MONSON P. TRACY.
ON Friday, Mrs. Prescott was busily engaged in her room with her
lawyer. Two or three times when Helen sought to gain admittance,
Betsey, who stood guard at the door, smilingly remarked, that her
mistress had denied herself to all visitors.
The next morning, just as the wedded pair were about to leave for a few
weeks, the old lady put into her niece's hand a roll of parchment tied
with the ominous red tape.
"I suspected a plot," exclaimed the bride, warmly kissing her aunt.
"I suspected it when I saw you closeted with that old lawyer; now I'm
sure of it. I don't know what this parchment contains, but if it is
intended to make me any richer than I am, I must refuse it. My husband,
the Reverend Frederic, does me the honor to say that I'm a fortune in
myself, and I wouldn't like to tempt a parson with two fortunes.
"No, aunty," as the old lady refused to take it. "We are young, and
willing to work. I had rather be dependent on my husband."
"Helen, you wouldn't refuse, if you knew how my heart was set on this.
I am only anticipating a few months, or years, as it may be. All is
yours at my death, by another will than mine."
The tear-dimmed eyes and trembling accents affected Helen.
"Well, Frank," she urged, "you are a lawyer, read and tall me what to
do."
"Aunt Prescott has made over to you the entire farm, with all her
improvements, the furniture, plate, carriages, horses and cattle, with
the sole condition of being allowed a living under her paternal roof,
with her faithful Betsey to minister to her wants. A sum of money,"
still reading from the paper, "now invested in railroad stock, and
yielding a profitable interest, will be yours at her decease."
"A clergyman should have a home," urged the old lady. "If you deny me
this pleasure, my child, you will deprive me of the means of showing
how entire is my confidence in you and my nephew."
"I can't refuse a request so worded, dear aunty," faltered the bride,
throwing her arms around the old lady's neck; "but please bear witness,
every person here, that I accept under protest. Only think, Frederic,
that beautiful Alderney heifer is my own, to pet as much as I please."
Everybody laughed, which was much the wiser plan; and then the parties
were obliged to separate. The bridal pair took the cars for Niagara and
the lakes, leaving Mr. Knowles, with his wife and Sybil, to depart by a
later train for Maytown.
Frank returned at once to the city to carry forward sundry
investigations in regard to his own and his sister's fortune. He had
already ascertained that Mr. Tracy had secured a large sum of money, by
making it over to his wife. If it could be proved that this had been
done within six months of the failure, closely following the discovery
of his fraud, the whole transaction would be illegal.
Monson P. Tracy had been removed from his own house to the
Penitentiary. But as his mind was entirely shattered, he did not
feel the disgrace. He wondered indeed at the shabbiness of his room,
supposing himself at a hotel, and used to complain to the wardens who
frequently passed his cell that the waiters neglected their duty, that
if they did not look out, he would move to better quarters and bid the
public beware of them.
Roswell's absence continued for a long time unexplained, but at last
some notorious facts became public.
In the midst of his researches at the bank, etc., Frank Edmond came
across a check for twelve thousand five hundred dollars, on Monson P.
Tracy, presented and receipted for by his son.
The teller, and even the cashier, well remembered the circumstances
connected with the check, it being for a considerable amount, and the
young man excessively impatient at the necessary delay, in counting.
This check being put into the hands of experts, the signature was
pronounced a forgery, and a remarkably skilful one. Of the amount,
twelve thousand five hundred dollars, seven thousand was the property
of Frank and Helen.
A search for the criminal was commenced at once. And a miniature of him
found in his room was placed at the disposal of the chief of police,
who caused it to be struck off and printed in all the secular papers,
with his name and crime attached.
As I shall have no occasion to refer to Roswell again, I will now add,
that a year later he was killed in a street brawl in St. Louis, where
he had resided for months, notorious for his crimes, under the alias,
Robert Tolman. A coat and vest marked with his full name, were redeemed
by a pawnbroker's ticket found in his pocket, and the fact published at
once with the sad, but true moral affixed:
"The way of transgressors is hard."
It was the intention of Mr. and Mrs. Frederic Knowles, to pass their
honeymoon in travelling. But on receiving a letter from Sybil, stating
that her father had fainted in the pulpit, after offering a prayer
just before the sermon, they left Montreal, where they were spending
a few days at the St. Lawrence, and reached Maytown the third morning
following the receipt of the intelligence.
They found the good man looking much as usual, and engaged in writing a
sermon for the next Sabbath.
His son warmly expostulated, urging his late feebleness, but though
another pastor had been hired to officiate for a few weeks, the
silver-haired man expressed an earnest desire to say a few last words
to his beloved people.
"Your father eats heartily, and sleeps as quietly as an infant,"
explained Mrs. Knowles, "but I feel sure he has not long to live. His
daily prayer is for the grace of patience, patience to wait God's time."
"I long to be there—" he said to his son, "there with my Saviour.
I long to be free from this body of sin, and behold his face in
righteousness."
On Saturday evening Helen seated her self at his feet, and sang at his
request.
The words she selected were the following:
"Behold the glories of the Lamb,
Before his Father's throne,
Prepare new honors for his name,
And songs before unknown.
Let elders worship at his feet,
The church adore around,
With vials full of odors sweet,
And harps of sweeter sound."
When she had commenced, the young clergyman who was to supply his
pulpit entered, and quietly took a seat. Every one present noticed a
peculiar expression on the countenance of the old man. It was as if he
already heard the heavenly music for which he panted. When her voice
ceased, he still listened as if entranced, no one daring to break the
silence and call his rapt spirit back to earth.
At length he seemed to become aware of the presence of those so dear to
him.
"Glorious vision! Glorious! Glorious!" he repeated, every feature
radiant with holy light. "Jesus my Saviour, seated on his throne,
receiving the adoration of the saints. Shall I ever be permitted to
join them, and unite my voice with theirs in the anthems of praise?
"'Who is this King of glory? The Lord of hosts, He is the King of
glory.' Yes, I shall see him, for he has promised it. 'Father, I will
that they . . . thou hast given me, be with me where I am; that they
may behold my glory,' . . . 'which I had with' the Father 'before the
world was.'"
Helen still retained his hand, and yielding to an impulse she could not
control, she raised it to her lips, large drops falling upon it from
her eyes.
"Do not weep, my child," he exclaimed, in a loud voice. "Rejoice,
rejoice that the day of my salvation is near at hand. A wretched sinner
will, by God's unspeakable mercy, be converted into a blessed saint."
"But we shall not see your face," she murmured. "We shall so miss the
sound of your voice, your counsels and your prayers."
"It will be but for a moment,—" he answered, "a moment in ages of
years, an eternity of years. Your mother will very soon follow me, and
when you have accomplished your work, we shall unite with thousands of
choirs of angels in welcoming you home."
Sybil, who had been sitting bolt-upright, disdaining to exhibit her
emotion at what was so evident to all, that dying grace had been
bestowed on her beloved father, rose suddenly and left the room.
Presently the sound of her violent sobs was distinctly heard, and her
brother hastened to her side.
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