'Love descends.' To be filial is a virtue. But who calls parental
affection a virtue? 'Honor thy father and they mother.' It is commanded
from Sinai. 'Love and cherish they children.'
The idea _is_ a melancholy one, that as we grow old, and more than ever
require sympathy, our children, in the inevitable course of nature,
become interested in their own surroundings, and less able to sympathize
with us.
Joel Burns was not, in the ordinary sense, growing old. He was in the
very flush and prime of his manhood. I have explained with what feeling
and affection he regarded his daughter, and how his daughter regarded
him. But for Joel Burns is coming the hour of agony and trial. Reader,
if perchance you begin to take some interest in this narrative, do not
blame Sarah Burns. Could she oppose the _vis naturæ?_ Could she, if she
would, battle against that subtle and irresistible _leaven_ which now
began to pervade her being? Indeed, she could not. And how unconscious
she was! How much more than ever she loved her father!--as she thought.
Perhaps she did. For when a young girl first feels her soul charged
with this mysterious influence, how kindly and joyously and lovingly all
are embraced!--father, mother, brothers, sisters, friends.
Sarah had only her father; and when her heart began to fructify and
expand, all her affections expanded with it. Not that her heart had, as
yet, any object to rest on. By no means. But the time had come. There
was no resisting _it_, any more than resistance may be predicated of the
green leaf, which _must_ put forth in the spring, bringing bud and
flower and fruit after it. Yet, I repeat, Sarah Burns was unconscious,
actually and absolutely unconscious. Do not suppose she cared specially
about Hiram Meeker. She did not. Her nature only was on the alert, not
she. Hiram, all things considered, was the most agreeable man she had
met, and why should she not be attracted by him--to an extent? I say
attracted: I do not mean anything else. Why should she not be?
Joel Burns, I cannot help pitying you. With no living being with whom
you can intimately sympathize, except your daughter--_her_ child, on
whom the affluence of your heart had all been shed! You feel
instinctively the real state of things. And you quite understand it. You
knew it was to be. But you hoped, not quite so soon--not _quite_ so
soon.
Perhaps, reader, I may not echo your own sentiments, when I speak of
Joel Burns. But I love a genuine nature, as his. I admire beyond
expression honesty of _soul_--that honesty which will not think of
itself nor seek to have others think of it different from what it really
is.
Yes, I feel sorry for Joel Burns.
* * * * *
Mr. Burns, as I have already observed, took the papers which Hiram put
in his hands, in the belief they contained little to satisfy or
encourage him. While his confidential clerk was absent, he had permitted
his mind to dwell on the 'unfortunate affair' more than was his habit in
relation to any matter of business. This, however, was assuming such
ugly proportions, that he could not avoid it. Sarah also could not help
talking about it. So that Hiram's arrival served to terminate a suspense
which had become painful.
Sarah Burns, after receiving Hiram's response to her question (she
thought and cared only for the single word 'won'), ran joyfully into the
room to congratulate her father and get full particulars. She was
surprised to find him seated at the breakfast table, the bundle of
papers laid aside untouched, while his countenance certainly gave no
indication that he had just received agreeable intelligence.
'Why, father, how grave you look! What is the matter?'
'I did not know I looked specially grave. I suppose I am a little
disappointed at Meeker's returning so soon. I find that, without knowing
it, I had calculated too much on his efforts.'
'Has he told you what he has done?'
'No. He merely handed me those papers, and said they explained all. I
saw by his countenance, however, he had accomplished nothing of
consequence. [The fact is, Hiram, desiring to make the surprise as
complete as possible, did exhibit the air of one returning from an
unsuccessful mission.] 'So let us enjoy our breakfast before I go again
into this miserable business.'
'Now, to please me, father, just take a peep at the papers; perhaps it
is better than you fear.'
Mr. Burns shook his head.
'Oh, please do,' and she put the bundle in his hand.
Mr. Burns untied the string. 'What have we here? _Joel Burns_ vs. _Elihu
Joslin_. The fellow has involved me in a lawsuit to begin with. I had
much better have agreed to his account--much better,' he added, almost
pettishly. 'I ought to have gone myself at any sacrifice.'
Sarah had unconsiously taken the papers from her father's hand, and was
turning them over. Hiram's assurance still rang in her ears.
'Here is something, father,' handing him a document marked _account
current_; 'and here something else,' exhibiting another, indorsed _Elihu
Joslin with Joel Burns--Agreement to sell Paper Mill_.
Mr. Burns took both, and was instantly engaged in ascertaining their
contents.
Sarah stood by, waiting--and I must say, confidently waiting--the
result.
Mr. Burns's mind was, as the reader knows, rapid in its movements. He
comprehended the _account_ at a glance; then he looked at Joslin's
agreement to sell. That was brief and to the point. Mr. Burns read every
word of it.
'It is not possible!' he exclaimed, as he finished the perusal. 'I
declare I can't think it possible.'
'What is it, father? Do tell me. What is it?'
'Why. Meeker has gone to New York, and in forty-eight hours has not only
brought Joslin to a just settlement, but got from him a contract to sell
me his half of the paper mill at a most reasonable price.'
'Good, good. Oh, how rejoiced I am!' and she threw her arms around her
father's neck, and kissed him ever so many times. 'Oh, how glad I am. I
never saw anything worry you before, father, and it's all over now.'
'A most extraordinary young man,' continued Mr. Burns, taking up the law
papers. 'I see what he wanted the power of attorney for, now. A most
extraordinary young man. It don't seem possible. Why, he brings Joslin
in debt to me several thousand dollars!'
It would not be easy to describe the sensations of Sarah Burns while her
father was giving expression to his own feelings. Joy that all cause of
annoyance and trouble was removed from him; pleasure that this young man
in particular had been the instrument; some slight fluttering at the
recollection of her promise, and of the triumphant boldness with which
Hiram had said 'Won,' as if he meant--as he _did_ mean--that something
more than her father's case _had_ been won--something much more;
admiration, too, of Hiram's cleverness, capacity, tact--such admiration
as the sex always bestow on real ability. All these, commingled served
to produce in Sarah Burns a state of feeling--I should rather say of
_being_--different from what she ever before experienced.
'Come! now for some breakfast,' said Mr. Burns. 'Everything will be
cold. Never mind, we can afford a cold breakfast on such news as this. I
am sorry I had not pressed Meeker to stay, but I thought he was anxious
to get away. He is an odd fellow.'
'Why, he had been to breakfast, father.'
'Yes, but one would suppose he would have run directly here, and said,
in a word, how successful he was. He is very odd.
'I think, father, we may excuse his oddity for once.'
'Indeed we may.'
Mr. Burns rapidly finished, and hastened to the office.
He found Hiram at work at his desk on the ordinary business, which had
accumulated in his absence, apparently as calm and unconcerned as if he
had not been absent.
Mr. Burns seized his hand, and thanked him for his admirable
achievement, with all the ardor and sincerity of his enthusiastic and
honest nature. Hiram was undisturbed by it. His cold, clammy palm rested
in the vigorous, cordial grasp of his employer unresponsive and
unsympathizing. But Mr. Burns was in too happy and active a mood himself
to be affected by that of his clerk. For the time, his was the ruling
influence; and Hiram was the one insensibly to yield.
Mr. Burns asked so many questions that at last he got the particulars
from Hiram, which naturally he very much enjoyed. These particulars were
recounted with modesty, without the slightest exhibition of egotism or
conceit.
'I cannot sufficiently thank you, Meeker,' said Mr. Burns, 'and I hope
to show you some time how much I appreciate what you have done for me.'
'To have done my duty,' replied Hiram, 'is my chief satisfaction; but to
merit your approbation is, I confess, a very great happiness.'
Hiram was invited to tea that evening. It happened Mr. Burns was obliged
to go out shortly after. I do not suppose, on this particular occasion,
that Sarah regretted it. I am sure Hiram did not. For no sooner were
they alone together, than Miss Burns, almost with the air and tone of
close intimacy, so much was she carried away with the subject (women are
such enthusiasts, you know), exclaimed, while she unconsciously moved
her chair near Hiram:
'Now, Mr. Meeker, I want you to tell me all about your journey to New
York. I insist on having every particular. I so anxious to know how it
was you compelled that dishonest wretch to do just what you asked of
him. Father says you dictated your own terms. Now for the secret of your
power.'
'It was my persuasive manner of showing how much better an honest course
is than a knavish one,' said Hiram, smiling.
'Oh yes, I dare say; but tell me what I want to know. You think,
perhaps, I don't understand business sufficiently to comprehend you; but
you are quite mistaken.'
We have all read how, by her own account, Desdemona was won. And her
history gives proof, if we had no other, of the great dramatist's
wonderful knowledge of the springs of human action and affection.
On this occasion, Hiram played Othello's part to perfection. After much
persuasion he was induced to give, in a modest, but graphic way, a
complete account of his trip to New York, with which the reader is
already familiar. Before he had concluded, Sarah Burns's appreciation
was at the highest pitch. And when, after a little, he took up his hat
to leave(he preferred to do so before Mr. Burns returned), he did not
appear to notice Sarah's heightened color and unequivocal look of
admiration, but bowed himself quietly out, without even taking her hand
(he knew it was not Louisa or Charlotte Hawkins he was dealing with),
but nevertheless with a low, friendly, almost confidential, yet quite
careless 'good night' on his lips. But how all aglow he was,
nevertheless, as he walked away from the house!--walked away without
turning at the gate to salute Sarah again, though she stood on the
piazza expecting it.
At this time many humanizing emotions filled the soul of Hiram Meeker.
He could not for the moment resist the genuine a spirit as that of Sarah
Burns shed even over _his_ nature.
'Well--well--she is a glorious creation; and--she--loves--me.'
He stopped; his pulse beat quick; he was very near the corner where they
had met when Sarah failed to recognize him.
'She would not cut me now--not quite,' he added, in the old tone.