NATIVE LAND.
“Now,” said Lieutenant Ethel, on taking a temporary leave of them, “I
have some official business with the authorities here which must be
attended to at once; so I shall have to leave you for a while; but I
will send a man with you, and when you have found, and are settled in
your hotel for the present, you can send him back to the ship with your
address, and I will forward all your luggage without further trouble to
yourself.”
“You pursue us with benefits,” said Justin, cordially pressing his hand.
“And if I succeed in seeing the parties I wish to see, and getting my
business through in time, I will join you and spend the evening with
you. By the way, when do you go on to Washington?”
“By the first train to-morrow. I should go on to-night, but it is
absolutely necessary that I should write to a friend there to prepare my
sister for my arrival. You know that she must long have looked upon me
as lost.”
“Yes. Then, if you go on to-morrow, I think that I shall be able to
accompany you. You are aware that I am the bearer of dispatches to the
Secretary of the Navy.”
“Certainly.”
“Well! Good-morning! I hope you will find pleasant quarters. Martin, do
you go with Mr. Rosenthal’s party,” said the young lieutenant. And then,
raising his cap to Miss Conyers, he struck into a by-street and was soon
out of sight.
The sailor left in attendance upon Mr. Rosenthal stood hat in hand,
waiting orders.
“Martin,” said Justin, “go and call a carriage.”
The man started on the errand.
Miss Conyers turned to Judith, who was standing with Tom McAlpine by her
side.
“Judith,” said the young lady, “will you go with me to the hotel for the
present?”
“No, thank you kindly, ma’am. When the carriage comes, and I see ye into
it, sure Tom will take me to my aunt’s. And whin I’ve seen her, I can go
back to the ship and find out from Mr. Martin where yez are stopping.
And I will come up this evening to take leave iv yez.”
“Very well, Judith,” said Miss Conyers, with the tears starting in her
eyes, for the companionship of more than two years had very much
attached her to the girl.
In a few moments the sailor returned with the carriage, and Justin put
Britomarte into it, followed her, and gave the driver an order to drive
to a certain hotel, where he had once been in the habit of stopping.
It was a quiet, respectable house, in a comparatively still
neighborhood, and it happened to have some pleasant rooms vacant and at
the disposal of our party.
As soon as Justin had seen Britomarte comfortably ensconced in her
apartment, he went down and dispatched the sailor back to the ship with
his address for Lieutenant Ethel.
Then Justin started out on foot to visit his uncle, Friedrich Rosenthal,
the great importer, at his place of business in Chambers street. Besides
his earnest desire to see a kinsman whom he sincerely loved and
esteemed, he felt a great anxiety to hear such news of his father and
sister as Mr. Friedrich Rosenthal would probably be able to give him,
and also he needed funds to defray his hotel bill and his expenses to
Washington, and which his wealthy uncle would readily advance to him.
Justin walked rapidly down the street, sharply turning the corners at
the imminent risk of upsetting old ladies and running over little
children, until he turned into Chambers street, where every step that
brought him nearer to his uncle’s house, and to certain news of his
beloved relatives, increased his anxiety and took away his breath.
He came in sight of the house and looked up. A strange name occupied the
signboard:
Steinfeldt.
There was a sudden pause in all his pulses, and then he hurried into the
house, and glanced up and down the long lines of bales upon bales of
goods, and upon the strange array of faces behind them.
One of the strangers advanced to meet him.
“What would you look at, sir?”
“Is—has Mr. Friedrich Rosenthal retired from business?” faltered Justin.
“Mr. Friedrich Rosenthal? I am not able to say, sir.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Nearly a year, sir,” replied the young man, looking surprised at the
question.
“Is the—is Mr. Steinfeldt in?”
“Yes, sir; in the countingroom, back.”
Justin had no cards, but he took a scrap of paper from a writing-table
near, and wrote his name, and handed it to the young man, saying:
“Will you take this to Mr. Steinfeldt?”
The youth started off on the errand, and presently returned, accompanied
by a stout, respectable-looking, middle-aged man, whose rubicund
countenance expressed much concern.
“You are a relative of the late Mr. Rosenthal, I presume?” said this
gentleman.
“The late!” echoed Justin, starting back.
“Ah! I am very sorry, exceedingly sorry, to have spoken so
thoughtlessly. But, bless my soul, I supposed—— And it has been so
long—over a year!” stammered Mr. Steinfeldt, with a face full of
sympathy.
“I have been absent from the country for more than two years. I have
just returned from India,” said Justin, not wishing then and there to
enter upon the particulars of his shipwreck.
“Bless my soul, yes! And yet knew nothing of what had happened here.
Letters, perhaps, miscarried, or passed you. Dear me! yes, it must be a
great shock. Come into my countingroom and recover yourself. Here,
Perkins! wine—quick!” said Steinfeldt, leading the way to the back of
the warerooms, followed by Justin, who accepted his invitation only that
he might learn the particulars of his uncle’s death, and if possible,
also, some news of his father and sister.
The kind-hearted merchant made him sit down in an easy-chair, and, when
the wine came, pressed upon him a glass of good old port.
“Yes, it is a great shock. You say that it is more than a year since my
uncle died.”
“It has been—about fourteen months.”
“What was the cause of his death?”
“An attack of pneumonia, that carried him off after about ten days’
illness.”
“Were any of his family with him?”
“He had no family of his own, as you probably know. He had one brother
in Germany, but of course there was no time to summon him. His orphan
niece, a young lady from Washington, was with him when he died.”
“But he had a brother in Washington—a Lutheran minister,” said Justin,
feeling his heart stand still.
“Ah, yes—the father of that niece who was with him in his last moments.
But he went before. He fell in the first battle of Bull’s Run.”
“Oh-h-h!” groaned Justin, dropping his head upon the table with such a
moan of unspeakable agony that the good merchant sprang to his feet and
leaned over him, exclaiming:
“Lord forgive me! And you—you are his son, and I have blurted this
dreadful news so suddenly. I was thinking that you were the son of the
brother in Germany.”
Justin did not answer. His shoulders rose and fell with the great sobs
that shook his frame.
The merchant went and closed the door of the room, and drew the bolt, so
that no other eyes should look upon the anguish of his fellow-man.
“My sister; where is she?” at length asked Justin.
“She returned to Washington, enriched by the will of her uncle, who
constituted her the sole heiress of his immense wealth.”
“Enriched in fortune, but, oh, how impoverished in home!” groaned
Justin. Then rising, he held out his hand to the merchant, saying, “I
thank you, sir, for the information you have given, as well as for your
delicate kindness to a heavily-stricken man; and I will bid you
good-day.”
“Have you a carriage at the door?” inquired the practical merchant.
“No.”
“Then I must order one for you. You are not in a condition to walk
through the streets, Mr. Rosenthal.”
Justin bowed his thanks and resumed his seat.
And when the carriage was announced, he took leave of the friendly
merchant and drove to his hotel. He went at once to his own room, and
gave way to the sorrow that was almost bursting his bosom.
Some hours later, when he had attained some degree of calmness, he
entered the sitting-room, occupied in common by himself and Britomarte.
Miss Conyers was deeply engaged reading an “extra,” with further details
of the great battle of Gettysburg. On hearing the door open, she looked
up, and was at once shocked by seeing Justin enter, looking pale as
death, and wearing the traces of deep grief upon his brow.
She threw down the paper and started up to meet him, exclaiming,
breathlessly:
“Justin, what is the matter? What have you heard? Erminie?”
He crossed the room and threw himself upon the sofa.
“Erminie!” again gasped Miss Conyers, in breathless anxiety.
“Britomarte, Erminie is alive and well, but—fatherless!” he groaned,
covering his face with his hands.
“Oh, Justin! Oh, Justin! Oh, my dear, dear brother!” she cried, and
forgetting all her pride, she hastened to his side, put her arms around
his neck, drew his head upon her bosom, and bending her face upon it,
wept with him.
And her sympathy was an unspeakable consolation.
Later in the day Justin nerved himself to write a letter to his sister,
and this letter he inclosed in another one directed to a clerical friend
in Washington, to whom he announced his return, and whom he solicited to
go and break the news cautiously to Erminie, and prepare her for his
arrival. Having posted this letter with his own hand, to insure its
going by the evening mail, he returned, and dined alone with Britomarte
in their sitting-room.
Lieutenant Ethel, true to his engagement, came to spend the evening with
them.
He entered at first, full of a project to take the whole party to the
Academy of Music, to see a new opera that was creating a great
sensation. But as soon as he saw the faces of Justin and Britomarte, he
knew that some distressing intelligence had met them on their arrival,
and he forbore to mention his plan. He greeted them both gravely, and
then took the chair offered him by Justin, and looked from one to the
other in mute, respectful sympathy.
“I have received ill news since I saw you last. I have to mourn the
death of my father,” said Justin, in a low voice, while Britomarte
turned away her face to conceal “the teardrops that from pity fell.”
“I am very much grieved,” said the young lieutenant, simply and
earnestly. “Is there anything that I can do for you? If there is, pray
order me. It will be a satisfaction to me to be of service to you in any
way.”
“Thanks, thanks,” murmured Justin, earnestly pressing the hand that he
had extended to him; “I do not know that you can do anything.”
“And now tell me frankly—I came with the intention of spending the whole
evening with yourself and Miss Conyers, either here or somewhere else,
no matter where—but now tell me candidly, would you rather I should
remain here, or go away? Speak freely. If you wish me to remain, I will
do so with comfort, or if you wish me to go, I shall not take offense,”
said young Ethel, earnestly.
“I do not wish you to go, good friend, for your presence will be a
comfort to us; neither dare I press you to stay, for the evening will be
as dull to you as it is sad to us.”
For all answer Lieutenant Ethel took off his gloves and put them in his
pocket, and drew his chair nearer to that of Justin.
Britomarte arose and rung for tea to be brought up.
“Will you tell me more? How did your honored father die? That he died
the death of the righteous I know, as a matter of course; but was he ill
long?”
“He was not ill. He was in the army; he fell at the first battle of Bull
Run,” answered Justin, gravely, adding: “That is all I know as yet. I
learned that much only from the man who has succeeded to my uncle’s
business. My good uncle, too, has passed away; but that lesser grief is
swallowed up in the greater one.”
“Ah! yes, yes,” sighed the young lieutenant.
A few minutes passed in silence, during which a waiter appeared with the
tea service. When he had arranged the table, Miss Conyers dismissed him,
and presided herself over the tea-urn.
“I hope you succeeded in completing your business to-day,” said Justin.
“Yes, thank Heaven, that I did, especially as I am now doubly anxious to
bear you company on to Washington,” replied the young man.
“You are a good fellow, Ethel,” said Justin, gravely.
As it was decided that they should leave for Washington by the first
train in the morning, it was thought advisable that they should all
retire to rest at an early hour that night; so Lieutenant Ethel, at nine
o’clock, arose to take his leave.
“I shall go on board again to-night, so as to give my last instructions
to Passed Midshipman Allen, whom I shall leave in charge of the prize.
But I shall be sure to meet you at the train to-morrow,” he said, as he
shook hands with Justin and Britomarte, and bowed himself out of the
room.
A few moments longer the two friends remained in conversation, and then
Britomarte bade Justin good-night and withdrew to her chamber.
There she found Judith waiting for her.
“Ah! is it you, my dear girl? I am glad to see you. I was afraid that
something had prevented you from coming, and that I should not see you
again before leaving,” said Miss Conyers.
“Troth, sooner than that should have happened, I would have gone to the
gates iv the station, so I would, and watched every living soul that
came in and every train that wint out till I saw you. But sure I got the
name iv the house from Martin, and troth I made me gay Tom fetch me
here! and here I’ve been staying, waiting for you, these three hours,”
said Judith.
“I am sorry. I didn’t know that you were here, or I shouldn’t have kept
you waiting.”
“Bother the odds, asking your pardon, ma’am, for I was very comfortable
entirely. But now it’s only to say good-by and good luck to you, ma’am;
for it’s getting on to ten o’clock, and I must be going, for me aunt
can’t abide late hours, so she can’t,” said Judith, rising to go.
“You found your aunt well?” kindly inquired Miss Conyers.
“Divil a bit betther at any time iv her life; only whin she saw me, as
she thought me dhrowned many a long day ago, she wint off into the
highstrikes, so she did, and had fits so fast that we had to give her
four glasses iv rum before she would come round. But sure she’s all
right now, ma’am, except in the matter iv a pain in her temper, as she
is subject to; and be the same token, I mustn’t bring it onto her by
staying out late, so I will bid you good-by, and God bless you, ma’am.”
“Good-by! and may the Lord bless you also, Judith,” said Miss Conyers.
“But sure I’d like to take lave iv Misther Rosenthal before I go.”
“You will find him in his sitting-room, Judith. Any of the waiters will
show you where that is,” said Miss Conyers.
And she drew the girl to her bosom and kissed her before she let her
depart.