Oh, Mr. Leicester!"
"I have often thought," said Leicester, as if speaking to himself, "that
the best way of curing that ardent curiosity with which youth always
regards the unseen, is to expose evil at once, in all its glare and
iniquity. The gambling house is sometimes a fine moral school. Robert,
have you never heard grave men assert as much?"
Robert did not answer, but a cloud settled on his white forehead, and
taking his cap from Leicester, who held it toward him, he began to crush
it nervously with his hand.
"The storm is over, I believe," observed Leicester, without seeming to
observe his agitation. "Come, we shall be in time for the excitement
when it is most revolting."
Robert grew pale and shrunk back.
"Not with me?" cried Leicester, turning his eyes full upon the boy with
a look of overwhelming reproach, "are you afraid to go with _me_,
Robert?"
"No. I will go anywhere with you!" answered the youth, almost with a
sob, for that look of reproach from his benefactor wounded him to the
heart. "I will go anywhere with you!"
And he went.