STORIES BY AMERICAN AUTHORS. VOLUME I

[Illustration]

Stories by American Authors VOLUME I

 WHO WAS SHE. By BAYARD TAYLOR

 THE DOCUMENTS IN THE CASE. By BRANDER MATTHEWS AND H. C. BUNNER

 ONE OF THE THIRTY PIECES. By WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP

 BALACCHI BROTHERS. By REBECCA HARDING DAVIS

 AN OPERATION IN MONEY. By ALBERT WEBSTER

1903

[Illustration: BRANDER MATTHEWS]

Stories by American Authors VOLUME I

WHO WAS SHE?

BY BAYARD TAYLOR. 

Come, now, there may as well be an end of this! Every time I meet youreyes squarely I detect the question just slipping out of them. If youhad spoken it, or even boldly looked it; if you had shown in yourmotions the least sign of a fussy or fidgety concern on my account; ifthis were not the evening of my birthday, and you the only friend whoremembered it; if confession were not good for the soul, though harderthan sin to some people, of whom I am one, --well, if all reasons werenot at this instant converged into a focus, and burning me ratherviolently in that region where the seat of emotion is supposed to lie, Ishould keep my trouble to myself. 

Yes, I have fifty times had it on my mind to tell you the whole story. But who can be certain that his best friend will not smile--or, what isworse, cherish a kind of charitable pity ever afterwards--when theexternal forms of a very serious kind of passion seem trivial, fantastic, foolish? And the worst of all is that the heroic part which Iimagined I was playing proves to have been almost the reverse. The onlycomfort which I can find in my humiliation is that I am capable offeeling it. There isn't a bit of a paradox in this, as you will see; butI only mention it, now, to prepare you for, maybe, a little morbidsensitiveness of my moral nerves. 

The documents are all in this portfolio, under my elbow. I had just readthem again completely through, when you were announced. You may examinethem as you like, afterwards: for the present, fill your glass, takeanother Cabaña, and keep silent until my "ghastly tale" has reached itsmost lamentable conclusion. 

The beginning of it was at Wampsocket Springs three years ago lastsummer. I suppose most unmarried men who have reached, or passed, theage of thirty--and I was then thirty-three--experience a milder returnof their adolescent warmth, a kind of fainter second spring, since thefirst has not fulfilled its promise. Of course, I wasn't clearlyconscious of this at the time: who is? But I had had my youthful passionand my tragic disappointment, as you know: I had looked far enough intowhat Thackeray used to call the cryptic mysteries, to save me from theScylla of dissipation, and yet preserved enough of natural nature tokeep me out of the Pharisaic Charybdis. My devotion to my legal studieshad already brought me a mild distinction; the paternal legacy was agood nest-egg for the incubation of wealth, --in short, I was a fair, respectable "party, " desirable to the humbler mammas, and not to bedespised by the haughty exclusives. 

The fashionable hotel at the Springs holds three hundred, and it waspacked. I had meant to lounge there for a fortnight and then finish myholidays at Long Branch; but eighty, at least, out of the three hundred, were young and moved lightly in muslin. With my years and experience Ifelt so safe, that to walk, talk, or dance with them became simply aluxury, such as I had never--at least so freely--possessed before. Myname and standing, known to some families, were agreeably exaggerated tothe others, and I enjoyed that supreme satisfaction which a man alwaysfeels when he discovers or imagines that he is popular in society. Thereis a kind of premonitory apology implied in my saying this, I am aware. You must remember that I am culprit and culprit's counsel at the sametime. 

You have never been at Wampsocket? Well, the hills sweep around in acrescent on the northern side and four or five radiating glensdescending from them unite just above the village. The central oneleading to a waterfall (called "Minnehehe" by the irreverent youngpeople, because there is so little of it), is the fashionable drive andpromenade; but the second ravine on the left, steep, crooked, andcumbered with bowlders which have tumbled from somewhere and lodged inthe most extraordinary groupings, became my favorite walk of a morning. There was a footpath in it, well-trodden at first, but gradually fadingout as it became more like a ladder than a path, and I soon discoveredthat no other city feet than mine were likely to scale a certain roughslope which seemed the end of the ravine. With the aid of the toughlaurel-stems I climbed to the top, passed through a cleft as narrow as adoorway, and presently found myself in a little upper dell, as wild andsweet and strange as one of the pictures that haunt us on the brink ofsleep. 

There was a pond--no, rather a bowl--of water in the centre; hardlytwenty yards across, yet the sky in it was so pure and far down that thecircle of rocks and summer foliage inclosing it seemed like a littleplanetary ring, floating off alone through space. I can't explain thecharm of the spot, nor the selfishness which instantly suggested that Ishould keep the discovery to myself. Ten years earlier, I should havelooked around for some fair spirit to be my "minister, " but now--

One forenoon--I think it was the third or fourth time I had visited theplace--I was startled to find the dint of a heel in the earth, half-wayup the slope. There had been rain during the night, and the earth wasstill moist and soft It was the mark of a woman's boot, only to bedistinguished from that of a walking-stick by its semicircular form. Alittle higher, I found the outline of a foot, not so small as to awakean ecstasy, but with a suggestion of lightness, elasticity, and grace. If hands were thrust through holes in a boardfence, and nothing of theattached bodies seen, I can easily imagine that some would attract andothers repel us: with footprints the impression is weaker, of course, but we cannot escape it. I am not sure whether I wanted to find theunknown wearer of the boot within my precious personal solitude; I wasafraid I should see her, while passing through the rocky crevice, andyet was disappointed when I found no one. 

But on the flat, warm rock overhanging the tarn--my special throne--laysome withering wild-flowers, and a book! I looked up and down, right andleft: there was not the slightest sign of another human life than mine. Then I lay down for a quarter of an hour, and listened; there were onlythe noises of bird and squirrel, as before. At last I took up the book, the flat breadth of which suggested only sketches. There were, indeed, some tolerable studies of rocks and trees on the first pages; a few notvery striking caricatures, which seemed to have been commenced asportraits, but recalled no faces I knew; then a number of fragmentarynotes, written in pencil. I found no name, from first to last; only, under the sketches, a monogram so complicated and laborious that theinitials could hardly be discovered unless one already knew them. 

The writing was a woman's, but it had surely taken its character fromcertain features of her own: it was clear, firm, individual. It hadnothing of that air of general debility which usually marks themanuscript of young ladies, yet its firmness was far removed from thestiff, conventional slope which all Englishwomen seem to acquire inyouth and retain through life. I don't see how any man in my situationcould have helped reading a few lines--if only for the sake of restoringlost property. But I was drawn on, and on, and finished by reading all:thence, since no further harm could be done, I re-read, pondering overcertain passages until they stayed with me. Here they are, as I set themdown, that evening, on the back of a legal blank:

 "It makes a great deal of difference whether we wear social forms as bracelets or handcuffs. "

 "Can we not still be wholly our independent selves, even while doing, in the main, as others do? I know two who are so; but they are married. "

 "The men who admire these bold, dashing young girls treat them like weaker copies of themselves. And yet they boast of what they call 'experience!'"

 "I wonder if any one felt the exquisite beauty of the noon as I did, to-day? A faint appreciation of sunsets and storms is taught us in youth, and kept alive by novels and flirtations; but the broad, imperial splendor of this summer noon!--and myself standing alone in it--yes, utterly alone!"

 "The men I seek _must_ exist: where are they? How make an acquaintance, when one obsequiously bows himself away, as I advance? The fault is surely not all on my side. "

There was much more, intimate enough to inspire me with a keen interestin the writer, yet not sufficiently so to make my perusal a painfulindiscretion. I yielded to the impulse of the moment, took out mypencil, and wrote a dozen lines on one of the blank pages. They ransomething in this wise:

 "IGNOTUS IGNOTAE!--You have bestowed without intending it, and I have taken without your knowledge. Do not regret the accident which has enriched another. This concealed idyl of the hills was mine, as I supposed, but I acknowledge your equal right to it. Shall we share the possession, or will you banish me?"

There was a frank advance, tempered by a proper caution, I fancied, inthe words I wrote. It was evident that she was unmarried, but outside ofthat certainty there lay a vast range of possibilities, some of themalarming enough. However, if any nearer acquaintance should arise out ofthe incident, the next step must be taken by her. Was I one of the menshe sought? I almost imagined so--certainly hoped so. 

I laid the book on the rock, as I had found it, bestowed another keenscrutiny on the lonely landscape, and then descended the ravine. Thatevening, I went early to the ladies' parlor, chatted more than usualwith the various damsels whom I knew, and watched with a new interestthose whom I knew not. My mind, involuntarily, had already created apicture of the unknown. She might be twenty-five, I thought: areflective habit of mind would hardly be developed before that age. Talland stately, of course; distinctly proud in her bearing, and somewhatreserved in her manners. Why she should have large dark eyes, with longdark lashes, I could not tell; but so I seemed to see her. Quiteforgetting that I was (or had meant to be) _Ignotus_, I found myselfstaring rather significantly at one or the other of the young ladies, inwhom I discovered some slight general resemblance to the imaginarycharacter. My fancies, I must confess, played strange pranks with me. They had been kept in a coop so many years, that now, when I suddenlyturned them loose, their rickety attempts at flight quite bewildered me. 

No! there was no use in expecting a sudden discovery. I went to the glenbetimes, next morning: the book was gone, and so were the faded flowers, but some of the latter were scattered over the top of another rock, afew yards from mine. Ha! this means that I am not to withdraw, I saidto myself: she makes room for me! But how to surprise her?--for by thistime I was fully resolved to make her acquaintance, even though shemight turn out to be forty, scraggy, and sandy-haired. 

I knew no other way so likely as that of visiting the glen at all timesof the day. I even went so far as to write a line of greeting, with aregret that our visits had not yet coincided, and laid it under a stoneon the top of _her_ rock. The note disappeared, but there was no answerin its place. Then I suddenly remembered her fondness for the noonhours, at which time she was "utterly alone. " The hotel _table d'hôte_was at one o'clock, her family, doubtless, dined later, in their ownrooms. Why, this gave me, at least, her place in society! The questionof age, to be sure, remained unsettled; but all else was safe. 

The next day I took a late and large breakfast and sacrificed my dinner. Before noon the guests had all straggled back to the hotel from glen andgrove and lane, so bright and hot was the sunshine. Indeed, I couldhardly have supported the reverberation of heat from the sides of theravine, but for a fixed belief that I should be successful. Whilecrossing the narrow meadow upon which it opened, I caught a glimpse ofsomething white among the thickets higher up. A moment later, it hadvanished, and I quickened my pace, feeling the beginning of an absurdnervous excitement in my limbs. At the next turn, there it was again!but only for another moment. I paused, exulting, and wiped my drenchedforehead. "She cannot escape me!" I murmured between the deep draughtsof cooler air I inhaled in the shadow of a rock. 

A few hundred steps more brought me to the foot of the steep ascent, where I had counted on overtaking her. I was too late for that, but thedry, baked soil had surely been crumbled and dislodged, here and there, by a rapid foot. I followed, in reckless haste, snatching at thelaurel-branches right and left, and paying little heed to my footing. About one third of the way up I slipped, fell, caught a bush whichsnapped at the root, slid, whirled over, and before I fairly knew whathad happened, I was lying doubled up at the bottom of the slope. 

I rose, made two steps forward, and then sat down with a groan of pain;my left ankle was badly sprained, in addition to various minor scratchesand bruises. There was a revulsion of feeling, of course, --instant, complete, and hideous. I fairly hated the Unknown. "Fool that I was!" Iexclaimed, in the theatrical manner, dashing the palm of my hand softlyagainst my brow: "lured to this by the fair traitress! But, no!--notfair: she shows the artfulness of faded, desperate spinsterhood; she isall compact of enamel, 'liquid bloom of youth, ' and hair-dye!"

There was a fierce comfort in this thought, but it couldn't help me outof the scrape. I dared not sit still, lest a sun-stroke should beadded, and there was no resource but to hop or crawl down the ruggedpath, in the hope of finding a forked sapling from which I couldextemporize a crutch. With endless pain and trouble I reached a thicket, and was feebly working on a branch with my penknife, when the sound of aheavy footstep surprised me. 

A brown harvest-hand, in straw hat and shirtsleeves, presently appeared. He grinned when he saw me, and the thick snub of his nose would haveseemed like a sneer at any other time. 

"Are you the gentleman that got hurt?" he asked. "Is it pretty tolerablebad?"

"Who said I was hurt?" I cried in astonishment. 

"One of your town-women fro them hotel--I reckon she was. I was bindingoats, in the field over the ridge; but I haven't lost no time in comin'here. "

While I was stupidly staring at this announcement, he whipped out a bigclasp knife, and in a few minutes fashioned me a practicable crutch. Then, taking me by the other arm, he set me in motion toward thevillage. 

Grateful as I was for the man's help, he aggravated me by his ignorance. When I asked if he knew the lady, he answered: "It's more'n likely _you_know her better. " But where did she come from? Down from the hill, heguessed, but it might ha' been up the road. How did she look? was sheold or young? what was the color of her eyes? of her hair? There, now, Iwas too much for him. When a woman kept one o' them speckled veils overher face, turned her head away and held her parasol between, how wereyou to know her from Adam? I declare to you, I couldn't arrive at onepositive particular. Even when he affirmed that she was tall, he added, the next instant: "Now I come to think on it, she stepped mighty quick;so I guess she must ha' been short. "

By the time we reached the hotel, I was in a state of fever; opiates andlotions had their will of me for the rest of the day. I was glad toescape the worry of questions, and the conventional sympathy expressedin inflections of the voice which are meant to soothe, and onlyexasperate. The next morning, as I lay upon my sofa, restful, patient, and properly cheerful, the waiter entered with a bouquet of wildflowers. 

"Who sent them?" I asked. 

"I found them outside your door, sir. Maybe there's a card; yes, here'sa bit o' paper. "

I opened the twisted slip he handed me, and read: "From your dell--andmine. " I took the flowers; among them were two or three rare andbeautiful varieties, which I had only found in that one spot. Fool, again! I noiselessly kissed, while pretending to smell them, had themplaced on a stand within reach, and fell into a state of quiet andagreeable contemplation. 

Tell me, yourself, whether any male human being is ever too old forsentiment, provided that it strikes him at the right time and in theright way! What did that bunch of wild flowers betoken? Knowledge, first; then, sympathy; and finally, encouragement, at least. Of courseshe had seen my accident, from above; of course she had sent the harvestlaborer to aid me home. It was quite natural she should imagine somespecial romantic interest in the lonely dell, on my part, and the gifttook additional value from her conjecture. 

Four days afterward there was a hop in the large dining-room of thehotel. Early in the morning a fresh bouquet had been left at my door. Iwas tired of my enforced idleness, eager to discover the fair unknown(she was again fair, to my fancy!), and I determined to go down, believing that a cane and a crimson velvet slipper on the left footwould provoke a glance of sympathy from certain eyes, and thus enable meto detect them. 

The fact was, the sympathy was much too general and effusive. Everybody, it seemed, came to me with kindly greetings; seats were vacated at myapproach, even fat Mrs. Huxter insisting on my taking her warm place, atthe head of the room. But Bob Leroy--you know him--as gallant agentleman as ever lived, put me down at the right point, and kept methere. He only meant to divert me, yet gave me the only place where Icould quietly inspect all the younger ladies, as dance or supperbrought them near. 

One of the dances was an old-fashioned cotillon, and one of the figures, the "coquette, " brought every one, in turn, before me. I received apleasant word or two from those whom I knew, and a long, kind, silentglance from Miss May Danvers. Where had been my eyes? She was tall, stately, twenty-five, had large dark eyes, and long dark lashes! Againthe changes of the dance brought her near me; I threw (or strove tothrow) unutterable meanings into my eyes, and cast them upon hers. Sheseemed startled, looked suddenly away, looked back to me, and--blushed. I knew her for what is called "a nice girl"--that is, tolerably frank, gently feminine, and not dangerously intelligent. Was it possible that Ihad overlooked so much character and intellect?

As the cotillon closed, she was again in my neighborhood, and herpartner led her in my direction. I was rising painfully from my chair, when Bob Leroy pushed me down again, whisked another seat fromsomewhere, planted it at my side, and there she was!

She knew who was her neighbor, I plainly saw; but instead of turningtoward me, she began to fan herself in a nervous way and to fidget withthe buttons of her gloves. I grew impatient. 

"Miss Danvers!" I said, at last. 

"Oh!" was all her answer, as she looked at me for a moment. "Where areyour thoughts?" I asked. 

Then she turned, with wide, astonished eyes, coloring softly up to theroots of her hair. My heart gave a sudden leap. 

"How can you tell, if I cannot?" she asked. 

"May I guess?"

She made a slight inclination of the head, saying nothing. I was thenquite sure. 

"The second ravine, to the left of the main drive?"

This time she actually started; her color became deeper, and a leaf ofthe ivory fan snapped between her fingers. 

"Let there be no more a secret!" I exclaimed. "Your flowers have broughtme your messages; I knew I should find you"--

Full of certainty, I was speaking in a low, impassioned voice. She cutme short by rising from her seat; I felt that she was both angry andalarmed. Fisher, of Philadelphia, jostling right and left in his haste, made his way toward her. She fairly snatched his arm, clung to it with awarmth I had never seen expressed in a ball-room, and began to whisperin his ear. It was not five minutes before he came to me, alone, with avery stern face, bent down, and said:

"If you have discovered our secret, you will keep silent. You arecertainly a gentleman. "

I bowed coldly and savagely. There was a draft from the open window; myankle became suddenly weary and painful, and I went to bed. Can youbelieve that I didn't guess, immediately, what it all meant? In a vagueway, I fancied that I had been premature in my attempt to drop ourmutual incognito, and that Fisher, a rival lover, was jealous of me. This was rather flattering than otherwise; but when I limped down to theladies' parlor, the next day, no Miss Danvers was to be seen. I did notventure to ask for her; it might seem importunate, and a woman of somuch hidden capacity was evidently not to be wooed in the ordinary way. 

So another night passed by; and then, with the morning, came a letterwhich made me feel, at the same instant, like a fool and a hero. It hadbeen dropped in the Wampsocket post-office, was legibly addressed to me, and delivered with some other letters which had arrived by the nightmail. Here it is; listen!

 "NOTO IGNOTA!--Haste is not a gift of the gods, and you have been impatient, with the usual result, I was almost prepared for this, and thus am not wholly disappointed. In a day or two more you will discover your mistake, which, so far as I can learn, has done no particular harm. If you wish to find _me_, there is only one way to seek me; should I tell you what it is, I should run the risk of losing you, --that is, I should preclude the manifestation of a certain quality which I hope to find in the man who may--or, rather, must--be my friend. This sounds enigmatical, yet you have read enough of my nature, as written in these random notes in my sketch-book, to guess, at least, how much I require. Only this let me add: mere guessing is useless. 

 "Being unknown, I can write freely. If you find me, I shall be justified; if not, I shall hardly need to blush, even to myself, over a futile experiment. 

 "It is possible for me to learn enough of your life, henceforth, to direct my relation toward you. This may be the end; if so, I shall know it soon. I shall also know whether you continue to seek me. Trusting in your honor as a man, I must ask you to trust in mine, as a woman. "

 * * * * *

I _did_ discover my mistake, as the Unknown promised. There had been asecret betrothal between Fisher and Miss Danvers; and singularly enough, the momentous question and answer had been given in the very ravineleading to my upper dell! The two meant to keep the matter tothemselves, but therein, it seems, I thwarted them; there was a littleopposition on the part of their respective families, but all wasamicably settled before I left Wampsocket. 

The letter made a very deep impression upon me. What was the one way tofind her? What could it be but the triumph that follows ambitioustoil--the manifestation of all my best qualities, as a man? Be she oldor young, plain or beautiful, I reflected, hers is surely a nature worthknowing, and its candid intelligence conceals no hazards for me. I havesought her rashly, blundered, betrayed that I set her lower, in mythoughts, than her actual self: let me now adopt the opposite course, seek her openly no longer, go back to my tasks, and, following my ownaims vigorously and cheerfully, restore that respect which she seemed tobe on the point of losing. For, consciously or not, she had communicatedto me a doubt, implied in the very expression of her own strength andpride. She had meant to address me as an equal, yet, despite herself, took a stand a little above that which she accorded to me. 

I came back to New York earlier than usual, worked steadily at myprofession and with increasing success, and began to acceptopportunities (which I had previously declined) of making myselfpersonally known to the great, impressible, fickle, tyrannical public. One or two of my speeches in the hall of the Cooper Institute, onvarious occasions--as you may perhaps remember--gave me a good headwaywith the party, and were the chief cause of my nomination for the Stateoffice which I still hold. (There, on the table, lies a resignation, written to-day, but not yet signed. We'll talk of it afterwards. )

Several months passed by, and no further letter reached me. I gave upmuch of my time to society, moved familiarly in more than one provinceof the kingdom here, and vastly extended my acquaintance, especiallyamong the women; but not one of them betrayed the mysterious somethingor other--really I can't explain precisely what it was!--which I waslooking for. In fact, the more I endeavored quietly to study the sex, the more confused I became. 

At last I was subjected to the usual onslaught from the strong-minded. Asmall but formidable committee entered my office one morning anddemanded a categorical declaration of my principles. What my views onthe subject were, I knew very well; they were clear and decided; andyet, I hesitated to declare them! It wasn't a temptation of SaintAnthony--that is, turned the other way--and the belligerent attitude ofthe dames did not alarm me in the least; but _she!_ What was _her_position? How could I best please her? It flashed upon my mind, whileMrs. ---- was making her formal speech, that I had taken no step formonths without a vague, secret reference to _her_. So, I strove to becourteous, friendly, and agreeably non-committal; begged for furtherdocuments, and promised to reply by letter, in a few days. 

I was hardly surprised to find the well-known hand on the envelope of aletter, shortly afterwards. I held it for a minute in my palm, with anabsurd hope that I might sympathetically feel its character, beforebreaking the seal. Then I read it with a great sense of relief. 

 "I have never assumed to guide a man, except toward the full exercise of his powers. It is not opinion in action, but opinion in a state of idleness or indifference, which repels me. I am deeply glad that you have gained so much since you left the country. If, in shaping your course, you have thought of me, I will frankly say that, _to that extent_, you have drawn nearer. Am I mistaken in conjecturing that you wish to know my relation to the movement concerning which you were recently interrogated? In this, as in other instances which may come, I must beg you to consider me only as a spectator. The more my own views may seem likely to sway your action, the less I shall be inclined to declare them. If you find this cold or unwomanly, remember that it is not easy!"

Yes! I felt that I had certainly drawn much nearer to her. And from thistime on, her imaginary face and form became other than they were. Shewas twenty-eight--three years older; a very little above the middleheight, but not tall; serene, rather than stately, in her movements;with a calm, almost grave face, relieved by the sweetness of the full, firm lips; and finally eyes of pure, limpid gray, such as we fancybelonged to the Venus of Milo. I found her, thus, much more attractivethan with the dark eyes and lashes--but she did not make her appearancein the circles which I frequented. 

Another year slipped away. As an official personage, my importanceincreased, but I was careful not to exaggerate it to myself. Many havewondered (perhaps you among the rest) at my success, seeing that Ipossess no remarkable abilities. If I have any secret, it is simplythis--doing faithfully, with all my might, whatever I undertake. Ninetenths of our politicians become inflated and careless, after the firstfew years, and are easily forgotten when they once lose place. I am alittle surprised, now, that I had so much patience with the Unknown. Iwas too important, at least, to be played with; too mature to besubjected to a longer test; too earnest, as I had proved, to be doubted, or thrown aside without a further explanation. 

Growing tired, at last, of silent waiting, I bethought me ofadvertising. A carefully-written "Personal, " in which _Ignotus_ informed_Ignota_ of the necessity of his communicating with her, appearedsimultaneously in the Tribune, Herald, World, and Times. I renewed theadvertisement as the time expired without an answer, and I think it wasabout the end of the third week before one came, through the post, asbefore. 

Ah, yes! I had forgotten. See! my advertisement is pasted on the note, as a heading or motto for the manuscript lines. I don't know why theprinted slip should give me a particular feeling of humiliation as Ilook at it, but such is the fact. What she wrote is all I need read toyou:

 "I could not, at first, be certain that this was meant for me. If I were to explain to you why I have not written for so long a time, I might give you one of the few clews which I insist on keeping in my own hands. In your public capacity, you have been (so far as a woman may judge) upright, independent, wholly manly: in your relations with other men I learn nothing of you that is not honorable: toward women you are kind, chivalrous, no doubt, overflowing with the _usual_ social refinements, but--Here, again, I run hard upon the absolute necessity of silence. The way to me, if you care to traverse it, is so simple, so very simple! Yet, after what I have written, I cannot even wave my hand in the direction of it, without certain self-contempt. When I feel free to tell you, we shall draw apart and remain unknown forever. 

 "You desire to write? I do not prohibit it. I have heretofore made no arrangement for hearing from you, in turn, because I could not discover that any advantage would accrue from it. But it seems only fair, I confess, and you dare not think me capricious. So, three days hence, at six o'clock in the evening, a trusty messenger of mine will call at your door. If you have anything to give her for me, the act of giving it must be the sign of a compact on your part, that you will allow her to leave immediately, unquestioned and unfollowed. "

You look puzzled, I see: you don't catch the real drift of her words?Well--that's a melancholy encouragement. Neither did I, at the time: itwas plain that I had disappointed her in some way, and my intercoursewith, or manner toward, women, had something to do with it. In vain Iran over as much of my later social life as I could recall. There hadbeen no special attention, nothing to mislead a susceptible heart; onthe other side, certainly no rudeness, no want of "chivalrous" (she usedthe word!) respect and attention. What, in the name of all the gods, wasthe matter?

In spite of all my efforts to grow clearer, I was obliged to write myletter in a rather muddled state of mind. I had _so_ much to say!sixteen folio pages, I was sure, would only suffice for an introductionto the case; yet, when the creamy vellum lay before me and the moist pendrew my fingers toward it, I sat stock dumb for half an hour. I wrote, finally, in a half-desperate mood, without regard to coherency or logic. Here's a rough draft of a part of the letter, and a single passage fromit will be enough:

 "I can conceive of no simpler way to you than the knowledge of your name and address. I have drawn airy images of you, but they do not become incarnate, and I am not sure that I should recognize you in the brief moment of passing. Your nature is not of those which are instantly legible. As an abstract power, it has wrought in my life and it continually moves my heart with desires which are unsatisfactory because so vague and ignorant. Let me offer you, personally, my gratitude, my earnest friendship: you would laugh if I were _now_ to offer more. "

Stay! here is another fragment, more reckless in tone:

 "I want to find the woman whom I can love--who can love me. But this is a masquerade where the features are hidden, the voice disguised, even the hands grotesquely gloved. Come! I will venture more than I ever thought was possible to me. You shall know my deepest nature as I myself seem to know it. Then, give me the commonest chance of learning yours, through an intercourse which shall leave both free, should we not feel the closing of the inevitable bond!"

After I had written that, the pages filled rapidly. When the appointedhour arrived, a bulky epistle, in a strong linen envelope, sealed withfive wax seals, was waiting on my table. Precisely at six there was anannouncement: the door opened, and a little outside, in the shadow, Isaw an old woman, in a threadbare dress of rusty black. 

"Come in!" I said. 

"The letter!" answered a husky voice. She stretched out a bony hand, without moving a step. 

"It is for a lady--very important business, " said I, taking up theletter; "are you sure that there is no mistake?"

She drew her hand under the shawl, turned without a word, and movedtoward the hall door. 

"Stop!" I cried; "I beg a thousand pardons! Take it--take it! You arethe right messenger!"

She clutched it, and was instantly gone. 

Several days passed, and I gradually became so nervous and uneasy that Iwas on the point of inserting another "Personal" in the daily papers, when the answer arrived. It was brief and mysterious; you shall hearthe whole of it. 

 "I thank you. Your letter is a sacred confidence which I pray you never to regret. Your nature is sound and good. You ask no more than is reasonable, and I have no real right to refuse. In the one respect which I have hinted, _I_ may have been unskilful or too narrowly cautious: I must have the certainty of this. Therefore, as a generous favor, give me six months more! At the end of that time I will write to you again. Have patience with these brief lines: another word might be a word too much. "

You notice the change in her tone? The letter gave me the strongestimpression of a new, warm, almost anxious interest on her part. Myfancies, as first at Wampsocket, began to play all sorts of singularpranks: sometimes she was rich and of an old family, sometimesmoderately poor and obscure, but always the same calm, reposeful faceand clear gray eyes. I ceased looking for her in society, quite surethat I should not find her, and nursed a wild expectation of suddenlymeeting her, face to face, in the most unlikely places and understartling circumstances. However, the end of it all waspatience--patience for six months. 

There's not much more to tell; but this last letter is hard for me toread. It came punctually, to a day. I knew it would, and at the last Ibegan to dread the time, as if a heavy note were falling due, and I hadno funds to meet it. My head was in a whirl when I broke the seal. Thefact in it stared at me blankly, at once, but it was a long time beforethe words and sentences became intelligible. 

 "The stipulated time has come, and our hidden romance is at an end. Had I taken this resolution a year ago, it would have saved me many vain hopes, and you, perhaps, a little uncertainty. Forgive me, first, if you can, and then hear the explanation!

 "You wished for a personal interview: _you have had, not one, but many_. We have met, in society, talked face to face, discussed the weather, the opera, toilettes, Queechy, Aurora Floyd, Long Branch and Newport, and exchanged a weary amount of fashionable gossip; and you never guessed that I was governed by any deeper interest! I have purposely uttered ridiculous platitudes, and you were as smilingly courteous as if you enjoyed them: I have let fall remarks whose hollowness and selfishness could not have escaped you, and have waited in vain for a word of sharp, honest, manly reproof. Your manner to me was unexceptionable, as it was to all other women: but there lies the source of my disappointment, of--yes--of my sorrow!

 "You appreciate, I cannot doubt, the qualities in woman which men value in one another--culture, independence of thought, a high and earnest apprehension of life; but you know not how to seek them. It is not true that a mature and unperverted woman is flattered by receiving only the general obsequiousness which most men give to the whole sex. In the man who contradicts and strives with her, she discovers a truer interest, a nobler respect. The empty-headed, spindle-shanked youths who dance admirably, understand something of billiards, much less of horses, and still less of navigation, soon grow inexpressibly wearisome to us; but the men who adopt their social courtesy, never seeking to arouse, uplift, instruct us, are a bitter disappointment. 

 "What would have been the end, had you really found me? Certainly a sincere, satisfying friendship. No mysterious magnetic force has drawn you to me or held you near me, nor has my experiment inspired me with an interest which cannot be given up without a personal pang. I am grieved, for the sake of all men and all women. Yet, understand me! I mean no slightest reproach. I esteem and honor you for what you are. Farewell!"

There. Nothing could be kinder in tone, nothing more humiliating insubstance. I was sore and offended for a few days; but I soon began tosee, and ever more and more clearly, that she was wholly right. I wassure, also, that any further attempt to correspond with her would bevain. It all comes of taking society just as we find it, and supposingthat conventional courtesy is the only safe ground on which men andwomen can meet. 

The fact is--there's no use in hiding it from myself (and I see, byyour face, that the letter cuts into your own conscience)--she is afree, courageous, independent character, and--I am not. 

But who _was_ she?

THE DOCUMENTS IN THE CASE. 

BY BRANDER MATTHEWS AND H. C. BUNNER. 

PART FIRST:

DOCUMENT NO. I. 

_Paragraph from the "Illustrated London News, " published under the headof "Obituary of Eminent Persons" in the issue of January 4th, 1879:_

SIR WILLIAM BEAUVOIR, BART. 

Sir William Beauvoir, Bart. , whose lamented death has just occurred atBrighton, on December 28th, was the head and representative of thejunior branch of the very ancient and honourable family of Beauvoir, andwas the only son of the late General Sir William Beauvoir, Bart. , by hiswife Anne, daughter of Colonel Doyle, of Chelsworth Cottage, Suffolk. He was born in 1805, and was educated at Eton and Trinity Hall, Cambridge. He was M. P. For Lancashire from 1837 to 1847, and wasappointed a Gentleman of the Privy Chamber in 1843. Sir William married, in 1826, Henrietta Georgiana, fourth daughter of the Right HonourableAdolphus Liddell, Q. C. , by whom he had two sons, William Beauvoir andOliver Liddell Beauvoir. The latter was with his lamented parent when hedied. Of the former nothing has been heard for nearly thirty years, about which time he left England suddenly for America. It is supposedthat he went to California, shortly after the discovery of gold. Muchforgotten gossip will now in all probability be revived, for the will ofthe lamented baronet has been proved, on the 2d inst. , and thepersonalty sworn under £70, 000. The two sons are appointed executors. The estate in Lancashire is left to the elder, and the rest is dividedequally between the brothers. The doubt as to the career of SirWilliam's eldest son must now of course be cleared up. 

This family of Beauvoirs is of Norman descent and of great antiquity. This is the younger branch, founded in the last century by Sir WilliamBeauvoir, Bart. , who was Chief Justice of the Canadas, whence he wasgranted the punning arms and motto now borne by his descendants--abeaver sable rampant on a field gules; motto, "Damno. "

PART SECOND:

DOCUMENT NO. 2. 

_Promises to pay, put forth by William Beauvoir, junior, at varioustimes in 1848:_

 I. O. U £105. 0. 0 April 10th, 1848. William Beauvoir, junr. 

DOCUMENT NO. 3. 

_The same_. 

 I. O. U £250. 0. 0 April 22d, 1848. William Beauvoir, junr. 

DOCUMENT NO. 4. 

_The same. _

 I. O. U. £600. 0. 0. May 10th, 1848. William Beauvoir, junr. 

DOCUMENT NO. 5. 

_Extract from the "Sunday Satirist, " a journal of high-life, publishedin London, May 13th, 1848:_

Are not our hereditary lawmakers and the members of our old families theguardians of the honour of this realm? One would not think so to see thereckless gait at which some of them go down the road to ruin. The D----eof D----m and the E----l of B----n and L----d Y----g, --are not thesepretty guardians of a nation's name? _Quis custodiet?_ etc. Guardians, forsooth, _parce qu'ils se sont donnés la peine de naître_! Some of thegentry make the running as well as their betters. Young W----m B----r, son of old Sir W----m B----r, late M. P. For L----e, is truly a modelyoung man. He comes of a good old county family--his mother was adaughter of the Right Honourable A----s L----l, and he himself is oldenough to know better. But we hear of his escapades night after night, and day after day. He bets all day and he plays all night, and poortired nature has to make the best of it. And his poor worn purse getsthe worst of it. He has duns by the score. His I. O. U. 's are held byevery Jew in the city. He is not content with a little gentlemanlikegame of whist or _écarté_, but he must needs revive for his especial useand behoof the dangerous and well-nigh forgotten _pharaoh_. As luckwould have it, he had lost as much at this game of brute chance as everhe would at any game of skill. His judgment of horseflesh is no betterthan his luck at cards. He came a cropper over the "Two ThousandGuineas. " The victory of the favorite cost him to the tune of over sixthousand pounds. We learn that he hopes to recoup himself on the Derby, by backing Shylock for nearly nine thousand pounds; one bet was twelvehundred guineas. 

And this is the sort of man who may be chosen at any time by force offamily interest to make laws for the toiling millions of Great Britain!

DOCUMENT NO. 6. 

_Extract from "Bell's Life" of May 19th, 1848:_

THE DERBY DAY. 

WEDNESDAY. --This day, like its predecessor, opened with a cloudless sky, and the throng which crowded the avenues leading to the grand scene ofattraction was, as we have elsewhere remarked, incalculable. 

 * * * * *

THE DERBY. 

The Derby Stakes of 50 sovs. Each, h. Ft. For three year-olds; colts, 8st. 7 lb. , fillies, 8 st. 2 lb. ; the second to receive 100 sovs. , andthe winner to pay 100 sovs. Towards police, etc. ; mile and a half on thenew Derby course; 215 subs. 

 Lord Clifden's b. C. _Surplice_, by Touchstone.......... 1 Mr. Bowe's b. C. _Springy Jack_, by Hetman.............. 2 Mr. B. Green's br. C. _Shylock_, by Simoon.............. 3 Mr. Payne's b. C. _Glendower_, by Slane............... O Mr. J. P. Day's b. C. _Nil Desperandum_, by Venison...... O

 * * * * *

DOCUMENT NO. 7. 

_Paragraph of Shipping Intelligence from the "Liverpool Courier" of June21st, 1848:_

The bark _Euterpe_, Captain Riding, belonging to the TransatlanticClipper Line of Messrs. Judkins & Cooke, left the Mersey yesterdayafternoon, bound for New York. She took out the usual complement ofsteerage passengers. The first officer's cabin is occupied by ProfessorTitus Peebles, M. R. C. S. , M. R. G. S. , lately instructor in metallurgy atthe University of Edinburgh, and Mr. William Beauvoir. ProfessorPeebles, we are informed, has an important scientific mission in theStates, and will not return for six months. 

DOCUMENT NO. 8. 

_Paragraph from the "N. Y. Herald" of September 9th, 1848:_

While we well know that the record of vice and dissipation can never bepleasing to the refined tastes of the cultivated denizens of the onlymorally pure metropolis on the face of the earth, yet it may be ofinterest to those who enjoy the fascinating study of human folly andfrailty to "point a moral or adorn a tale" from the events transpiringin our very midst. Such as these will view with alarm the sad exampleafforded the youth of our city by the dissolute career of a young lumpof aristocratic affectation and patrician profligacy, recently arrivedin this city. This young _gentleman's_ (save the mark!) name is LordWilliam F. Beauvoir, the latest scion of a venerable and wealthy Englishfamily. We print the full name of this beautiful exemplar of "haughtyAlbion, " although he first appeared among our citizens under the aliasof Beaver, by which name he is now generally known, although recorded onthe books of the Astor House by the name which our enterprise firstgives to the public. Lord Beauvoir's career since his arrival here hasbeen one of unexampled extravagance and mad immorality. His days andnights have been passed in the gilded palaces of the fickle goddess, Fortune, in Thomas Street and College Place, where he has squanderedfabulous sums, by some stated to amount to over £78, 000 sterling. It issatisfactory to know that retribution has at last overtaken him. Hisenormous income has been exhausted to the ultimate farthing, and atlatest accounts he had quit the city, leaving behind him, it is shrewdlysuspected, a large hotel bill, though no such admission can be extortedfrom his last landlord, who is evidently a sycophantic adulator ofBritish "aristocracy. "

DOCUMENT NO. 9. 

_Certificate of deposit, vulgarly known as a pawn-ticket, issued by oneSimpson to William Beauvoir, December 2d, 1848:_

 =John Simpson, Loan Office, 36 Bowery, New York. =

 _Dec. 2nd, 1848_, _One Gold Hunting-case Watch and_ Dolls. Cts. 

 _Chain 150 00_

 _William Beauvoir_

 Not accountable in case of fire, damage, moth, robbery, breakage, &c. 25% per ann. Good for 1 year only. 

DOCUMENT NO. 10. 

_Letter from the late John Phoenix, found among the posthumous papers ofthe late John P. Squibob, and promptly published in the "San DiegoHerald":_

 OFF THE COAST OF FLORIDA, Jan. 3, 1849. 

 MY DEAR SQUIB:--I imagine your pathetic inquiry as to my whereabouts--pathetic, not to say hypothetic--for I am now where I cannot hear the dulcet strains of your voice. I am on board ship. I am half seas over. I am bound for California by way of the Isthmus. I am going for the gold, my boy, the gold. In the mean time I am lying around loose on the deck of this magnificent vessel, the _Mercy G. Tarbox, _ of Nantucket, bred by _Noah's Ark_ out of _Pilot-boat, _ dam by _Mudscow_ out of _Raging Canawl. _ The _Mercy G. Tarbox_ is one of the best boats of Nantucket, and Captain Clearstarch is one of the best captains all along shore--although, friend Squibob, I feel sure that you are about to observe that a captain with a name like that would give any one the blues. But don't do it, Squib! Spare me this once. 

 But as a matter of fact this ultramarine joke of yours is about east. It was blue on the _Mercy G. --_mighty blue, too. And it needed the inspiring hope of the gold I was soon to pick up in nuggets to stiffen my back-bone to a respectable degree of rigidity. I was about ready to wilt. But I discovered two Englishmen on board, and now I get along all right. We have formed a little temperance society--just we three, you know--to see if we cannot, by a course of sampling and severe study, discover which of the captain's liquors is most dangerous, so that we can take the pledge not to touch it. One of them is a chemist or a metallurgist, or something scientific. The other is a gentleman. 

 The chemist or metallurgist or something scientific is Professor Titus Peebles, who is going out to prospect for gold. He feels sure that his professional training will give him the inside track in the gulches and gold mines. He is a smart chap. He invented the celebrated "William Riley Baking Powder"--bound to rise up every time. 

 And here I must tell you a little circumstance. As I was coming down to the dock in New York, to go aboard the _Mercy G. , _ a small boy was walloping a boy still smaller; so I made peace, and walloped them both. And then they both began heaving rocks at me--one of which I caught dexterously in the dexter hand. Yesterday, as I was pacing the deck with the professor, I put my hand in my pocket and found this stone. So I asked the professor what it was. 

 He looked at it and said it was gneiss. 

 "Is it?" said I. "Well, if a small but energetic youth had taken you on the back of the head with it, you would not think it so nice!"

 And then, O Squib, he set out to explain that he meant "gneiss, " not "nice!" The ignorance of these English about a joke is really wonderful. It is easy to see that they have never been brought up on them. But perhaps there was some excuse for the professor that day, for he was the president _pro tem. _ of our projected temperance society, and as such he head been making a quantitative and qualitative analysis of another kind of quartz. 

 So much for the chemist or metallurgist or something scientific. The gentleman and I get on better. His name is Beaver, which he persists in spelling Beauvoir. Ridiculous, isn't it? How easy it is to see that the English have never had the advantage of a good common-school education--so few of them can spell. Here's a man don't know how to spell his own name. And this shows how the race over there on the little island is degenerating. It was not so in other days. Shakspere, for instance, not only knew how to spell his own name, but--and this is another proof of his superiority to his contemporaries--he could spell it in half a dozen different ways. 

 This Beaver is a clever fellow, and we get on first rate together. He is going to California for gold--like the rest of us. But I think he has had his share--and spent it. At any rate he has not much now. I have been teaching him poker, and I am afraid he won't have any soon. I have an idea he has been going pretty fast--and mostly down hill. But he has his good points. He is a gentleman all through, as you can see. Yes, friend Squibob, even you could see right through him. We are all going to California together, and I wonder which one of the three will turn up trumps first--Beaver, or the chemist, metallurgist or something scientific, or

 Yours respectfully, JOHN PHOENIX. 

 P. S. You think this a stupid letter, perhaps, and not interesting. Just reflect on my surroundings. Besides, the interest will accumulate a good while before you get the missive. And I don't know how you ever are to get it, for there is no post-office near here, and on the Isthmus the mails are as uncertain as the females are everywhere. (I am informed that there is no postage on old jokes--so I let that stand. ) J. P. 

DOCUMENT NO. 11. 

_Extract from the "Bone Gulch Palladium, " June 3d, 1850:_

Our readers may remember how frequently we have declared our firm beliefin the future unexampled prosperity of Bone Gulch. We saw it in theimmediate future the metropolis of the Pacific Slope, as it was intendedby nature to be. We pointed out repeatedly that a time would come whenBone Gulch would be an emporium of the arts and sciences and of the bestsociety, even more than it is now. We foresaw the time when the best menfrom the old cities of the East would come flocking to us, passing withcontempt the puny settlement of Deadhorse. But even we did not so soonsee that members of the aristocracy of the effete monarchies of despoticEurope would acknowledge the undeniable advantages of Bone Gulch, andcome here to stay permanently and forever. Within the past week we havereceived here Hon. William Beaver, one of the first men of Great Britainand Ireland, a statesman, an orator, a soldier and an extensivetraveller. He has come to Bone Gulch as the best spot on the face of theeverlasting universe. It is needless to say that our prominent citizenshave received him with great cordiality. Bone Gulch is not likeDeadhorse. We know a gentleman when we see one. 

Hon. Mr. Beaver is one of nature's noblemen; he is also related to theRoyal Family of England. He is a second cousin of the Queen, and boardsat the Tower of London with her when at home. We are informed that hehas frequently taken the Prince of Wales out for a ride in hisbaby-wagon. 

We take great pleasure in congratulating Bone Gulch on its latestacquisition. And we know Hon. Mr. Beaver is sure to get along all righthere under the best climate in the world and with the noblest men thesun ever shone on. 

DOCUMENT NO. 12. 

_Extract from the Dead Horse "Gazette and Courier of Civilization" ofAugust 26th, 1850:_

BONEGULCH'S BRITISHER. 

Bonegulch sits in sackcloth and ashes and cools her mammoth cheek in thebreezes of Colorado canyon. The self-styled Emporium of the West haslost her British darling, Beaver Bill, the big swell who was firstcousin to the Marquis of Buckingham and own grandmother to the Emperorof China, the man with the biled shirt and low-necked shoes. This curleddarling of the Bonegulch aristocrat-worshippers passed through Deadhorseyesterday, clean bust. Those who remember how the four-fingered editorof the Bonegulch "Palladium" pricked up his ears and lifted up hisfalsetto crow when this lovely specimen of the British snob firsthonored him by striking him for a $ will appreciate the point of thejoke. 

It is said that the "Palladium" is going to come out, when it makes itsnext semi-occasional appearance, in full mourning, with turned rules. For this festive occasion we offer Brother B. The use of our lateretired Spanish font, which we have discarded for the new and elegantdress in which we appear to-day, and to which we have elsewhere calledthe attention of our readers. It will be a change for the "Palladium's"eleven unhappy readers, who are getting very tired of the old type castfor the Concha Mission in 1811, which tries to make up for its lack ofw's by a plentiful superfluity of greaser u's. How are you, BrotherBiles?

"We don't know a gent when we see him. " Oh no(?)!

DOCUMENT NO. 13. 

_Paragraph from "Police Court Notes, " in the "New Centreville [late DeadHorse] Evening Gazette" January 2d, 1858:_

HYMENEAL HIGH JINKS. 

William Beaver, better known ten years ago as "Beaver Bill, " is now aquiet and prosperous agriculturalist in the Steal Valley. He was, however, a pioneer in the 1849 movement, and a vivid memory of this factat times moves him to quit his bucolic labors and come in town for areal old-fashioned tare. He arrived in New Centreville during Christmasweek; and got married suddenly, but not unexpectedly, yesterday morning. His friends took it upon themselves to celebrate the joyful occasion, rare in the experience of at least one of the parties, by getting veryhigh on Irish Ike's whiskey and serenading the newly-married couple withfish-horns, horse-fiddles, and other improvised musical instruments. Sixof the participators in this epithalamial serenade, namely, José Tanco, Hiram Scuttles, John P. Jones, Hermann Bumgardner, Jean Durant("Frenchy"), and Bernard McGinnis ("Big Barney"), were taken in tow bythe police force, assisted by citizens, and locked up over night, tocool their generous enthusiasm in the gloomy dungeons of JusticeSkinner's calaboose. This morning all were discharged with a reprimand, except Big Barney and José Tanco, who, being still drunk, were allottedten days in default of $10. The bridal pair left this noon for thebridegroom's ranch. 

DOCUMENT NO. 14. 

_Extract from "The New York Herald" for June 23d, 1861:_

 THE RED SKINS. 

 A BORDER WAR AT LAST!

 INDIAN INSURRECTION!

 RED DEVILS RISING!

 WOMEN AND CHILDREN SEEKING SAFETY IN THE LARGER TOWNS. 

 HORRIBLE HOLOCAUSTS ANTICIPATED. 

 BURYING THE HATCHET--IN THE WHITE MAN'S HEAD. 

[SPECIAL DESPATCH TO THE NEW YORK HERALD. ]

CHICAGO, June 22, 1861. 

Great uneasiness exists all along the Indian frontier. Nearly all theregular troops have been withdrawn from the West for service in theSouth. With the return of the warm weather it seems certain that the redskins will take advantage of the opportunity thus offered, andinaugurate a bitter and vindictive fight against the whites. Rumors comefrom the agencies that the Indians are leaving in numbers. A feverishexcitement among them has been easily to be detected. Their ponies arenow in good condition, and forage can soon be had in abundance on theprairie, if it is not already. Everything points toward a sudden andstartling outbreak of hostilities. 

[SPECIAL DESPATCH TO THE NEW YORK HERALD. ]

ST. PAUL, June 22, 1861. 

The Sioux near here are all in a ferment. Experienced Indian fighterssay the signs of a speedy going on the war-path are not to be mistaken. No one can tell how soon the whole frontier may be in a bloody blaze. The women and children are rapidly coming in from all exposedsettlements. Nothing overt as yet has transpired, but that the Indianswill collide very soon with the settlers is certain. All the troops havebeen withdrawn. In our defenceless state there is no knowing how manylives may be lost before the regiments of volunteers now organizing cantake the field. 

 LATER. 

 THE WAR BEGUN. 

 FIRST BLOOD FOR THE INDIANS. 

 THE SCALPING KNIFE AND THE TOMAHAWK AT WORK AGAIN. 

[SPECIAL DESPATCH TO THE NEW YORK HERALD. ]

BLACK WING AGENCY, June 22, 1861. 

The Indians made a sudden and unexpected attack on the town of CoyoteHill, forty miles from here, last night, and did much damage before thesurprised settlers rallied and drove them off. The red skins met withheavy losses. Among the whites killed are a man named William Beaver, sometimes called Beaver Bill, and his wife. Their child, a beautifullittle girl of two, was carried off by the red rascals. A party has beenmade up to pursue them. Owing to their taking their wounded with them, the trail is very distinct. 

DOCUMENT NO. 15. 

_Letter from Mrs. Edgar Saville, in San Francisco, to Mr. Edgar Saville, in Chicago:_

 CAL. JARDINE'S

 Monster Variety and Dramatic Combination. 

 ON THE ROAD. 

 _G. W. K. McCULLUM, Treasurer HI. SAMUELS, Stage Manager. FNO. SHANKS, Advance_. 

 _No dates filled except with first-class houses. 

 Hall owners will please consider silence a polite negative. _

 SAN FRANCISCO, January 29, 1863. 

 MY DEAR OLD MAN!--Here we are in our second week at Frisco and you will be glad to know playing to steadily increasing biz, having signed for two weeks more, certain. I didn't like to mention it when I wrote you last, but things were very queer after we left Denver, and "Treasury" was a mockery till we got to Bluefoot Springs, which is a mining town, where we showed in the hotel dining-room. Then there was a strike just before the curtain went up. The house was mostly miners in red shirts and very exacting. The sinews were forthcoming very quick my dear, and after that the ghost walked quite regular. So now everything is bright, and you wont have to worry if Chicago doesn't do the right thing by you. 

 I don't find this engagement half as disagreeable as I expected. Of course it aint so very nice travelling in a combination with variety talent but they keep to themselves and we regular professionals make a _happy family_ that Barnum would not be ashamed of and quite separate and comfortable. We don't associate with any of them only with The Unique Mulligans wife, because he beats her. So when he is on a regular she sleeps with me. 

 And talking of liquor dear old man, if you knew how glad and proud I was to see you writing so straight and steady and beautiful in your three last letters. O, Im sure my darling if the boys thought of the little wife out on the road they wouldnt plague you so with the Enemy. Tell Harry Atkinson this from me, he has a good kind heart but he is the worst of your friends. Every night when I am dressing I think of you at Chicago, and pray you may never again go on the way you did that terrible night at Rochester. Tell me dear, did you look handsome in Horatio? You ought to have had Laertes instead of that duffing Merivale. 

 And now I have the queerest thing to tell you. Jardine is going in for Indians and has secured six very ugly ones. I mean real Indians, not professional. They are hostile Comanshies or something who have just laid down their arms. They had an insurrection in the first year of the War, when the troops went East, and they killed all the settlers and ranches and destroyed the canyons somewhere out in Nevada, and when they were brought here they had a wee little kid with them only four or five years old, but _so sweet. _ They stole her and killed her parents and brought her up for their own in the cunningest little moccasins. She could not speak a word of English except her own name which is Nina. She has blue eyes and all her second teeth. The ladies here made a great fuss about her and sent her flowers and worsted afgans, but they did not do anything else for her and left her to us. 

 O dear old man you must let me have her! You never refused me a thing yet and she is so like our Avonia Marie that my heart almost breaks when she puts her arms around my neck--_she calls me mamma already. _ I want to have her with us when we get the little farm--and it must be near, that little farm of ours--we have waited for it so long--and something tells me my own old faker will make his hit soon and be great. You cant tell how I have loved it and hoped for it and how real every foot of that farm is to me. And though I can never see my own darling's face among the roses it will make me so happy to see this poor dead mothers pet get red and rosy in the country air. And till the farm comes we shall always have enough for her, without your ever having to black up again as you did for me the winter I was sick my own poor boy!

 Write me yes--you will be glad when you see her. And now love and regards to Mrs. Barry and all friends. Tell the Worst of Managers that he knows where to find his leading juvenile for next season. Think how funny it would be for us to play together next year--we havent done it since '57--the third year we were married. That was my first season higher than walking--and now I'm quite an old woman--most thirty dear!

 Write me soon a letter like that last one--and send a kiss to Nina--_our Nina. _

 Your own girl, MARY. 

 P. S. He has not worried me since. 

[Illustration: Nina drew this herself she says it is a horse so that youcan get here soon. ]

PART THIRD:

DOCUMENT NO. 16. 

_Letter from Messrs. Throstlethwaite, Throstlethwaite and Dick, Solicitors, Lincoln's Inn, London, England, to Messrs. Hitchcock and VanRensselaer, Attorneys and Counsellors at Law, 76 Broadway, New York, U. S. A. _

 January 8, 1879. 

 Messrs. HITCHCOCK & VAN RENSSELAER:

 GENTLEMEN: On the death of our late client, Sir William Beauvoir, Bart. , and after the reading of the deceased gentleman's will, drawn up nearly forty years ago by our Mr. Dick, we were requested by Oliver Beauvoir, Esq. , the second son of the late Sir William, to assist him in discovering and communicating with his elder brother, the present Sir William Beauvoir, of whose domicile we have little or no information. 

 After a consultation between Mr. Oliver Beauvoir and our Mr. Dick, it was seen that the sole knowledge in our possession amounted substantially to this: Thirty years ago the elder son of the late baronet, after indulging in dissipation in every possible form, much to the sorrow of his respected parent, who frequently expressed as much to our Mr. Dick, disappeared, leaving behind him bills and debts of all descriptions, which we, under instructions from Sir William, examined, audited and paid. Sir William Beauvoir would allow no search to be made for his erring son and would listen to no mention of his name. Current gossip declared that he had gone to New York, where he probably arrived about midsummer, 1848. Mr. Oliver Beauvoir thinks that he crossed to the States in company with a distinguished scientific gentleman, Professor Titus Peebles. Within a year after his departure news came that he had gone to California with Professor Peebles; this was about the time gold was discovered in the States. That the present Sir William Beauvoir did about this time actually arrive on the Pacific Coast in company with the distinguished scientific man above mentioned, we have every reason to believe: we have even direct evidence on the subject. A former junior clerk who had left us at about the same period as the disappearance of the elder son of our late client, accosted our Mr. Dick when the latter was in Paris last summer, and informed him (our Mr. Dick) that he (the former junior clerk) was now a resident of Nevada and a member of Congress for that county, and in the course of conversation he mentioned that he had seen Professor Peebles and the son of our late client in San Francisco, nearly thirty years ago. Other information we have none. It ought not to be difficult to discover Professor Peebles, whose scientific attainments have doubtless ere this been duly recognized by the U. S. Government. As our late client leaves the valuable family estate in Lancashire to his elder son and divides the remainder equally between his two sons, you will readily see why we invoke your assistance in discovering the present domicile of the late baronet's elder son, or in default thereof, in placing in our hands such proof of his death as may be necessary to establish that lamentable fact in our probate court. 

 We have the honour to remain, as ever, your most humble and obedient servants, THROSTLETHWAITE, THROSTLETHWAITE & DICK. 

 P. S. Our late client's grandson, Mr. William Beauvoir, the only child of Oliver Beauvoir, Esq. , is now in the States, in Chicago or Nebraska or somewhere in the West. We shall be pleased if you can keep him informed as to the progress of your investigations. Our Mr. Dick has requested Mr. Oliver Beauvoir to give his son your address, and to suggest his calling on you as he passes through New York on his way home. 

 T. T. & D. 

DOCUMENT NO. 17. 

_Letter from Messrs. Hitchcock and Van Rensselaer, New York, to Messrs. Pixley and Sutton, Attorneys and Counsellors at Law, 98 CaliforniaStreet, San Francisco, California. _

 Law Offices of Hitchcock & Van Rensselaer, 70 Broadway, New York, P. O. Box 4078. 

 Jan. 22, 1879. 

 Messrs. PIXLEY AND SUTTON:

 GENTLEMEN: We have just received from our London correspondents, Messrs. Throstlethwaite, Throstlethwaite and Dick, of Lincoln's Inn, London, the letter, a copy of which is herewith enclosed, to which we invite your attention. We request that you will do all in your power to aid us in the search for the missing Englishman. From the letter of Messrs. Throstlethwaite, Throstlethwaite and Dick, it seems extremely probable, not to say certain, that Mr. Beauvoir arrived in your city about 1849, in company with a distinguished English scientist, Professor Titus Peebles, whose professional attainments were such that he is probably well known, if not in California, at least in some other of the mining States. The first thing to be done, therefore, it seems to us, is to ascertain the whereabouts of the professor, and to interview him at once. It may be that he has no knowledge of the present domicile of Mr. William Beauvoir--in which case we shall rely on you to take such steps as, in your judgment, will best conduce to a satisfactory solution of the mystery. In any event, please look up Professor Peebles, and interview him at once. 

 Pray keep us fully informed by telegraph of your movements. Yr obt serv'ts, HITCHCOCK & VAN RENSSELAER. 

DOCUMENT NO. 18. 

_Telegram from Messrs. Pixley and Sutton, Attorneys and Counsellors atLaw, 98 California Street, San Francisco, California, to Messrs. Hitchcock and Van Rensselaer, Attorneys and Counsellors at Law, 76Broadway, New York. _

 SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. Jan. 30. 

 Tite Peebles well known frisco not professor keeps faro bank. 

 PIXLEY & SUTTON. (D. H. 919. )

DOCUMENT NO. 19. 

_Telegram from Messrs. Hitchcock and Van Rensselaer to Messrs. Pixleyand Sutton, in answer to the preceding. _

 NEW YORK, Jan. 30. 

 Must be mistake Titus Peebles distinguished scientist. 

 HITCHCOCK & VAN RENSSELAER. (Free. Answer to D. H. )

DOCUMENT NO. 20. 

_Telegram from Messrs. Pixley and Sutton to Messrs. Hitchcock and VanRensselaer. In reply to the preceding. _

 SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. , Jan. 30. 

 No mistake distinguished faro banker suspected skin game shall we interview

 PIXLEY & SUTTON. (D. H. 919. )

DOCUMENT NO. 21. 

_Telegram from Messrs. Hitchcock and Van Rensselaer to Messrs. Pixleyand Sutton, in reply to the preceding. _

 NEW YORK, Jan. 30. 

 Must be mistake interview anyway

 HITCHCOCK & VAN RENSSELAER. (Free. Answer to D. H. )

DOCUMENT NO. 22. 

_Telegram from Messrs. Pixley and Sutton to Messrs. Hitchcock and VanRensselaer, in reply to the preceding. _

SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. , Jan. 30. 

Peebles out of town have written him

PIXLEY & SUTTON. (D. H. 919. )

DOCUMENT NO. 23. 

_Letter from Tite W. Peebles, delegate to the California ConstitutionalConvention, Sacramento, to Messrs. Pixley and Sutton, 98 CaliforniaStreet, San Francisco, California. _

 SACRAMENTO, Feb. 2, '79. 

 Messrs. PIXLEY & SUTTON: San Francisco. 

 GENTLEMEN: Your favor of the 31st ult. , forwarded me from San Francisco, has been duly rec'd, and contents thereof noted. 

 My time is at present so fully occupied by my duties as a delegate to the Constitutional Convention that I can only jot down a brief report of my recollections on this head. When I return to S. F. , I shall be happy to give you any further information that may be in my possession. 

 The person concerning whom you inquire was my fellow passenger on my first voyage to this State on board the _Mercy G. Tarbox_, in the latter part of the year. He was then known as Mr. William Beauvoir. I was acquainted with his history, of which the details escape me at this writing. He was a countryman of mine; a member of an important county family--Devonian, I believe--and had left England on account of large gambling debts, of which he confided to me the exact figure. I believe they totted up something like £14, 500. 

 I had at no time a very intimate acquaintance with Mr. Beauvoir; during our sojourn on the _Tarbox_, he was the chosen associate of a depraved and vicious character named Phoenix. I am not averse from saying that I was then a member of a profession rather different to my present one, being, in fact, professor of metallurgy, and I saw much less, at that period, of Mr. B. Than I probably should now. 

 Directly we landed at S. F. , the object of your inquiries set out for the gold region, without adequate preparation, like so many others did at that time, and, I heard, fared very ill. 

 I encountered him some six months later; I have forgotten precisely in what locality, though I have a faint impression that his then habitat was some canon or ravine, deriving its name from certain osseous deposits. Here he had engaged in the business of gold-mining, without, perhaps, sufficient grounds for any confident hope of ultimate success. I have his I. O. U. For the amount of my fee for assaying several specimens from his claim, said specimens being all iron pyrites. 

 This is all I am able to call to mind at present in the matter of Mr. Beauvoir. I trust his subsequent career was of a nature better calculated to be satisfactory to himself; but his mineralogical knowledge was but superficial; and his character was sadly deformed by a fatal taste for low associates. 

 I remain, gentlemen, your very humble and obd't servant, TITUS W. PEEBLES. 

 P. S. --Private. 

 MY DEAR PIX: If you don't feel inclined to pony up that little sum you are out on the bay gelding, drop down to my place when I get back and I'll give you another chance for your life at the pasteboards. Constitution going through. 

 Yours, TITE. 

PART FOURTH:

DOCUMENT NO. 24. 

_Extract from the New Centreville [late Dead Horse] "Gazette and Courierof Civilization, " December 20th, 1878:_

 "Miss Nina Saville appeared last night at the Mendocino Grand Opera House, in her unrivalled specialty of _Winona the Child of the Prairies;_ supported by Tompkins and Frobisher's Grand Stellar Constellation. Although Miss Saville has long been known as one of the most promising of California's younger tragediennes, we feel safe in saying that the impression she produced upon the large and cultured audience gathered to greet her last night stamped her as one of the greatest and most phenomenal geniuses of our own or other times. Her marvellous beauty of form and feature, added to her wonderful artistic power, and her perfect mastery of the difficult science of clog-dancing, won her an immediate place in the hearts of our citizens, and confirmed the belief that California need no longer look to Europe or Chicago for dramatic talent of the highest order. The sylph-like beauty, the harmonious and ever-varying grace, the vivacity and the power of the young artist who made her maiden effort among us last night, prove conclusively that the virgin soil of California teems with yet undiscovered fires of genius. The drama of _Winona, the Child of the Prairies, _ is a pure, refined, and thoroughly absorbing entertainment, and has been pronounced by the entire press of the country equal to if not superior to the fascinating _Lady of Lyons_. It introduces all the favorites of the company in new and original characters, and with its original music, which is a prominent feature, has already received over 200 representations in the principal cities in the country. It abounds in effective situations, striking tableaux, and a most quaint and original concert entitled 'The Mule Fling, ' which alone is worth the price of admission. As this is its first presentation in this city, the theatre will no doubt be crowded, and seats should be secured early in the day. The drama will be preceded by that prince of humorists, Mr. Billy Barker, in his humorous sketches and pictures from life. "

We quote the above from our esteemed contemporary, the Mendocino_Gazette_, at the request of Mr. Zeke Kilburn, Miss Saville's advanceagent, who has still further appealed to us, not only on the ground ofour common humanity, but as the only appreciative and thoroughlyinformed critics on the Pacific Slope to "endorse" this rather vividexpression of opinion. Nothing will give us greater pleasure. Allowingfor the habitual enthusiasm of our northern neighbor, and for thewell-known chaste aridity of Mendocino in respect of female beauty, wehave no doubt that Miss Nina Saville is all that the fancy, peculiarlyopulent and active even for an advance agent, of Mr. Kilburn has paintedher, and is quite such a vision of youth, beauty, and artisticphenomenality as will make the stars of Paris and Illinois pale theirineffectual fires. 

Miss Saville will appear in her "unrivalled specialty" at Hanks's NewCentreville Opera House, to-morrow night, as may be gathered, in ageneral way, from an advertisement in another column. 

We should not omit to mention that Mr. Zeke Kilburn, Miss Saville'sadvance agent, is a gentleman of imposing presence, elegant manners, andcomplete knowledge of his business. This information may be relied uponas at least authentic, having been derived from Mr. Kilburn himself, towhich we can add, as our own contribution, the statement that Mr. Kilburn is a gentleman of marked liberality in his ideas of spirituousrefreshments, and of equal originality in his conception of the uses, objects and personal susceptibilities of the journalistic profession. 

DOCUMENT NO. 25. 

_Local Item from the "New Centreville Standard, " December 20th, 1878:_

Hon. William Beauvoir has registered at the United States Hotel. Mr. Beauvoir is a young English gentleman of great wealth, now engaged ininvestigating the gigantic resources of this great country. We welcomehim to New Centreville. 

DOCUMENT NO. 26. 

_Programme of the performance given in the Centreville Theatre, Dec. 21st, 1878:_

 HANKS' NEW CENTREVILLE OPERA HOUSE

 A. Jackson Hanks..................... Sole Proprietor and Manager. 

 FIRST APPEARANCE IN THIS CITY OF TOMPKINS & FROBISHER'S GRAND STELLAR CONSTELLATION, Supporting California's favorite daughter, the young American Tragedienne, MISS NINA SAVILLE, Who will appear in Her Unrivalled Specialty, "Winona, the Child of the Prairie. "

 THIS EVENING, DECEMBER 21st, 1878, Will be presented, with the following phenomenal cast, the accepted American Drama, WINONA: THE CHILD OF THE PRAIRIE. 

 WINONA.................................................... Miss FLORA MacMADISON..................................... BIDDY FLAHERTY........................................... OLD AUNT DINAH (with Song, "Don't Get Weary")............. Miss NINA SALLY HOSKINS............................................. SAVILLE (With the old-time melody, "Bobbin' Around. ") POOR JOE (with Song)...................................... FRAULINE LINA BOOBENSTEIN................................. (With stammering song, "I yoost landet. ") SIR EDMOND BENNETT (specially engaged)................ E. C. GRAINGER WALTON TRAVERS......................................... G. W. PARSONS GIPSY JOE.................................................. M. ISAACS 'ANNIBAL 'ORACE 'IGGINS................................ BILLY BARKER TOMMY TIPPER..................................... Miss MAMIE SMITH PETE, the Man on the Dock................................ SI HANCOCK Mrs. MALONE, the Old Woman in the Little House.... Mrs. K. Y. BOOTH ROBERT BENNETT (aged five)...................... Little ANNIE WATSON

 Act I. --The Old Home. Act II. --Alone in the World. Act III. --The Frozen Gulf: THE GREAT ICEBERG SENSATION. Act IV. --Wedding Bells. 

 "Winona, the Child of the Prairie, " will be preceded by

 A FAVORITE FARCE, In which the great BILLY BARKER will appear in one of his most outrageously funny bits. 

 New Scenery...................... By.................... Q. Z. Slocum

 Music by Professor Kiddoo's Silver Bugle Brass Band and Philharmonic Orchestra. 

 Chickway's Grand Piano, lent by Schmidt, 2 Opera House Block. 

 AFTER THE SHOW, GO TO HANKS' AND SEE A MAN

 Pop Williams, the only legitimate Bill-Poster in New Centreville. 

 (New Centreville Standard Print. )

DOCUMENT NO. 27. 

_Extract from the New Centreville [late Dead Horse] "Gazette and Courierof Civilization, " Dec. 24th, 1878:_

A little while ago, in noting the arrival of Miss Nina Saville of theNew Centreville Opera House we quoted rather extensively from ouresteemed contemporary, the Mendocino _Times_ and commented upon thequotation. Shortly afterwards, it may also be remembered, we made a verydirect and decided apology for the sceptical levity which inspired thoseremarks, and expressed our hearty sympathy with the honest, if somewhateffusive, enthusiasm with which the dramatic critic of Mendocino greetedthe sweet and dainty little girl who threw over the dull, weary oldbusiness of the stage "sensation" the charm of a fresh and childlikebeauty and originality, as rare and delicate as those strange, unreasonable little glimmers of spring sunsets that now and then lightup for a brief moment the dull skies of winter evenings, and seem tohave strayed into ungrateful January out of sheer pity for the sadearth. 

Mendocino noticed the facts that form the basis of the abovemeteorological simile, and we believe we gave Mendocino full credit forit at the time. We refer to the matter at this date only because in ourremarks of a few days ago we had occasion to mention the fact of theexistence of Mr. Zeke Kilburn, an advance agent, who called upon us atthe time, to endeavor to induce us, by means apparently calculated moreclosely for the latitude of Mendocino, to extend to Miss Saville, beforeher appearance, the critical approbation which we gladly extended after. This little item of interest we alluded to at the time, and furthermoreintimated, with some vagueness, that there existed in Kilburn'scharacter a certain misdirected zeal combined with a too keen artisticappreciation, are apt to be rather dangerous stock-in trade for anadvance agent. 

It was twenty seven minutes past two o'clock yesterday afternoon. Thechaste white mystery of Shigo Mountain was already taking on a faint, almost imperceptible, hint of pink, like the warm cheek of a girl whohears a voice and anticipates a blush. Yet the rays of the afternoon sunrested with undiminished radiance on the empty pork-barrel in front ofMcMullin's shebang. A small and vagrant infant, whose associations withempty barrels were doubtless hitherto connected solely with dreams ofsaccharine dissipation, approached the bunghole with precocious caution, and retired with celerity and a certain acquisition of experience. Anunattached goat, a martyr to the radical theory of personalinvestigation, followed in the footsteps of infantile humanity, retiredwith even greater promptitude, and was fain to stay its stomach on apresumably empty rend-rock can, afterward going into seclusion behindMcMullin's horse-shed, before the diuretic effect of tin flavored withblasting-powder could be observed by the attentive eye of science. 

Mr. Kilburn emerged from the hostlery without Mr. McMullin. Mr. Kilburn, as we have before stated at his own request, is a gentleman of imposingpresence. It is well that we made this statement when we did, for it ishard to judge of the imposing quality in a gentleman's presence whenthat gentleman is suspended from the arm of another gentleman by thecollar of the first gentleman's coat. The gentleman in the rear of Mr. Kilburn was Mr. William Beauvoir, a young Englishman in a check suit. Mr. Beauvoir is not avowedly a man of imposing presence; he wears a sealring, and he is generally a scion of an effete oligarchy, but he has, since his introduction into this community, behaved himself, to use theadjectivial adverb of Mr. McMullin, _white_, and he has a veryremarkable biceps. These qualities may hereafter enhance his popularityin New Centreville. 

Mr. Beauvoir's movements, at twenty-seven minutes past two yesterdayafternoon, were few and simple. He doubled Mr. Kilburn up, after thefashion of an ordinary jack-knife, and placed him in the barrel, wedge-extremity first, remarking, as he did so, "She is, is she?" Hethen rammed Mr. Kilburn carefully home, and put the cover on. 

We learn to-day that Mr. Kilburn has resumed his professional duties onthe road. 

DOCUMENT NO. 28. 

_Account of the same event from the New Centreville "Standard" December24th, 1878:_

It seems strange that even the holy influences which radiate from thisjoyous season cannot keep some men from getting into unseemly wrangles. It was only yesterday that our local saw a street row here in the quietavenues of our peaceful city--a street row recalling the riotous sceneswhich took place here before Dead Horse experienced a change of heartand became New Centreville. Our local succeeded in gathering all theparticulars of the affray, and the following statement is reliable. Itseems that Mr. Kilburn, the gentlemanly and affable advance agent of theNina Saville Dramatic Company, now performing at Andy Hanks' Opera Houseto big houses, was brutally assaulted by a ruffianly young Englishman, named Beauvoir, for no cause whatever. We say for no cause, as it isobvious that Mr. Kilburn, as the agent of the troupe, could have saidnothing against Miss Saville which an outsider, not to say a foreignerlike Mr. Beauvoir, had any call to resent. Mr. Kilburn is a gentlemanunaccustomed to rough-and-tumble encounters, while his adversary hasdoubtless associated more with pugilists than gentlemen--at least anyone would think so from his actions yesterday. Beauvoir hustled Mr. Kilburn out of Mr. McMullin's, where the unprovoked assault began, andviolently shook him across the new plank sidewalk. The person by thename of Clark, whom Judge Jones for some reason now permits to edit themoribund but once respectable _Gazette_, caught the eye of the congenialBeauvoir, and, true to the ungentlemanly instincts of his base nature, pointed to a barrel in the street. The brutal Englishman took the hintand thrust Mr. Kilburn forcibly into the barrel, leaving the vicinitybefore Mr. Kilburn, emerging from his close quarters, had fullyrecovered. What the ruffianly Beauvoir's motive may have been for thiswanton assault it is impossible to say; but it is obvious to all whythis fellow Clark sought to injure Mr. Kilburn, a gentleman whose manygood qualities he of course fails to appreciate. Mr. Kilburn, recognizing the acknowledged merits of our job-office, had given us thecontract for all the printing he needed in New Centreville. 

DOCUMENT NO. 29. 

_Advertisement from the New York "Clipper" Dec. 21st, 1878:_

 WINSTON & MACK'S GRAND INTERNATIONAL MEGATHERIUM VARIETY COMBINATION. COMPANY CALL. 

 Ladies and Gentlemen of the Company will assemble for rehearsal, at Emerson's Opera House, San Francisco, on Wednesday, Dec 27th, 12 M sharp. Band at 11. J. B. WINSTON EDWIN R. MACK--Managers. Emerson's Opera House, San Francisco, Dec. 10th, 1878. Protean Artist wanted. Would like to hear from Nina Saville. 12-11. 

DOCUMENT NO. 30. 

_Letter from Nina Saville to William Beauvoir. _

 NEW CENTREVILLE, December 26, 1878. 

 My Dear Mr. Beauvoir--I was very sorry to receive your letter of yesterday--_very_ sorry--because there can be only one answer that I can make--and you might well have spared me the pain of saying the word--No. You ask me if I love you. If I did--do you think it would be true love in me to tell you so, when I know what it would cost you? Oh indeed you must never marry _me_! In your own country you would never have heard of me--never seen me--surely never written me such a letter to tell me that you love me and want to marry me. It is not that I am ashamed of my business or of the folks around me, or ashamed that I am only the charity child of two poor players, who lived and died working for the bread for their mouths and mine. I am proud of them--yes, proud of what they did and suffered for one poorer than themselves--a little foundling out of an Indian camp. But I know the difference between you and me. You are a great man at home--you have never told me how great--but I know your father is a rich lord, and I suppose you are. It is not that I think _you_ care for that, or think less of me because I was born different from you. I know how good--how kind--how _respectful_ you have always been to me--_my lord_--and I shall never forget it--for a girl in my position knows well enough how you might have been otherwise. Oh believe me--_my true friend_--I am never going to forget all you have done for me--and how good it has been to have you near me--a man so different from most others. I don't mean only the kind things you have done--the books and the thoughts and the ways you have taught me to enjoy--and all the trouble you have taken to make me something better than the stupid little girl I was when you found me--but a great deal more than that--the consideration you have had for me and for what I hold best in the world. I had never met a _gentleman_ before--and now the first one I meet--he is my _friend_. That is a great deal. 

 Only think of it! You have been following me around now for three months, and I have been weak enough to allow it. I am going to do the right thing now. You may think it hard in me _if you really mean what you say, _ but even if everything else were right, I would not marry you--because of your rank. I do not know how things are at your home--but something tells me it would be wrong and that your family would have a right to hate you and never forgive you. Professionals cannot go in your society. And that is even if I loved you--and I do not love you--I do not love you--_I do not love you_--now I have written it you will believe it. 

 So now it is ended--I am going back to the line I was first in--variety--and with a new name. So you can never find me--I entreat you--I beg of you--not to look for me. If you only put your mind to it--you will find it so easy to forget me--for I will not do you the wrong to think that you did not mean what you wrote in your letter or what you said that night _when we sang Annie Laurie together_ the last time. Your sincere friend, NINA. 

DOCUMENTS NOS. 31 AND 32. 

_Items from San Francisco "Figaro" of December 29th, 1878:_

Nina Saville Co. Disbanded New Centreville. 26th. No particularsreceived. 

Winston & Mack's Comb. Takes the road December 31st, opening at TuolumneHollow. Manager Winston announces the engagement of Anna Laurie, theProtean change artiste, with songs, "Don't Get Weary, " "Bobbin' Around, ""I Yoost Landet. "

DOCUMENT NO. 33. 

_Telegram from Zeke Kilburn, New Centreville, to Winston and Mack, Emerson's Opera House, San Francisco, Cal. :_

 NEW CENTREVILLE, Dec. 28, 1878. 

 Have you vacancy for active and energetic advance agent. 

 Z. KILBURN. (9 words 30 paid. )

DOCUMENT NO. 34. 

_Telegram from Winston and Mack, San Francisco, to Zeke Kilburn, NewCentreville:_

 SAN FRANCISCO, Dec. 28, 1878

 No

 WINSTON & MACK. (Collect 30 cents. )

DOCUMENT NO. 35. 

_Bill sent to William Beauvoir, United States Hotel, Tuolumne Hollow, Cal. :_

 _Tuolumne Hollow, Cal. , Dec. 29, 1878. _

 _Wm. Beauvoir, Esq. _

 Bought of HIMMEL & HATCH, Opera House Block, JEWELLERS & DIAMOND MERCHANTS, Dealers in all kinds of Fancy Goods, Stationery and Umbrellas, Watches, Clocks and Barometers. 

 TERMS CASH. MUSICAL BOXES REPAIRED. 

 _Dec. 29, One diamond and enamelled locket. _........ $75. 00 _One gold chain_........................................... 48. 00 _______ $123. 00

 _Rec'd Payt. _ _Himmel & Hatch, per S. _

PART FIFTH:

DOCUMENT NO. 36. 

_Letter from Cable J. Dexter, Esq. , to Messrs: Pixley and Sutton, SanFrancisco:_

 NEW CENTREVILLE, CAL. , March 3, 1879. 

 Messrs. PIXLEY & SUTTON:

 GENTS: I am happy to report that I have at last reached the bottom level in the case of William Beaver, _alias_ Beaver Bill, deceased through Indians in 1861. 

 In accordance with your instructions and check, I proceeded, on the 10th ult. , to Shawgum Creek, when I interviewed Blue Horse, chief of the Comanches, who tomahawked subject of your inquiries in the year above mentioned. Found the Horse in the penitentiary, serving out a drunk and disorderly. Though belligerent at date aforesaid, Horse is now tame, though intemperate. Appeared unwilling to converse, and required stimulants to awaken his memory. Please find enclosed memo. Of account for whiskey, covering extra demijohn to corrupt jailer. Horse finally stated that he personally let daylight through deceased, and is willing to guarantee thoroughness of decease. Stated further that aforesaid Beaver's family consisted of squaw and kid. Is willing to swear that squaw was killed, the tribe having no use for her. Killing done by Mule-Who-Goes-Crooked, personal friend of Horse's. The minor child was taken into camp and kept until December of 1863, when tribe dropped to howling cold winter and went on government reservation. Infant (female) was then turned over to U. S. Government at Fort Kearney. 

 I posted to last named locality on the 18th ult. And found by the quartermaster's books that, no one appearing to claim the kid, she had been duly indentured, together with six Indians, to a man by the name of Guardine or Sardine (probably the latter), in the show business. The Indians were invoiced as Sage Brush Jimmy, Boiling Hurricane, Mule-Who-Goes-Crooked, Joe, Hairy Grasshopper and Dead Polecat. Child known as White Kitten. Receipt for Indians was signed by Mr. Hi. Samuels, who is still in the circus business, and whom I happen to be selling out at this moment, at suit of McCullum & Montmorency, former partners. Samuels positively identified kid with variety specialist by name of Nina Saville, who has been showing all through this region for a year past. 

 I shall soon have the pleasure of laying before you documents to establish the complete chain of evidence, from knifing of original subject of your inquiries right up to date. 

 I have to-day returned from New Centreville, whither I went after Miss Saville. Found she had just skipped the town with a young Englishman by the name of Bovoir, who had been paying her polite attentions for some time, having bowied or otherwise squelched a man for her within a week or two. It appears the young woman had refused to have anything to do with him for a long period; but he seems to have struck pay gravel about two days before my arrival. At present, therefore, the trail is temporarily lost; but I expect to fetch the couple if they are anywhere this side of the Rockies. 

 Awaiting your further instructions, and cash backing thereto, I am, gents, very resp'y yours, CABLE J. DEXTER. 

DOCUMENT NO. 37

_Envelope of letter from Sir Oliver Beauvoir, Bart. , to his son, WilliamBeauvoir:_

 _Sent to Dead Letter Office. _

 _Mr. William Beauvoir_ _Sherman House Hotel_ _Chicago_ _United States of America_

_not here__try Brevoort House__N. Y. _

DOCUMENT NO. 38. 

_Letter contained in the envelope above_:

 CHELSWORTH COTTAGE, March 30, 1879. 

 MY DEAR BOY: In the sudden blow which has come upon us all I cannot find words to write. You do not know what you have done. Your uncle William, after whom you were named, died in America. He left but one child, a daughter, the only grandchild of my father except you. And this daughter is the Miss Nina Saville with whom you have formed so unhappy a connection. She is your own cousin. She is a Beauvoir. She is of our blood, as good as any in England. 

 My feelings are overpowering. I am choked by the suddenness of this great grief. I cannot write to you as I would. But I can say this: Do not let me see you or hear from until this stain be taken from our name. 

 OLIVER BEAUVOIR. 

DOCUMENT NO. 39. 

_Cable dispatch of William Beauvoir, Windsor Hotel, New York, to SirOliver Beauvoir, Bart. , Chelsworth Cottage, Suffolk, England_:

 NEW YORK, May 1, 1879. 

 Have posted you Herald. 

 WILLIAM BEAUVOIR. 

DOCUMENT NO. 40. 

_Advertisement under head of "Marriages, " from the New York "Herald, "April 30th, 1879:_

BEAUVOIR--BEAUVOIR. --On Wednesday, Jan. 1st, 1879, at Steal Valley, California, by the Rev. Mr. Twells, William Beauvoir, only son of SirOliver Beauvoir, of Chelsworth Cottage, Surrey, England, to Nina, onlychild of the late William Beauvoir, of New Centreville, Cal. 

DOCUMENT NO. 41. 

_Extract from the New York "Herald" of May 29th, 1879:_

Among the passengers on the outgoing Cunard steamer _Gallia_, which leftNew York on Wednesday, was the Honorable William Beauvoir, only son ofSir Oliver Beauvoir, Bart. , of England. Mr. Beauvoir has been passinghis honeymoon in this city, and, with his charming bride, a famousCalifornia belle, has been the recipient of many cordial courtesies frommembers of our best society. Mr. William Beauvoir is a young man ofgreat promise and brilliant attainments, and is a highly desirableaddition to the large and constantly increasing number of aristocraticBritons who seek for wives among the lovely daughters of Columbia. Weunderstand that the bridal pair will take up their residence with thegroom's father, at his stately country-seat, Chelsworth Manor, Suffolk. 

ONE OF THE THIRTY PIECES. 

BY WILLIAM HENRY BISHOP. 

I. 

GRUYÈRE'S. 

In the spring of the year 1870 the premium on gold had fallen so lowthat it began to be thought by sanguine people that specie paymentswould be resumed at once. Silver in considerable quantities actuallycame into circulation. Restaurants, cigar-stands, and establishmentsdealing in the lighter articles of merchandise paid it out in change, byway of an extra inducement to customers. 

On one of these days Henry Barwood, a treasury clerk, and Megilp, therather well-known picture restorer, met by accident at the door ofGruyère's restaurant. Gruyère's place, although in the businessquarter, is not supported to any great extent by the hurrying throng ofbankers', brokers', merchants', and lawyers' clerks who overrun thevicinity every day at lunch-time. It is a rather leisurely resort, frequented by well-to-do importers, musicians, and artists, people whohave travelled, and whose affairs admit of considerable deliberation andrepose. Barwood in former times had been in the habit of going thereoccasionally to air his amateur French, burn a spoonful of brandy in hiscoffee, and enjoy an economical foretaste of Paris. Returned to New Yorkafter a considerable absence, to spend his vacation at home, he wasinclined to renew this with other old associations. 

Megilp, sprung from a race which has supplied the world with a largeshare of its versatility of talent and its adventurous proclivities, wasfamiliarly known at Gruyère's as "Mac. " He was removed above want by thepossession of an income sufficient, with some ingenuity of management, to provide him with the bare necessaries of life. 

He found leisure to come every day to retail the gossip of the studios, and fortify himself for the desultory labors in which he was engaged. Heliked the society of young men for several reasons. For one thing, theywere more free with their purses than his older cronies. Theassociation, he also thought, threw a sort of glamour of youth about hisown person. Finally, they listened to the disquisitions and artisticrhapsodies in which he was fond of indulging, with an attention by nomeans accorded by his compeers. 

Barwood was of a speculative turn of mind, and had also by nature astrong leaning towards whatever was curious and out of the common. Theseproclivities Megilp's conversation, pursuits, and studio full oftrumpery were calculated to gratify. A moderate sort of friendship hadin consequence sprung up between them. 

They made mutual protestations of pleasure at this meeting. Barwoodconsidered it an occasion worthy of a bottle of Dry Verzenay, which wasnot demurred to by Megilp. 

The payment of specie was so entire a novelty that, when the inquiriesand explanations natural after a long separation were concluded, it wasamong the first topics touched upon. 

"Sure it's the first hard money I've seen these ten years, so it is, "said Megilp. 

"That is my case also, " said Barwood. "I took as little interest in thematter as any boy of fourteen might be expected to; but I remember verywell how rapidly specie disappeared at the beginning of the war. "

"And where has it been?" said Megilp. "There's many fine points ofinterest about it, do you see. Consider the receptacles in which it hasbeen hoarded--the secret places in chimneys, under floors and underground, the vaults, old stockings, cabinets, and caskets that haveteemed and glittered with it. Then there's the characters again, of allits various owners: the timid doubters about the government, thespeculators, the curiosity hunters, the misers"--

"Yes, " said Barwood, "the history of a single one of these pieces forthe period would probably make a story full of interest. " It did notdetract from the value of Megilp's conversation, in Barwood's view, thatthe worthy artist said "foine" and "hoorded" instead of adopting themore conventional pronunciation. 

"But what I'm after telling you isn't the singular part of it at all, "resumed Megilp, taking some silver from his pocket and evidentlysettling down to the subject. "What is ten years to it? According to themint reports a coin of the precious metals loses by wear and tear butone twenty-four hundredth of its bulk in a year. These pieces I hold inmy hand, coined forty years ago, are scarcely defaced. In another fortythey will be hardly more so. What, for instance, has been the career ofthis Mexican dollar? Perhaps it was struck from bullion fresh from aMexican mine. In that case I have nothing to say. But just as likely itwas struck from old Spanish plate or from former coin, and then it takesus back to the earliest times, and its origin is lost in obscurity. Thesame metal is time after time re-melted, re-cast, re-stamped, and thusmaintained in perpetual youth. This gold piece upon my watch-chain wasperchance coined from the sands of the Pactolus, and once boreChaldaean characters. And to what uses has it come?

 'Imperial Caesar, dead and turned to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away;'

and so the pieces paid for the ransom of the Inca of Peru or Richard theLion-hearted, the material of the spurs of Agincourt, the rings ofCleopatra and Zenobia, the golden targets of Solomon, fashioned from thetreasures of Ophir, may purchase soap and candles and mutton-chops forJohn Smith. And yet why not? We ourselves have come down to commonplaceusages; why should not the works of our hands? You with yourconventional hat and English walking-coat, I with my spectacles andIrish brogue, have had ancestors that wore coats of mail in the firstcrusade, or twanged cross-bows with Robin Hood, sailed in the ships ofTarshish, and traded to Tyre and Sidon. "

"You think, then, " said Barwood, "that some part of the coinage ofantiquity is still in circulation. "

"To be sure I do, don't I tell you? I say the precious metals areindestructible. All the coins that have figured prominently in historyare in some shape or other among us still. Twenty-four hundred years ofactive use are needed to wear out a coin completely. How long will itlast with moderate use, and with intervals of lying buried for hundredsof years, as much of the coinage of antiquity now extant in itsoriginal condition has done? We have among us the rings, bolts, chainsbracelets, drinking-vessels, and vases that glitter in the narratives ofall the chroniclers, and embody the pomp and luxury of all the ages. 

"My silver dollar here, which I ring upon Gruyère's table, and withwhich, had it not been for your amiable politeness, I should have paidfor my frugal lunch, has haply been moulded in Cellini's dagger-hilts orcrucifixes, or formed part of a pirate's booty from a scuttled galleonon the Spanish Main. For aught I know, it was current money in Ninevehand Babylon. Perhaps it is one of the pieces paid by Abraham to thechildren of Heth for the double cave that looked towards Mamre. "

"Or one of the pieces for which Judas betrayed the Master, " suggestedBarwood. 

Megilp looked startled, and involuntarily pushed the money away fromhim. "That is a singular fancy of yours. "

"It came to me quite spontaneously this moment, " said Barwood. "I don'tknow but it is, and yet it was a very natural sequence from whatpreceded. "

Both were abstracted for some moments, and contemplated in silence thebubbles twisting up the stems of the delicate wine-glasses. 

"Do you suppose, " finally said Barwood, "that those coins, if extant, carry with them an enduring curse?"

"There's no good in them, you may depend, " said the other. By this timeboth bottle and plates were empty. The train of thought they had beenpursuing seemed to have found its climax in the turn given it byBarwood. Over their coffee and dessert they discussed more cheerfultopics. 

"Come around to my place before you leave town, " said Megilp, as theyshook hands at parting. "I have a one-legged bronze Hercules fromPompeii. I think ye'll enjoy it. "

As he hobbled away he muttered to himself more than once, "It's thedivil's own fancy, so it is. "

 * * * * *

II. 

ETHEREAL CLAIMS. 

The business of the Bureau of Ethereal Claims at Washington wasconducted by a moderate force of clerks, under the direction of GeneralBellwether. The general had been a little of everything in his time. Atthe outbreak of the war he abandoned an unprofitable insurance agency toraise a company. He displayed considerable courage and strategic talentin his campaigning, came out a brevet brigadier, and had been making agood thing of it ever since in the government service. The officebristled with military titles. Everybody except Barwood and JudgeMontane was either colonel, major, or captain. As to the judge, amiddle-aged, uncommunicative man who was known to be supporting a largefamily, he confessed one day over a bottle, ordered in by the bureauduring the general's absence, that his title was chiefly honorary. 

"What court did you used to be judge of, Montane?" inquired young MarsBrown. 

"I'll tell you, boys, " replied the judge, yielding to the genialinfluences of the occasion; "I'm just no judge at all, do you see, except may be as I'd be a good judge of whiskey or the like. "

It was doubtful whether the claims of some others of the number couldhave been much better established. 

Mars Brown, son of the senator of that name, --a man whose influence fewgenerals or bureaus of claims could afford to disregard, --was naturallythe most privileged character in the office. He chatted familiarly withthe general when that irregular chief was present, absented himself forseveral days at a time with perfect unconcern, came late in the morning, and went early, as he explained, to make up for it. He was a handsomefellow, thoroughly confident of himself, and companionable. Hedisplayed, among other accomplishments, an acquaintance with the mannersand customs of horses and dogs, and a facility in the management ofboats, guns, and fishing tackle that made him an indisputable authorityon all matters of the sort. His stock of stories was immense, his witalways ready and very comical. He could convulse a dinner-party wheneverything else failed, by making ridiculous faces. Among ladies of allages he was a sort of conquering hero. He was consequently in generalsocial demand as the life of the company. 

Such was Mars Brown, whom Barwood, shortly after his return toWashington, began to regard with distrust and dislike, as a possiblerival in the quarter where his affections were chiefly centred. 

It might have been expected, from the general's excessive preoccupationwith lobbyists and politicians, that the business of the bureau shouldlanguish, and so it did. The brunt of it was borne by a few clerks--ofwhom Barwood was not one--whose tenure of office depended upon efficientwork rather than upon influential backing. Government work must beperformed by somebody, and it happens that, in spite of the greatprinciple of rotation, the heads of men of undeniable usefulness restfirm upon their shoulders while hundreds are toppling all about them. 

The bureau was not without spasmodic attempts at discipline. The generalspent an occasional forenoon in lying in wait for delinquents, whoseshortcomings he made the text for some very forcible remarks. Thebusiness of the office, he would state warmly, should be attended to, orhe would make unpleasant theological arrangements for himself if hedidn't know the reason why. With Brown he never went much further thanto request, as a personal favor, that he would try to be on hand alittle oftener and rather earlier, to which Brown always acceded quitecordially. 

Admirable punctuality of attendance and of office hours was almostalways observed for a couple of days after these formalities, and thenthings resumed the even tenor of their way. 

Whatever might be the effect of this state of affairs upon the otheremployés of the office and upon the general public, it was certainlydisastrous to the private interests of Henry Barwood. Naturally of anunpractical, somewhat morbid disposition, he needed the stimulus of abusiness life in which the necessity for action and its results whenperformed were constantly apparent. If engaged in his own ventures, taking risks and devising plans, he might have abandoned hisspeculations and fancies, and become a man of affairs. As it was, hefound too much opportunity for their indulgence. 

Every day from nine to three he assorted, copied, and made abstracts ofapplications and reports, the objects of which were remote, theirexpediency questionable, and their ultimate fate problematical. Withoutinterest in the work and without any particular pressure for itsperformance, he dreamed over it, and often awoke from his reveries tofind his figures inaccurate and his sentences meaningless. 

Morbid people are probably as incomprehensible to themselves as toothers. The world is viewed by each through the medium of his ownill-adjusted temperament. Objects are seen in a strangely tinted light, which is more than suspected to be delusive, yet cannot be decolorized. Barwood's vision was affected by such a distorting influence. Hediscovered subtle meanings in ordinary things or circumstances, in themanner of a nod from an acquaintance or the tone of a remark, andbrooded over them. He continually scrutinized and questioned his ownmotives and those of others. 

The mind of every human being is a puzzle to every other. With what isit occupied when left to its own devices? There is, in Barwood'shandwriting, [1] proof that his brain was filled with a procession ofchanging activities and impressions which were for the most partmelancholy, --aspirations for fame, distrust in his own powers, forecasting of probabilities, repining for past sins and follies, rageand epithets for imaginary meetings with enemies. In the midst of allthere were moments of perfect peace made up of reminiscences of ahigh-porticoed house, the grass-grown wheel-tracks and the sandy beachof the village on the Connecticut coast where his early home had been. His fancies were rich and full, but slightly chaotic. So also his willwas strong and imperious at times, but vacillating. 

It could not be said that he was not ambitious He would have desiredsuccess in order to secure a kindly recognition and to obviate the jarsand harshness of life. But no one prevailing impulse had ever enlistedhis full powers. He saved money, with a general indefinite notion ofsome day becoming a capitalist, and also gave much time to studies ofvarious sorts. He learned music among the rest, after coming of age, andcomposed music of his own, using as an inspiration a favorite poem, picture, or character. These compositions were marked by a quaintnesslike that--if a comparison may be made to something tangible--, of aChinese vase or a broken bronze figure. His family, the Barwoods, hadbeen from the earliest times a race of shrewd and driving New Englandstorekeepers, the very antipodes of sentiment and dilettanteism. Suchincongruities are among the compensations of nature. The Holbrook farmwas the one locality, and Nina Holbrook the one figure, in the generallysombre prospect which Barwood saw about him, that gleamed in sunshine. By the interposition of Mars Brown these also were presently shadowed. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 1: From entries in a carefully kept diary. ]

 * * * * *

III. 

THE SEARCH. 

It would have been strange, with Barwood's habits of retrospection andcontinual casting about for the rare and curious, if the subject matterof his conversation with the old painter at Gruyère's had not taken somehold upon his imagination. But to explain the rapidity with which thenotion there suggested grew, and the absorbing interest with which itfinally held him, would be difficult. The influence of the mind upon thebody is known. By persistent direction of thought one can both createand cure a pain in any specific spot of his organism. The mind has asimilar power over itself. By intense concentration upon one subject itmay suspend and finally destroy its faculty of interest in any and allothers. 

The idea that the price of the treason of Judas is still extant andcurrent in these every-day, commonplace times is at first sight utterlyincongruous and incredible, perhaps a little sacrilegious. Yet it isevidently plausible. "The precious metals are indeed indestructible, asMegilp has said, " soliloquized Barwood. "They do not oxidize. The mostviolent excesses of the elements have no effect upon them. If not stillextant, where then are the treasures of the ages?

"Buried under ground or in the ocean. 

"What proportion of the whole has been thus disposed of?

"In the absence of statistics a definite amount cannot be stated, butfrom the nature of the case it cannot be large. This form of wealth hasbeen too highly esteemed, too jealously guarded, and too rigorouslysought for when lost. In the wars and convulsions of society it haschanged hands but it could not be destroyed. Alexander and Tamerlane andTimour the Tartar and Mahomet might overrun the world, burning anddestroying, and melting its more fragile riches like frost-work. But themoney of the vanquished was useful to the victor for his own purposes. Rome took from Alexander, the barbarians from Rome, and moderncivilization from the barbarians. The waves of time roll over and engulfall the monuments of men, all that gold and silver buy and sell, and, asit were, create; but these irrepressible tokens themselves float andglitter in the foam-crests upon those very billows. It cannot, then, bedoubted that the instruments and accompaniments of most of the pomp andluxury, the war, treasons, and varied mercenary crimes of the world, arestill acting their part in it. 

"And why not with the rest the fatal money which Judas cast down beforethe chief priests in his remorse, going out to destroy himself?"

These were the reflections that recurred again and again to Barwood, andpossessed him with a strange fascination. All coins acquired a new andintense interest. He saw in each the exponent of centuries of humanpassions and activities. It is true that in a country like our own alarge part of the coinage is fresh from the mine. Yet his occasionalencounters with foreign, especially Mexican and Canadian pieces, and aconsideration of the immense sums received at the great ports of entry, were, in his regard, sufficient to leaven the whole. 

Is there anywhere in literature an account of the subsequent career ofthe thirty pieces?

The Capitol library, one of the most complete collections in the world, offers unlimited facilities for research. There Barwood was to be foundsome part of every day for months. 

The writer has seen a list of the works consulted by him in his singularinvestigation. It numbers some hundreds, and includes commentaries ofall sorts upon the Gospels, lives of the apostles, collections ofapocryphal Gospels and Scriptural traditions, the works of the earlyfathers, chronicles of the Middle Ages, treatises upon Oriental life andcustoms, histories of symbolism and Christian art, a great number ofworks upon numismatics, and, finally, accounts of great crimes andcalamities. For Barwood took a new view of history: he looked to findthat the great treasons, briberies, betrayals of trust, murders frommercenary motives, and perhaps financial troubles, had been set inmotion by this fatal money, made the instrument of divine vengeance. 

"It has mown a swath through history, " he said, "like a discharge ofgrape. "

He believed it would appear, if the truth were known, in the bankaccounts of Manuel Comnenus, of Egmont, Benedict Arnold, and theHungarian Gorgey. 

His progress was by no means rapid. Much of the literature among whichhe delved, musty with age, written in mediaeval Latin and in obsoletecharacters, gave up its secrets with reluctance. Nevertheless he founddefinite replies to the questions which he propounded to himself. Acollection of apocryphal Gospels "printed, " according to the quainttitle-page, "for Richard Royston at the Angle in Amen Corner, MDCLXX, "relates particulars about Judas, among the rest, which do not appear inthe Scriptures. He was when young, it was said, a playmate of the boyJesus, who delivered him from a devil by which he was even thenpossessed. The chief value of this book to Barwood was in a reference itcontained to a fuller Gospel of Judas Iscariot, not now extant with theexception of some passages quoted in the writings of Irenaeus. But thesepassages were upon the very subject of which he was in search. In atreatise of Irenaeus's, therefore, of about the second century, Barwoodfound the first definite mention of the coins. 

The main part of the story is that of the authorized version, but afterthe account of the relinquishment of the coins by Judas, saying that hehad betrayed innocent blood, and of their use in the purchase of thepotter's field, occurs a passage translated[2] by Barwood as follows:--

"Now the shekels were of the coinage of Simon, the high priest, whichAntiochus authorized him to issue. They bore the pot of manna and theflowering rod of Aaron, the high priest. But he to whom they were givenknew that they were the price of blood, and was afraid. And _he stampedthem with a mark in shape like a cross_. And great tribulations cameupon him, and tribulation came upon all that bought and sold with themoney of Judas. " Later on, Leontinus, a Byzantine writer of the sixthcentury, in a treatise devoted to showing the efficacy of certain formsand processes in imparting virtue to inanimate matter, instances as wellknown the malevolence inherent in the thirty pieces of silver of Judas, which carry ruin wherever they go. From this time the legend is traceddown through successive periods. The Middle Ages, which so delighted inthe romantic, the mysterious, the portentous, received it implicitly. Eginhard, abbot of Seligenstadt under Charlemagne, William ofMalmesbury, the English chronicler of the twelfth century, Roger Baconof the thirteenth, Malespini, the Italian chronicler of the same period, and many others of equal note mention as fully established that thecoins of Judas were in circulation, and were inflicting serious injuryupon those into whose possession they came. It was said to beimpossible to amalgamate them with any other silver. They either wouldnot melt or in melting remained distinct. This, however, was a disputedpoint. Some of the alchemists in their writings seem disposed toattribute the ill success of their efforts at transmutation to thepresence of some taint of these pieces in the silver upon which theywere experimenting. 

Matthew Paris, who first popularized the legend of the Wandering Jew, asnow received, strangely enough makes no mention of them. 

The conclusions arrived at by Barwood were these:--

1. There was for hundreds of years a general belief in the existence andactive circulation of the thirty pieces paid to Judas. 

2. They were supposed to be sent as a divine judgment, and to leave ruinin their track. 

3. The tradition gradually disappeared and cannot be traced in theliterature of modern times. 

Here was a valuable pursuit for a young American treasury clerk of thenineteenth century! It would have been interesting to have got thegeneral's opinion upon it, if it could have been sought in some hurriedinterval of his confidential transactions with Richard Roe, claim agentand brother-in-law, or his attention to addition and division withCongressman Doublegame. 

Barwood did not stop here. Now that his belief was put into tangibleshape, he felt impelled onward to its realization. He examined minutelyevery coin collection in Washington. Then, as he could, he made journeysto several of the great cities. Very seldom did he find a specimen ofJewish money of any kind. Jewish coins are rare. "It is known that theJews had no coinage of their own until the time of Maccabeus. SimonMaccabeus, by virtue of a decree of Antiochus (1 Macc. Xv. 6) issued ashekel and also a half-shekel. These with the exception of some brasscoins of the Herods, Archelaus, and Agrippa, and a doubtful pieceattributed to Bar Cochba, the leader in the last rising against theRomans, are the only coins of Judea extant. "

Barwood began to be affected by a nervous dread brought on by his tooclose study and constant preoccupation with this subject. As he alonehad felt this interest and prosecuted this strange inquiry, might it notbe that he was being drawn in some mysterious way within the influenceof the fatal money? Perhaps he himself was to be involved in itsrelentless course. He shuddered at the thought, and yet was borneirresistibly on, as he believed, in his pursuit. He imagined at timesthat he felt a peculiar influence from the touch of certain pieces. Thishe held to be a clairvoyant sense that they had figured in crimes. Perhaps contact with a hand affected by powerful passion had imparted tothem subtle properties capable of being detected by a sensitiveorganization. 

In such study and speculation Barwood passed the spring and summer of1870. Towards the middle of August occurred the well-remembered flurryin Wall Street consequent upon the breaking out of the French andPrussian War. Gold jumped up to one hundred and twenty-three. Money wasloaned at ruinous rates. The whole financial system was disturbed. Silver, then withdrawn from circulation, has not reappeared to this day. 

The effect of these events upon Barwood although not immediatelyapparent, was highly important. With the disappearance of specie, thedaily sight and handling of which had given his conception a tangiblesupport, its strength declined. It was not forgotten at once, nor indeedat all. But time drew it away by little and little. It threw mists ofdistance and hues of strangeness about it, until at length Barwoodlooked back upon it, far remote, as a vague object of wonderment. 

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 2: Diary, June, 1870. ]

 * * * * *

IV. 

THE HOLBROOK FARM. 

The day had been sultry. Even after sunset the atmosphere wasoppressive, and pavements and railings in the city were warm to thetouch from the steady blaze to which they had been subjected. At theHolbrook farm, however, occasional puffs of air stirred the silverpoplars skirting the road, and waved the brown timothy grass that grewknee-deep up to the veranda. 

Porto Rico and Carter's boy turning somersaults in the grass--entirelywithout the knowledge of the discreet Carter himself, it may beassumed--suddenly relinquished this fascinating sport to rush for theprivilege of holding Barwood's horse, Porto Rico's longer legs andgeneral force of character gave him the preference. He jumped into thesaddle as soon as Barwood was out of it, and trotted off to the stablewith Carter's boy whooping and bobbing his woolly head in the rear. 

"Never you mine, " said Carter's boy, "I'll have the other gen'l'm'n. "

"No other gen'l'm'n a'n't comin', " said Porto Rico. "Don't I done toleyou dey don't bofe come de same day?"

The Holbrook house, three miles from the Capitol, of the dome of whichit commands a pretty glimpse across an expanse of foliage, is one of theold residences remaining from the days of the slave-holders. Like manysuch places it has been much altered and improved. It seems to have beenoriginally a one and-a-half-story stone dwelling, to which some laterproprietor has added a high-peaked roof, dormer windows, and amplepiazzas. It stands half-way up a slope, near the top of which is agrove. A brook runs down through the woods on the other side of theroad, and beyond that rises a steep little bluff crowned with scrub-oaksand chestnuts. 

The attraction that drew people to Holbrook farm was not the proprietorhimself, nor very much his maiden sister, the housekeeper, nor yetCarter, the farmer and manager who came with them from Richmond. It wasrather the engaging manners and amiable beauty of Nina Holbrook, thedaughter of the house. The old gentleman was a partial paralytic, whimsical, and not especially sociable. He was known to have lived inprincely style at Richmond, formerly. He was said to have met for someyears past with continual reverses, in the loss of property, insickness, and in the death of friends. The farm was bought with almostthe last remnants of a great fortune. 

As Barwood strode down the piazza, a young lady rose from her reading togive him her hand. 

Blonde beauty is slightly indefinite. The edges are, as it were, toomuch softened off into the background. The figure before Barwood wasfresh, distinct, clear-cut, --pre-Raphaelitish, to take a word frompainting. In all the details, from the ribbon in her feathery brown hairto the pretty buttoned boot, there was the ineffable aroma of a pure, delicate taste. 

To a man of Barwood's temperament falling in love was difficult. Heanalyzed too closely. To ask the tender passion too many questions is torepel its advances. 

Nevertheless, after two years of intimate association, in which he haddiscovered in Nina Holbrook a frankness and loveliness of charactercommensurate with her personal graces, he had arrived at thiscondition. First, He believed that her permanent influence upon hischaracter could cure his moodiness and his unpractical tendencies, andenable him to exert his fullest powers. Second, By making thesupposition that anything should intervene to limit or break off theirintercourse, he found that she had become indispensable to him. 

Their acquaintance had begun in some one of the ordinary ways in whichpeople meet. It might have been at a tea-party, or a secretary'sreception, or a boat excursion up the Potomac. They discovered that theyhad mutual acquaintances to talk about. His evening rides began to bedirected through the pretty lanes that led to Holbrook. She loaned him abook; he brought her confectionery; they played some piano duetstogether. 

On her side the sentiment was different. She respected Barwood for finetraits and was grateful for his many kindnesses to her. But certainpeculiar moods of his made her uncomfortable. His interest also was toomuch occupied with books, speculations about the anomalies and problemsof life, and similar serious matters. She found it wearisome and oftendifficult to follow him. She admired such things, but had not as muchhead for them as he gave her credit for. Her taste was more practical, commonplace, and cheerful. She was satisfied with people and things intheir ordinary aspects. 

She got on much better with Mars Brown, exchanging comments with himupon the affairs of her friends and his, discussing the last party andthe next wedding, or laughing at his drollery. She confessed herstupidity and frivolity with charming frankness. 

Barwood was conscious that he did not always interest her, although shenever showed anything but the most ladylike attention. He often wentaway lamenting the destiny that had fashioned his nature to run in sosmall and rigid a groove. His happiness, therefore, did not consist inbeing with her, for then he was oppressed by a consciousness of notentirely pleasing her. It was rather in retrospect, in his memory of hersweet and earnest face, the tones of her voice, the shine of her hair. He gave her such small gifts as he might within the restraints of socialpropriety. It would have consisted with his notion of the fitness ofthings to give her everything he had and leave himself a beggar. 

Barwood rode to Holbrook to-day with a definite purpose. He was aware, although, as Porto Rico said, both gentlemen did not come on the sameday, that Mars Brown was devoting more attention in this direction oflate than the exigencies of his boat and ball clubs, his shooting andfishing, and the claims of the social world in town would seem towarrant. He did not yet really fear him as a rival. His presence wasonly a suggestion of possibilities. There might at some time be rivals. He had determined to forestall possibilities, and tell her of hisaffection at once. 

Mars Brown was, however, a dangerous rival, although himself perhaps aslittle aware of it as Barwood. He also had met Nina and been impressedby her animated beauty. Accustomed to success, he had ridden out toHolbrook to add one more to his list of flirtations and conquests. Theresults had by no means answered his expectations. When he approachedsentiment Nina laughed at him. By degrees he had been piqued intoearnestness, and had for the first time in his life approximated to aserious esteem and attachment. 

Although Nina laughed at first, later on she sometimes blushed at hisvoice or his step, or when she put her hand into his. If his customaryshrewd vision had not been disturbed by some unusual influences at workwithin himself, he would have seen it. 

He had the audacity that charms women, and with it a frank, open face, ahearty laugh, an entirely healthy, cheerful disposition, and an air ofstrength under all his frivolity. 

It has been said that Barwood had come to the farm to-day with adefinite purpose. He drew up one of the comfortable chairs at hand, andsat down near to Nina. They talked at first of ordinary things, theunusual heat, the news of the day, and what each had been doing sincetheir last meeting. 

The secluded prospect before them was very peaceful. Barwood felt itssoothing influence acting upon the perturbation of his spirit. 

"I am improving my mind, you see, " said Nina, holding up to him one ofMotley's histories, which she had apparently been reading. "I do notbelieve even you can find fault with this. "

"Am I in the habit of finding fault with anybody, Miss Nina?"

"Oh no, I don't mean that exactly, but you know so much, you know, thatyou frighten one. "

"Thank you, " said Barwood with a grave smile, "you flatter me. "

"Why were you not at the Hoyts' last Tuesday?" said she. 

"I was not invited, and, strange to state, I am a little diffident aboutgoing under such circumstances. "

"Ah, you are! how singular! But I wish you had been there, if it wasonly to see Betty Goodwin. You used to know her. It is such a short timeago that she was a little girl. Now she is out of school and asimportant as anybody. You should have seen the attention she had, andher perfect self-possession. It makes me feel extremely antiquated. Am Ivery much wrinkled?"

Barwood gazed with admiration at her animated face. She was to him thepersonification of youth and beauty. The notion of age and wrinkles inher regard was inconceivable. 

"Why, of course, " said he; "Methuselah wasn't a circumstance. "

She dismissed the subject with a little pout. 

"I am so glad you have come early, " she resumed. "I wish the otherswould imitate your example. "

"The others? What others?"

"Mr. Hyson, the Hoyt boys, Mr. Brown, Fanny Davis, and the rest. You didnot suppose you were to do them alone, I hope. "

"Do what alone? I don't understand. "

"Why, the tableaux--Evangeline. Did you not get my message yesterday?"

"I got no message. Am I to be implicated in tableaux?"

"Why, certainly. You are to be Evangeline's father. They are for thebenefit of the French wounded. I sent Carter to tell you yesterday. Weare to arrange the preliminaries this evening. "

Barwood saw that if he would not postpone his purpose no time was to belost. The visitors might arrive at any moment. 

Literature is full of the embarrassments of the marriage proposal. Toall who are not borne along by an impetuous impulse it is a tryingordeal. Barwood was too self-conscious ever to be transported out ofhimself. 

"I have something to say to you, Miss Nina, " he began, "which I havecome from town expressly to say. It is of the greatest moment to me. "

She continued to look straight before her at the glowing evening sky, and so did he. The crickets and katydids had commenced their chorus andthe tree-toads their long rhythm. Fire-flies flitted in the uncertainlight. There came from the woods the call of the owl and thewhippoorwill. 

"We have sometimes laughed together at sentiment, " he continued, "andvoted it an invention of the story-books; but there are times--there isa sentiment--which--in short, dear Nina, I have come to ask you to be mylittle wife. I have loved you almost since our first meeting. "

"Oh, Mr. Barwood, " said she, looking hastily towards him, withheightened color and a tone of regret, "you must not say so. I cannotlet you go on. "

"I must go on, " said he. "I have never felt so strongly upon any subjectas this. I know I am not worthy of such happiness, yet I cannot bear thethought of losing it. Consider our long friendship. You will be mine?Oh, say so, Nina!" In the terrible dread that his petition was alreadyrefused, he became a little incoherent. 

Nina, a tender-hearted young lady, was by this time in tears. Hisevident distress, and her recognition of the great compliment he hadpaid her, would have commanded almost any return save the one he asked. But the sacrifice was too great. She had not thought it would ever benecessary to change their relation of friendship. 

"I am very sorry to have to say what is painful to you, " said she, witha sob only half repressed. "I want you to be always my friend. I shallbe very unhappy if our friendship is to be broken, but _I_ cannot--youwill find some other"--

"Do not speak further, " he interrupted, impetuously. "You have not yetsaid no. Reserve your answer; take time to consider. Let me still hope. "

"No, " she began, "I ought"--but wheels and merry voices were heard atthe gate. "Oh! I cannot let them see me now, " she said, and hurriedaway. In a moment more the Robinsons' carriage was at the steps. WhenNina came down with a sweet, subdued manner, there was a jolly party often or twelve in the drawing-room. Mars Brown was already amusingeverybody with his absurd posturing. 

"I want to be Evangeline, " said he, wrapping a lady's shawl about himand sitting on the arm of a chair in a collapsed attitude. "No, onsecond thought, I want to be Basil the blacksmith. " He made imitationsof tremendous muscular power with a tack-hammer that happened in his wayfor a sledge. Everybody on such occasions has his own notions of thepicturesque. A deal of talking was required in arranging the variousscenes. Evangeline must manifest a "celestial brightness, " according tothe lines. "I don't think you do it quite right, " said Julia Robinson. "You should smile a little. "

"Oh no, not at all; she should have an earnest, far off look, " saidanother critic. 

"Of course she should, " said Mars Brown, rumpling his hair andcontorting his features into an expression of idiotic vacancy;"something this way. "

"We ought to have a real artist to arrange them, " said Nina; "whatwould I give if old Mr. Megilp were here. "

"Did you know Megilp?" exclaimed Barwood. 

"Why, of course I did. He was my drawing teacher at Richmond for years. "

"What a small world it is, to be sure, " said Barwood, giving vent to afavorite reflection. The mention of Megilp brought back for a moment aremembrance of their last meeting and conversation, and the strangepursuit into which it had led him. 

The signing of the marriage contract was selected by the amateurs as anappropriate subject for illustration. 

"We must have a table, " said Miss Travers. "At one side sits the notary, lifting his pen from the document which he has just signed, and at theother her father, pushing toward the notary a roll of money in payment. "

"Here you are, " said George Wigwag, taking his place and assuming theappropriate gesture; "here's your notary; bring on your old gentlemanand his money. "

"A roll of old copper cents would be just the thing, " said Miss Travers. "They look antique enough. "

"Will some gentleman deposit with the treasurer a roll of antique coppercents?" said Brown, passing a hat. "No gentleman deposits a roll ofcopper cents. Very well, then the wedding can't go on. "

"Do you think I'll sign marriage contracts for copper?" said Wigwag. "No indeed; I'm not that kind of a notary. "

"I will bring down some of papa's curiosity coins from his cabinet, "said Nina. "I don't believe he will scold me, just for once. "

She returned in a moment with a dozen or more silver pieces, and placedthem on the table by Barwood. He began to examine them carelessly. 

"I did not know your father was a numismatist, " said he. 

"Oh yes, " said Nina, "he always had a great taste in that way. Hiscollection now is nothing. When we broke up in Richmond most of it wassold off. He retained only a few of the most valuable pieces, which hekeeps in a case in his room. I don't know much about such things, for mypart. Here is one that is considered curious. It was taken out of awreck on the California coast, I believe, and was the last papa boughtbefore his failure. I think it is Russian, perhaps, or Arabic--no, letme see"--

Barwood, with an abstracted air, took it to examine. Suddenly he uttereda strange exclamation and fell back in his chair, pale, trembling, almost fainting. 

_The coin was a Jewish shekel, with a cross cut through at one side. _

He pleaded sudden illness, and rode hastily homeward in a state ofindescribable agitation. 

 * * * * *

V. 

YOUNG FORTINBRAS. 

Barwood's strange and almost forgotten conception was thus at lengthrealized, and the interest with which it had inspired him intenselyrevived. One of the fatal pieces was found. He would now fain haveoverthrown the structure of probabilities which he had labored sopainfully to elaborate. He reviewed step by step all the details of hisformer study; but no argument availed in the face of the extraordinarycorroboration now offered. The piece was "stamped with a mark in shapelike a cross, " and the account of Irenaeus was verified. 

That this fatal piece should appear in the hands of the people whom ofall others he most esteemed and with whom his own fortunes were mostintimately bound up, was a terrible shock. This, then, was the clew tothe catalogue of Holbrook's misfortunes. What surpassing crime could theold man have committed to be so signally marked out for vengeance? Butthe question of most vital interest was what could be done to save thefamily so dear to him from their impending fate. 

With the recovery of some calmness, he felt that his first duty was toremove the coin from their possession. But how was it to be done? Hecould not disclose his knowledge of its baleful properties. It would beset down as the vagary of a disordered brain; nobody would entertain itfor an instant. His object must be accomplished, if at all, by artifice. 

When he next rode to the farm, nearly a week had elapsed since theevening into which so many distracting emotions had been crowded. Heexerted himself to display unusual cheerfulness, with the double objectof removing any disagreeable impression which might have been the resultof his sudden departure on that occasion, and also of finding means toforward his purpose. The subject uppermost in the thoughts of both wasat first carefully avoided, and they talked much in their usual fashion. 

"Those coins, Miss Nina, which were used the other evening in thetableau, " said he, with a careless air, "can I see them again? I foundthem interesting, but owing to my sudden illness, as you know, hadscarcely time to examine them. "

"My father was displeased at me for taking them, " said she, "and hasforbidden me to do so again. I think he would show them to you himselfwith pleasure, if he were here, but he went North yesterday on businesswhich will detain him a week. He took the key of his cabinet with him. "

Disappointed in this, there seemed to be for the present no resource. Herecurred again to his love. If she would consent to be his, he thought, he might disclose the danger, and they could plan together to avert it. He told her with what anxiety he had been awaiting her decision, andthen once more made his appeal with all the ardor at his command. As hefinished, standing close beside her, he took her hand. 

She did not withdraw it, but still went on to tell him with greatcalmness and dignity that what he desired could never be. She hopedtheir friendship might always continue, but as for a closer relation, itwould be unjust to him as well as herself to enter into it without theaffection which she could not give. 

He went away apparently very much broken down, saying that his life wasa burden to him, and that he had no use for it. The next day he cameagain and acted so strangely, mingling appeals to her with talk abouther father's coins, that she was a little frightened. 

The few days that succeeded made a striking change in the appearance ofBarwood. He became pale and haggard, and seemed to have lost hiscapacity for business and fixed attention. He sat staring helplessly athis papers for an hour at a time. The general, who with all hisiniquities was a good-hearted chief, thought he was sick, and told himto stay at home and take care of himself. His reflections at this timewere tormenting. He saw that he had indeed been drawn within theinfluence of the fatal coin. It was at him that its malignity wasdirected, and he believed that his doom was approaching, as indeed itwas. Sometimes he gazed at his altered face in the glass, while tearsstreamed down his cheeks. He said aloud, in a piteous tone, "Poor HenryBarwood. "

The sympathy of the world is generally upon the side of the unsuccessfullover. He is considered to have been defrauded of happiness which shouldby right have been his. But is it fair? Because her face is sweet, hermanners are amiable, her form is slender and graceful, and her hair hasa golden shine, and Barwood or Brown or Travers, as the case may be, incommon with all the world, recognizes it, does that establish a claimupon her? Just as likely as not he has a snub nose and only fifteenhundred a year, and cannot dance the Boston. No! sympathy is wellenough, but let not the blame be cast upon Chloe every time that Daphnisgoes off in despair to the Sandwich Islands, or the war in Cuba, orturns out a good-for-nothing sot. Let it rather be set down as one ofthe ill-adjustments of which there are so many in life, and theendurance of which is no doubt of service in some direction not yetfully understood. 

In about a week there came from Holbrook Farm a message which was notneeded to complete the measure of Barwood's unhappiness. 

"My father, " wrote Nina, "has just returned. He has decided that we areto remove permanently to Connecticut, where my aunt has fallen heir tothe Holbrook homestead. We shall leave next Monday. Will you let us seeyou before we go?"

He mounted his horse and started at once. He did not know exactly whathe should do or say. His ideas were in a state of confusion, and therewas a numbness over all his sensations. He gave himself up blindly tohis destiny. 

He saw Nina sitting in the shade of an apple-tree, half-way down thelawn, near a little plateau which served for a croquet ground. He tiedhis horse to the fence outside, much to the disappointment of therollicking negro boys, and walked up. Nina held in her lap a tray ofcoins which she was engaged in brightening. She assumed a sprightlinessnot quite natural, and evidently designed to obviate the awkwardness oftheir peculiar relation. 

"We have had an accident, " said she. "One of our chimneys fell throughthe roof during the storm last night. It shook down the plaster uponpapa's cabinet. The glass was broken and the rain came in so that thismorning it was in a sorry condition. I am repairing damages, you see. IfI were superstitious, " she continued, "I should fear that something wasgoing to happen. I meet with so many omens lately. I spill salt, crossfunerals, and make one of thirteen at dinner parties. "

Barwood replied as best he could; he did not know exactly what. He wasin no mood for flippancy. He assumed a dozen different positions in ashort space: first sitting on a camp-chair beside her, then hurriedwalking up and down, then careless prostration upon the grass. The old, useless argument was gone through with again. She told him at last thatit annoyed her, that he was very inconsiderate. Then again he paced upand down the little croquet ground. She saw him twisting and clutchinghis hands together behind him. At the fifth or sixth turn as he came byshe had the marked shekel in her hand. He took it from her and looked atit curiously. 

"Yes, it is indeed, " said he in an unnatural voice, "fatal money, and Iam its latest victim!"

He threw it towards the woods with great force. 

It rose high in the air, skimmed the trees, and they saw it twinkle intothe brook. 

It was a very little incident. No magic hand arose from the water. Thebeauty of the August day was not marred. The rain of the past night hadswollen the brook, which ran hurriedly on to the Potomac, making littleof this trivial addition to its burdens. 

Nina did not reproach him. She felt that her father would consider theloss irreparable, yet she had no words for this extraordinary rudeness. After two or three turns more in his walk he stopped close beside her. 

"For the last time, " said he, "have I urged everything, and is it of nouse?"

She made no answer. 

"You have said so?" he persisted. 

"Yes, I have said so, " she replied, with a touch of impatience, andwithout raising her eyes. "I am engaged to Mars Brown. "

He went forward several steps and stood still. Glancing up she saw himhold a little revolver to his temple. It was one she had known him tocarry for protection when riding late in the evening. He seemed todeliberate one terrible moment while she sat spell-bound as if bynightmare, and then he fired and fell. 

She tried to reach his body, but fainted on the way. Mars Brown, ridingto Holbrook for a half-holiday, was almost within sight. 

Upon the closing scene of Hamlet, where the characters, after a periodof stormy conflict and exquisite anguish, lie strewn by violent death, arrives young Fortinbras at the head of his marching army. Tall, sturdy, elastic, dressed in chain-mail, victorious, careless, the impersonationof ruddy life, the young Norway conqueror leans upon his sword above thepitiable sight. 

So this brilliant young man, elegant in figure, well dressed, joyous, cynical, came whistling up the path. He cut off the clover tops with hiswalking-stick. The butterflies, the pleasant aromas, and all themanifestations of rural beauty pleased him. 

"Egad, " said he, "this isn't so bad, you know. "

In a moment he stood by the apple-tree, and the whole sad spectacle wasbefore him. 

 * * * * *

The telegraphic column of a New York newspaper gave the story nextmorning, in the conventional manner, as follows:

 "Henry Barwood, a treasury clerk, was killed yesterday at the Holbrook estate near Washington, by the discharge of a pistol in his own hands. The shooting is thought to have been accidental, although he had been ill and depressed for some days, and is said to have shown symptoms of insanity on former occasions. "

BALACCHI BROTHERS. 

BY REBECCA HARDING DAVIS. 

"There's a man, now, that has been famous in his time, " said Davidge, aswe passed the mill, glancing in at the sunny gap in the side of thebuilding. 

I paused incredulously: Phil's lion so often turned out to be Snug thejoiner. Phil was my chum at college, and in inviting me home to spendthe vacation with him I thought he had fancied the resources of hisvillage larger than they proved. In the two days since we came we hadexamined the old doctor's cabinet, listened superciliously to a debatein the literary club upon the Evils of the Stage, and passed two solidafternoons in the circle about the stove in the drug-shop, where thesquire and the Methodist parson, and even the mild, white-cravated youngrector of St. Mark's, were wont to sharpen their wits by friction. Whatmore was left? I was positive that I knew the mental gauge of every manin the village. 

A little earlier or later in life a gun or fishing-rod would havesatisfied me. The sleepy, sunny little market-town was shut in by thebronzed autumn meadows, that sent their long groping fingers of grass orparti-colored weeds drowsily up into the very streets: there were rangesof hills and heavy stretches of oak and beech woods, too, through whichcrept glittering creeks full of trout. But I was just at that age whenthe soul disdains all aimless pleasures: my game was Man. I was busy inphilosophically testing, weighing, labelling human nature. 

"Famous, eh?" I said, looking after the pursy figure of the miller inhis floury canvas round-about and corduroy trowsers, trotting up anddown among the bags. 

"That is one of the Balacchi Brothers, " Phil answered as we walked on. "You've heard of them when you were a boy?"

I had heard of them. The great acrobats were as noted in their line ofart as Ellsler and Jenny Lind in theirs. But acrobats and danseuses hadbeen alike brilliant, wicked impossibilities to my youth, for I had beenreared a Covenanter of the Covenanters. In spite of the doubtingphilosophies with which I had clothed myself at college, that oldPresbyterian training clung to me in everyday life close as my skin. 

After that day I loitered about the mill, watching this man, whose lifehad been spent in one godless theatre after another, very much as theFlorentine peasants looked after Dante when they knew he had come backfrom hell. I was on the lookout for the taint, the abnormal signs, ofvice. It was about that time that I was fevered with the missionaryenthusiasm, and in Polynesia, where I meant to go (but where I never didgo), I declared to Phil daily that I should find in every cannibal thehalf-effaced image of God, only waiting to be quickened into grace andvirtue. That was quite conceivable. But that a flashy, God-defying actorcould be the same man at heart as this fat, good-tempered, gossipingmiller, who jogged to the butcher's every morning for his wife, a basketon one arm and a baby on the other, was not conceivable. He was a closedealer at the butcher's, too, though dribbling gossip there aseverywhere; a regular attendant at St. Mark's, with his sandy-headedflock about him, among whom he slept comfortably enough, it is true, butwith as pious dispositions as the rest of us. 

I remember how I watched this man, week in and week out. It was atrivial matter, but it irritated me unendurably to find that thiscircus-rider had human blood precisely like my own it outraged my earlyreligion. 

We talk a great deal of the rose-colored illusions in which youth wrapsthe world, and the agony it suffers as they are stripped from its bare, hard face. But the fact is, that youth (aside from its narrow-passionatefriendships) is usually apt to be acrid and watery and sour in itsjudgment and creeds--it has the quality of any other unripe fruit: it ismiddle age that is just and tolerant, that has found room enough in theworld for itself and all human flies to buzz out their livesgood-humoredly together. It is youth who can see a tangible devil atwork in every party or sect opposed to its own, whose enemy is always avillain, and who finds treachery and falsehood in the friend who isoccasionally bored or indifferent: it is middle age that has discoveredthe reasonable sweet _juste milieu_ of human nature--who knows fewsaints perhaps, but is apt to find its friend and grocer and shoemakeragreeable and honest fellows. It is these vehement illusions, theseinherited bigotries and prejudices, that tear and cripple a young man asthey are taken from him one by one. He creeps out of them as a crab fromthe shell that has grown too small for him, but he thinks he has lefthis identity behind him. 

It was such a reason as this that made me follow the miller assiduously, and cultivate a quasi intimacy with him, in the course of which I pickedthe following story from him. It was told at divers times, and with manyinterruptions and questions from me. But for obvious reasons I have madeit continuous. It had its meaning to me, coarse and common though itwas--the same which Christ taught in the divine beauty of His parables. Whether that meaning might not be found in the history of every humanlife, if we had eyes to read it, is matter for question. 

Balacchi Brothers? And you've heard of them, eh? Well, well! (with apleased nod, rubbing his hands on his knees). Yes, sir. Fifteen yearsago they were known as The Admirable Crichtons of the Ring. It wasGeorge who got up that name: I did not see the force of it. But no namecould claim too much for us. Why, I could show you notices in thenewspapers that--I used to clip them out and stuff my pocket-book withthem as we went along, but after I quit the business I pasted them in anold ledger, and I often now read them of nights. No doubt I lost a goodmany, too. 

Yes, sir: I was one of Balacchi Brothers. My name _is_ Zack Loper. Andit was then, of course. 

You think we would have plenty of adventures? Well, no--not a greatmany. There's a good deal of monotony in the business. Towns seem alwayspretty much alike to me. And there was such a deal of rehearsing to bedone by day and at night. I looked at nothing but the rope and George:the audience was nothing but a packed flat surface of upturned, staringeyes and half-open mouths. It was an odd sight, yes, when you come tothink of it. I never was one for adventures. I was mostly set uponshaving close through the week, so that when Saturday night came I'dhave something to lay by: I had this mill in my mind, you see. I wasmarried, and had my wife and a baby that I'd never seen waiting for meat home. I was brought up to milling, but the trapeze paid better. Itook to it naturally, as one might say. 

But George!--he had adventures every week. And as for acquaintances!Why, before we'd be in a town two days he'd be hail-fellow-well-met withhalf the people in it. That fellow could scent a dance or a joke half amile off. You never see such wide-awake men nowadays. People seem to mehalf dead or asleep when I think of him. 

Oh, I thought you knew. My partner Balacchi. It was Balacchi on thebill: the actors called him Signor, and people like the manager, South, and we, who knew him well, George. I asked him his real name once ortwice, but he joked it off. "How many names must a man be saddled with?"he said. I don't know it to this day, nor who he had been. They hintedthere was something queer about his story, but I'll go my bail it was aclean one, whatever it was. 

You never heard how "Balacchi Brothers" broke up? That was as near to anadventure as I ever had. Come over to this bench and I'll tell it toyou. You don't dislike the dust of the mill? The sun's pleasanter onthis side. 

It was early in August of '56 when George and I came to an old town onthe Ohio, half city, half village, to play an engagement. We were undercontract with South then, who provided the rest of the troupe, three orfour posture-girls, Stradi the pianist, and a Madame Somebody, who gavereadings and sang. "Concert" was the heading in large caps on thebills, "Balacchi Brothers will give their aesthetic _tableaux vivants_in the interludes, " in agate below. 

"I've got to cover you fellows over with respectability here, " Southsaid. "Rope-dancing won't go down with these aristocratic church-goers. "

I remember how George was irritated. "When I was my own agent, " he said, "I only went to the cities. Educated people can appreciate what we do, but in these country towns we rank with circus-riders. "

George had some queer notions about his business. He followed it forsheer love of it, as I did for money. I've seen all the great athletessince, but I never saw one with his wonderful skill and strength, andwith the grace of a woman too, or a deer. Now that takes hard, steadywork, but he never flinched from it, as I did; and when night came, andthe people and lights, and I thought of nothing but to get through, Iused to think he had the pride of a thousand women in every one of hismuscles and nerves: a little applause would fill him with a mad kind offury of delight and triumph. South had a story that George belonged tosome old Knickerbocker family, and had run off from home years ago. Idon't know. There was that wild restless blood in him that no home couldhave kept him. 

We were to stay so long in this town that I found rooms for us with anold couple named Peters, who had but lately moved in from the country, and had half a dozen carpenters and masons boarding with them. It wascheaper than the hotel, and George preferred that kind of people toeducated men, which made me doubt that story of his having been agentleman. The old woman Peters was uneasy about taking us, and spokeout quite freely about it when we called, not knowing that George and Iwere Balacchi Brothers ourselves. 

"The house has been respectable so far, gentlemen, " she said. "I don'tknow what about taking in them half-naked, drunken play-actors. What doyou say, Susy?" to her granddaughter. 

"Wait till you see them, grandmother, " the girl said gently. "I shouldthink that men whose lives depended every night on their steady eyes andnerves would not dare to touch liquor. "

"You are quite right--nor even tobacco, " said George. It was such aprompt, sensible thing for the little girl to say that he looked at herattentively a minute, and then went up to the old lady smiling: "Wedon't look like drinking men, do we, madam?"

"No, no, sir. I did not know that you were the I-talians. " She was quiteflustered and frightened, and said cordially enough how glad she was tohave us both. But it was George she shook hands with. There wassomething clean and strong and inspiring about that man that made mostwomen friendly to him on sight. 

Why, in two days you'd have thought he'd never had another home than thePeters's. He helped the old man milk, and had tinkered up the brokenkitchen-table, and put in half a dozen window-panes, and was intimatewith all the boarders; could give the masons the prices of job-work atthe East, and put Stoll the carpenter on the idea of contract houses, out of which he afterward made a fortune. It was nothing but jokes andfun and shouts of laughter when he was in the house: even the old manbrightened up and told some capital stories. But from the first Inoticed that George's eye followed Susy watchfully wherever she went, though he was as distant and respectful with her as he was with mostwomen. He had a curious kind of respect for women, George had. Even theSlingsbys, that all the men in the theatre joked with, he used to passby as though they were logs leaning against the wall. They were theposture-girls, and anything worse besides the name _I_ never saw. 

There was a thing happened once on that point which I often thoughtmight have given me a clew to his history if I'd followed it up. We wereplaying in one of the best theatres in New York (they brought us intosome opera), and the boxes were filled with fine ladies beautifullydressed, or, I might say, half dressed. 

George was in one of the wings. "It's a pretty sight, " I said to him. 

"It's a shameful sight, " he said with an oath. "The Slingsbys do it fortheir living, but these women--"

I said they were ladies, and ought to be treated with respect. I wasamazed at the heat he was in. 

"I had a sister, Zack, and there's where I learned what a woman shouldbe. "

"I never heard of your sister, George, " said I. I knew he would not havespoken of her but for the heat he was in. 

"No. I'm as dead to her, being what I am, as if I were six feet underground. "

I turned and looked at him, and when I saw his face I said no more, andI never spoke of it again. It was something neither I nor any other manhad any business with. 

So, when I saw how he was touched by Susy and drawn toward her, itraised her in my opinion, though I'd seen myself how pretty and sensiblea little body she was. But I was sorry, for I knew twan't no use. ThePeterses were Methodists, and Susy more strict than any of them; and Isaw she looked on the theatre as the gate of hell, and George and meswinging over it. 

I don't think, though, that George saw how strong her feeling about itwas, for after we'd been there a week or two he began to ask her to goand see us perform, if only for once. I believe he thought the girlwould come to love him if she saw him at his best. I don't wonder at it, sir. I've seen those pictures and statues they've made of the old gods, and I reckon they put in them the best they thought a man could be; butI never knew what real manhood was until I saw my partner when he stoodquiet on the stage waiting the signal to begin the light full on hiskeen blue eyes, the gold-worked velvet tunic, and his perfect figure. 

He looked more like other men in his ordinary clothing. George liked abit of flash, too, in his dress--a red necktie or gold chain stretchedover his waistcoat. 

Susy refused at first, steadily. At last, however, came our final night, when George was to produce his great leaping feat, never yet performedin public. We had been practising it for months, and South judged itbest to try it first before a small, quiet audience, for the risk washorrible. Whether, because it was to be the last night, and her kindheart disliked to hurt him by refusal, or whether she loved him betterthan either she or he knew, I could not tell, but I saw she was stronglytempted to go. She was an innocent little thing, and not used to hidewhat she felt. Her eyes were red that morning, as though she had beencrying all the night. Perhaps, because I was a married man, and quieterthan George, she acted more freely with me than him. 

"I wish I knew what to do, " she said, looking up to me with her eyesfull of tears. There was nobody in the room but her grandmother. 

"I couldn't advise you, Miss Susy, " says I. "Your church discipline goesagainst our trade, I know. "

"I know what's right myself: I don't need church discipline to teachme, " she said sharply. 

"I think I'd go, Susy, " said her grandmother. "It is a concert, afterall: it's not a play. "

"The name doesn't alter it. "

Seeing the temper she was in, I thought it best to say no more, but theold lady added, "It's Mr. George's last night. Dear, dear! how I'll misshim!"

Susy turned quickly to the window. "Why does he follow such godless waysthen?" she cried. She stood still a good while, and when she turnedabout her pale little face made my heart ache. "I'll take home Mrs. Tyson's dress now, grandmother, " she said, and went out of the room. Iforgot to tell you Susy was a seamstress. Well, the bundle was large, and I offered to carry it for her, as the time for rehearsal did notcome till noon. She crept alongside of me without a word, looking weakand done-out: she was always so busy and bright, it was the morenoticeable. The house where the dress was to go was one of the largestin the town. The servant showed us into a back parlor, and took thedress up to her mistress. I looked around me a great deal, for I'd neverbeen in such a house before; but very soon I caught sight of a lady whomade me forget carpets and pictures. I only saw her in the mirror, forshe was standing by the fireplace in the front room. The door was openbetween. It wasn't that she was especially pretty, but in her whitemorning-dress, with lace about her throat and her fair hair drawn backfrom her face, I thought she was the delicatest, softest, finest thingof man- or woman-kind I ever say. 

"Look there, Susy! look there!" I whispered. 

"It is a Mrs. Lloyd from New York. She is here on a visit. That is herhusband;" and then she went down into her own gloomy thoughts again. 

The husband was a grave, middle-aged man. He had had his paper up beforehis face, so that I had not seen him before. 

"You will go for the tickets, then, Edward?" she said. 

"If you make a point of it, yes, " in an annoyed tone. "But I don't knowwhy you make a point of it. The musical part of the performance isbeneath contempt, I understand, and the real attraction is theexhibition of these mountebanks of trapezists, which will be simplydisgusting to you. You would not encourage such people at home: whywould you do it here?"

"They are not necessarily wicked. " I noticed there was a curiousunsteadiness in her voice, as though she was hurt and agitated. Ithought perhaps she knew I was there. 

"There is very little hope of any redeeming qualities in men who make atrade of twisting their bodies like apes, " he said. "Contortionists andballet-dancers and clowns and harlequins--" he rattled all the namesover with a good deal of uncalled-for sharpness, I thought, calling them"dissolute and degraded, the very offal of humanity. " I could notunderstand his heat until he added, "I never could comprehend yourinterest and sympathy for that especial class, Ellinor. "

"No, you could not, Edward, " she said quietly. 

"But I have it. I never have seen an exhibition of the kind. But I wantto see this to-night, if you will gratify me. I have no reason. " sheadded when he looked at her curiously. "The desire is unaccountable tomyself. "

The straightforward look of her blue eyes as she met his seemedstrangely familiar and friendly to me. 

At that moment Susy stood up to go. Her cheeks were burning and her eyessparkling. "Dissolute and degraded!" she said again and again when wewere outside. But I took no notice. 

As we reached the house she stopped me when I turned off to go torehearsal. "You'll get seats for grandmother and me, Mr. Balacchi?" shesaid. 

"You're going, then, Susy?"

"Yes, I'm going. "

 * * * * *

Now the house in which we performed was a queer structure. A stockcompany, thinking there was a field for a theatre in the town, had takena four-story building, gutted the interior, and fitted it up with tiersof seats and scenery. The stock company was starved out, however, andleft the town, and the theatre was used as a gymnasium, a concert-room, or a church by turns. Its peculiarity was, that it was both exceedinglylofty and narrow, which suited our purpose exactly. 

It was packed that night from dome to pit. George and I had rehearsedour new act both morning and afternoon, South watching us withoutintermission. South was terribly nervous and anxious, half disposed, atthe last minute, to forbid it, although it had been announced on thebills for a week. But a feat which is successful in an empty house, withbut one spectator, when your nerves are quiet and blood cool, is adifferent thing before an excited, terrified, noisy audience, your wholebody at fever heat. However, George was cool as a cucumber, indeedalmost indifferent about the act, but in a mad, boyish glee all dayabout everything else. I suppose the reason was that Susy was going. 

South had lighted the house brilliantly and brought in a band. And allclasses of people poured into the theatre until it could hold no more. Isaw Mrs. Peters in one of the side-seats, with Susy's blushing, frightened little face beside her. George, standing back among thescenes, saw her too: I think, indeed, it was all he did see. 

There were the usual readings from Shakespeare at first. 

While Madame was on, South came to us. "Boys, " said he, "let this mattergo over a few weeks. A little more practice will do you no harm. You cansubstitute some other trick, and these people will be none the wiser. "

George shrugged his shoulders impatiently: "Nonsense! When did you growso chicken-hearted, South? It is I who have to run the risk, I fancy. "

I suppose South's uneasiness had infected me. 

"I am quite willing to put it off, " I said. I had felt gloomy andsuperstitious all day. But I never ventured to oppose George moredecidedly than that. 

He only laughed by way of reply, and went off to dress. South lookedafter him, I remember, saying what a magnificently-built fellow he was. If we could only have seen the end of that night's work!

As I went to my dressing-room I saw Mrs. Lloyd and her husband in one ofthe stage-boxes, with one or two other ladies and gentlemen. She wasplainly and darkly dressed, but to my mind she looked like a princessamong them all. I could not but wonder what interest she could have insuch a rough set as we, although her husband, I confess, did judge ushardly. 

After the readings came the concert part of the performance, and thenwhat South chose to call the Moving Tableaux, which was really nothingin the world but ballet-dancing. George and I were left to crown thewhole. I had some ordinary trapeze-work to do at first, but Georgewas reserved for the new feat, in order that his nerves might beperfectly unshaken. When I went out alone and bowed to the audience, Iobserved that Mrs. Lloyd was leaning eagerly forward, but at the firstglance at my face she sank back with a look of relief, and turned away, that she might not see my exploits. It nettled me a little, I think, yetthey were worth watching. 

Well, I finished, and then there was a song to give me time to cool. Iwent to the side-scenes where I could be alone, for that five minutes. Ihad no risk to run in the grand feat, you see, but I had George's lifein my hands. I haven't told you yet--have I?--what it was he proposed todo. 

A rope was suspended from the centre of the dome, the lower end of whichI held, standing in the highest gallery opposite the stage. Above thestage hung the trapeze on which George and the two posture-girls were tobe. At a certain signal I was to let the rope go, and George, springingfrom the trapeze across the full width of the dome, was to catch it inmid-air, a hundred feet above the heads of the people. You understand?The mistake of an instant of time on either his part or mine, and deathwas almost certain. The plan we had thought surest was for South to givethe word, and then that both should count--One, Two, Three! At Three therope fell, and he leaped. We had practised so often that we thought wecounted as one man. 

When the song was over the men hung the rope and the trapeze. Jenny andLou Slingsby swung themselves up to it, turned a few somersaults andthen were quiet. They were only meant to give effect to the scene intheir gauzy dresses and spangles. Then South came forward and told theaudience what we meant to do. It was a feat, he said, which had neverbeen produced before in any theatre, and in which failure was death. Noone but that most daring of all acrobats, Balacchi, would attempt it. Now I knew South so well that I saw under all his confident, braggingtone he was more anxious and doubtful than he had ever been. Hehesitated a moment, and then requested that after we took our places theaudience should preserve absolute silence, and refrain from even theslightest movement until the feat was over. The merest trifle mightdistract the attention of the performers and render their eyes and holdunsteady, he said. He left the stage, and the music began. 

I went round to take my place in the gallery. George had not yet lefthis room. As I passed I tapped at the door and called, "Good luck, oldfellow!"

"That's certain now, Zack, " he answered, with a joyous laugh. He was soexultant, you see, that Susy had come. 

But the shadow of death seemed to have crept over me. When I took mystand in the lofty gallery, and looked down at the brilliant lights andthe great mass of people, who followed my every motion as one man, andthe two glittering, half-naked girls swinging in the distance, and heardthe music rolling up thunders of sound, it was all ghastly and horribleto me, sir. Some men have such presentiments, they say: I never hadbefore or since. South remained on the stage perfectly motionless, inorder, I think, to maintain his control over the audience. 

The trumpets sounded a call, and in the middle of a burst of triumphantmusic George came on the stage. There was a deafening outbreak ofapplause and then a dead silence, but I think every man and woman felt athrill of admiration of the noble figure Poor George! the new, tight-fitting dress of purple velvet that he had bought for this nightset off his white skin, and his fine head was bare, with no covering butthe short curls that Susy liked. 

It was for Susy! He gave one quick glance up at her, and a bright, boyish smile, as if telling her not to be afraid, which all the audienceunderstood, and answered by an involuntary, long-drawn breath. I lookedat Susy. The girl's colorless face was turned to George, and her handswere clasped as though she saw him already dead before her; but shecould be trusted, I saw. _She_ would utter no sound. I had only time toglance at her, and then turned to my work. George and I dared not takeour eyes from each other. 

There was a single bugle note, and then George swung himself up to thetrapeze. The silence was like death as he steadied himself and slowlyturned so as to front me. As he turned he faced the stage-box for thefirst time. He had reached the level of the posture-girls, who flutteredon either side, and stood on the swaying rod poised on one foot, hisarms folded, when in the breathless stillness there came a sudden cryand the words, "Oh, Charley! Charley!"

Even at the distance where I stood I saw George start and a shiver passover his body. He looked wildly about him. 

"To me! to me!" I shouted. 

He fixed his eye on mine and steadied himself. There was a terriblesilent excitement in the people, in the very air. 

There was the mistake. We should have stopped then, shaken as he was, but South, bewildered and terrified, lost control of himself: he gavethe word. 

I held the rope loose--held George with my eyes--One!

I saw his lips move: he was counting with me. 

Two!

His eye wandered, turned to the stage-box. 

Three!

Like a flash, I saw the white upturned faces below me, theposture-girls' gestures of horror, the dark springing figure through theair, that wavered--and fell a shapeless mass on the floor. 

There was a moment of deathlike silence, and then a wild outcry--womenfainting, men cursing and crying out in that senseless, helpless waythey have when there is sudden danger. By the time I had reached thefloor they had straightened out his shattered limbs, and two or threedoctors were fighting their way through the great crowd that was surgingabout him. 

Well, sir, at that minute what did I hear but George's voice above allthe rest, choked and hollow as it was, like a man calling out of thegrave: "The women! Good God! don't you see the women?" he gasped. 

Looking up then, I saw those miserable Slingsbys hanging on to thetrapeze for life. What with the scare and shock, they'd lost what littlesense they had, and there they hung helpless as limp rags high over ourheads. 

"Damn the Slingsbys!" said I. God forgive me! But I saw this batteredwreck at my feet that had been George. Nobody seemed to have any mindleft. Even South stared stupidly up at them and then back at George. Thedoctors were making ready to lift him, and half of the crowd were gapingin horror, and the rest yelling for ladders or ropes, and scramblingover each other, and there hung the poor flimsy wretches, their eyesstarting out of their heads from horror, and their lean fingers loosingtheir hold every minute. But, sir--I couldn't help it--I turned fromthem to watch George as the doctors lifted him. 

"It's hardly worth while, " whispered one. 

But they raised him and, sir--the body went one way and the legsanother. 

I thought he was dead. I couldn't see that he breathed, when he openedhis eyes and looked up for the Slingsbys. "Put me down, " he said, andthe doctors obeyed him. There was that in his voice that they had toobey him, though it wasn't but a whisper. 

"Ladders are of no use, " he said. "Loper!"

"Yes, George"

"You can swing yourself up. Do it. "

I went. I remember the queer stunned feeling I had: my joints moved likea machine. 

When I had reached the trapeze, he said, as cool as if he were callingthe figures for a Virginia reel, "Support them, you--Loper. Now, lowerthe trapeze, men--carefully!"

It was the only way their lives could be saved, and he was the only manto see it. He watched us until the girls touched the floor more deadthan alive, and then his head fell back and the life seemed to gosuddenly out of him like the flame out of a candle, leaving only thedead wick. 

As they were carrying him out I noticed for the first time that a womanwas holding his hand. It was that frail little wisp of a Susy, that usedto blush and tremble if you spoke to her suddenly, and here she wasquite quiet and steady in the midst of this great crowd. 

"His sister, I suppose" one of the doctors said to her. 

"No, sir. If he lives I will be his wife. " The old gentleman was veryrespectful to her after that, I noticed. 

Now, the rest of my story is very muddled, you'll say, and confused. Butthe truth is, I don't understand it myself. I ran on ahead to Mrs. Peters's to prepare his bed for him, but they did not bring him toPeters's. After I waited an hour or two I found George had been taken tothe principal hotel in the place, and a bedroom and every comfort thatmoney could buy were there for him. Susy came home sobbing late in thenight, but she told me nothing, except that those who had a right tohave charge of him had taken him. I found afterward the poor girl wasdriven from the door of his room, where she was waiting like a faithfuldog. I went myself, but I fared no better. What with surgeons andprofessional nurses, and the gentlemen that crowded about with theirsolemn looks of authority, I dared not ask to see him. Yet I believestill George would rather have had old Loper by him in his extremitythan any of them. Once, when the door was opened, I thought I saw Mrs. Lloyd stooping over the bed between the lace curtains, and just then herhusband came out talking to one of the surgeons. 

He said: "It is certain there were here the finest elements of manhood. And I will do my part to rescue him from the abyss into which he hasfallen. "

"Will you tell me how George is, sir?" I asked, pushing up. "Balacchi?My partner?"

Mr. Lloyd turned away directly, but the surgeon told me civilly enoughthat if George's life could be saved, it must be with the loss of one orperhaps both of his legs. 

"He'll never mount a trapeze again, then, " I said, and I suppose Igroaned; for to think of George helpless--

"God forbid!" cried Mr. Lloyd, sharply. "Now look here, my good man: youcan be of no possible use to Mr. --Balacchi as you call him. He is in thehands of his own people, and he will feel, as they do, that the kindestthing you can do is to let him alone. "

There was nothing to be done after that but to touch my hat and go out, but as I went I heard him talking of "inexplicable madness and years ofwasted opportunities. "

Well, sir, I never went again: the words hurt like the cut of a whip, though 'twan't George that spoke them. But I quit business, and hungaround the town till I heard he was going to live, and I broke up mycontract with South. I never went on a trapeze again. I felt as if theinfernal thing was always dripping with his blood after that day. Anyhow, all the heart went out of the business for me with George. So Icame back here and settled down to the milling, and by degrees I learnedto think of George as a rich and fortunate man. 

I've nearly done now--only a word or two more. About six years afterwardthere was a circus came to town, and I took the wife and children andwent. I always did when I had the chance. It was the old Adam in me yet, likely. 

Well, sir, among the attractions of the circus was the great andunrivalled Hercules, who could play with cannon-balls as other men wouldwith dice. I don't know what made me restless and excited when I readabout this man. It seemed as though the old spirit was coming back to meagain. I could hardly keep still when the time drew near for him toappear. I don't know what I expected, but when he came out from behindthe curtain I shouted out like a madman, "Balacchi! George! George!"

He stopped short, looked about, and catching sight of me tossed up hiscap with his old boyish shout; then he remembered himself and went onwith his performance. 

He was lame--yes, in one leg. The other was gone altogether. He walkedon crutches. Whether the strength had gone into his chest and arms, Idon't know; but there he stood tossing about the cannon-balls as I mightmarbles. So full of hearty good-humor too, joking with his audience, andso delighted when they gave him a round of applause. 

After the performance I hurried around the tent, and you may be surethere was rejoicing that made the manager and other fellows laugh. 

George haled me off with him down the street. He cleared the ground withthat crutch and wooden leg like a steam-engine. "Come! come along!" hecried; "I've something to show you, Loper. "

He took me to a quiet boarding-house, and there, in a cosey room, wasSusy with a four-year-old girl. 

"We were married as soon as I could hobble about, " he said, "and shegoes with me and makes a home wherever I am. "

Susy nodded and blushed and laughed. "Baby and I, " she said. "Do you seeBaby? She has her father's eyes, do you see?"

"She _is_ her mother, Loper, " said George--"just as innocent and pureand foolish--just as sure of the Father in heaven taking care of her. They've made a different man of me in some ways--a different man, "bending his head reverently. 

After a while I began, "You did not stay with--?" But Balacchifrowned. "I knew where _I_ belonged, " he said. 

Well, he's young yet. He's the best Hercules in the profession, and haslaid up a snug sum. Why doesn't he invest it and retire? I doubt ifhe'll ever do that, sir. He may do it, but I doubt it. He can't changehis blood, and there's that in Balacchi that makes me suspect he willdie with the velvet and gilt on, and in the height of good-humor and funwith his audience. 

AN OPERATION IN MONEY. 

BY ALBERT WEBSTER. 

I. 

In an elegant and lofty bank-parlor there sat in council, on an autumnmorning, fourteen millionaires. They reposed in deep arm-chairs, andtheir venerable faces were filled with profound gravity. Before them, upon a broad mahogany table, were piles of books, sheaves of paper inrubber bands, bundles of quill pens, quires of waste paper forcalculations, and a number of huge red-covered folios, containing thetell-tale reports of the mercantile agencies. They had just completedthe selections from the list of applicants for discount, and were now inthat state of lethargy that commonly follows a great and important act. 

The president, with his hands pressed together before him, was lookingat the fresco of Commerce upon the ceiling; his ponderous right-handneighbor was stumbling feebly over an addition that one of thebookkeepers had made upon one of the papers--he hoped to find it wrong;his left-hand neighbor was doubling his under-lip with his stoutfingers; an octogenarian beyond had buried his chin in his immense neck, and was going to sleep; another was stupidly blinking at the nearestcoal-fire; two more were exchanging gasping whispers; another was wipinghis gold spectacles with a white handkerchief, now and then stopping tohold them unsteadily up to the light; and another was fingering thepolished lapel of his old black coat, and saying, with asthmatichoarseness to all who would look at him, "F-o-u-r-teen years!f-o-u-r-teen years!"

A tall regulator-clock, with its mercury pendulum, ticked upon the wall;the noise of the heavy rumbling in the streets was softened into a lowmonotone, and now and then a bit of coal rattled upon the fender. 

The oil-portraits of four former presidents looked thoughtfully down onthe scene of their former labors; the polished wainscots reflectedragged pictures of the silent fourteen, and all was perfectly in orderand perfectly secure. 

Presently, however, there was an end to the stagnation; the white headsbegan to move and to look around. 

The president's eyes came gradually down from the Commerce, and, aftertravelling over the countenances of his stirring _confrères, _ theysettled by accident upon the table before him. There they encountered awhite envelope, inscribed "to the President and Honorable Board ofDirectors--Present. "

"Oh gentlemen! gentlemen!" cried the president, seizing the letter, "onemoment more, I beg of you. Here's a--a--note--a communication--a--Idon't know what it is myself, I'm sure, but"--the thirteen sank backagain, feeling somewhat touched that they should be so restrained. Thepresident ran his eye over the missive. He smiled as one does sometimesat the precocity of an infant. "The letter, gentlemen, " said he, slipping the paper through his fingers, "is from the paying teller. Itis a request for"--here the president delayed as if about making ahumorous point--"for a larger salary. " Then he dropped his eyes andlowered his head, as he might have done had he confessed that somebodyhad kissed him. He seemed to be the innocent mouthpiece of a piece offlagrant nonsense. 

There was a moment's silence. Then a heavy-voiced gentleman took up apen and said:

"Is this man's name Dreyfus--or--or what is it?"

"Let me think, " returned the president, returning once more to theCommerce; "Dreyfus?--no--not Dreyfus--yes--no. Paying teller--hum--it'scurious I can't recall--it commences with an F--FIELDS--yes, Fields!that's his name--Fields, to be sure!"

The questioner at once wrote down the word on the paper. 

"This is the second time that he has applied for this favor, is it not?"formally inquired another of the thirteen, in the tone that a judge useswhen he asks the clerk, "Has he not been before me on a formeroccasion?"

"Yes, " replied the president, "this is a renewal of an effort made sixmonths ago. "

There was a general movement. Several chairs rolled back, and theiroccupants exchanged querulous glances. 

"Suppose we hear the letter read, " suggested a fair soul. "Perhaps"--aseptuagenarian, with snowy hair and a thin body, clad in the clericalguise of the old school, and who had made a fortune by inventing ahat-block, arose hastily to his feet, and said:

"I cannot stay to listen to a dun!"

A chorus from the majority echoed the exclamation. All but fourstaggered to their feet, and tottered off in various directions; some topretend to look out at the window, and some to the wardrobes, where wasdeposited their outer clothing. 

"Clarks, " stammered the feeble hatter, feeling vainly for the arm-holesin his great-coat--"clarks presume on their value. Turn 'em out, say I. Give 'em a chance to rotate. You've got my opinion, Mr. President. Refuse what's-his-name, Fields. Tell him he's happy and well off now, without knowing it. Where _can_ be the sleeves to--to this"--hisvoice expired in his perplexity. 

Fields's cause looked blue. One director after another groped to thedoor, saying, as he went, "I can't encourage it, Mr. President--tell him'No, ' Mr. President--it would only make the rest uneasy if we allowedit--plenty more to fill his place. "

The hatter's voice stopped further mention of the subject. He stood atone end of the apartment in a paroxysm of laughter. Tears filled hiseyes. He pointed to another director, who, at the other extremity of theroom, was also puzzling over a coat. "There's Stuart with my mackintosh!He's trying to _put it on--_and here am I with _his_ coat trying to put_that_ on. I--I said to myself, 'This is pretty large for a slim manlike you. '--Great God, Stuart, if I hadn't been quick-sighted we mighthave stayed here all night!" He immediately fell into another fit oflaughter, and so did his friend. They exchanged coats with greathilarity, and those who had gone out of the door lumbered back to learnthe cause of it. The story went round from one to the other, "Why, Stuart had Jacobs's coat, and Jacobs had Stuart's coat!" Everybody wentinto convulsions, and the president drew out his pocket-handkerchief andshrieked into it. 

The board broke up with great good feeling, and Jacobs went away veryweak, saying that he was going to tell the joke against Stuart on thestreet--if he lived to get there. 

Three gentlemen remained, professedly to hear Fields's letter read. Twostaid because the room was comfortable, and the other because he wantedto have a little private conversation with the president afterward. 

Therefore the president wiped away the tears that Stuart's humor hadforced from his eyes, and opened the crumpled letter, and, turning hisback to the light, read it aloud, while the rest listened with looks ofgreat amusement in their wrinkled faces. 

 "_To the President and Directors of the ---- National Bank. _

 "GENTLEMEN: I most respectfully renew my application for an increase of my salary to five thousand dollars per annum, it now being four thousand. I am impelled to do this because I am convinced that I am not sufficiently recompensed for the labor I perform; and because other tellers, having the same responsibilities, receive the larger sum per annum; and, lastly, because I am about to be married. 

 "I remember that your answer to my first application was a definite refusal, and I blamed myself for not having presented the case more clearly to your distinguished notice. Will you permit me to rectify that fault now, and to state briefly why I feel assured that my present claim is not an unreasonable one?

 "1. While ten years ago we agreed that three thousand dollars was a fair compensation for the work I was then called upon to perform, and four years later agreed that four thousand dollars was then fair pay for my increased tasks, caused by the increase of your business, is it not just that I should now ask for a still further advance in view of the fact that your business has doubled since the date of our last contract?

 "It has been necessary for me to acquaint myself with the signatures and business customs and qualifications of twice the former number of your customers, and my liability to error has also become greater in like ratio. But I have committed no errors, which argues that I have kept up an equal strain of care. This has made demands upon my brain and my bodily strength, which I think should be requited for. 

 "2. I, like each of you, will one day reach an age when the body and mind will no longer be able to provide for themselves. But between us, should we continue our present relations, there would be this vital difference: You would have made an accumulation of wealth that would be sufficient for your wants, while I would be poor in spite of the fact that I labored with you, and next to yourselves did the most to protect your interests. In view of my approaching incompetence (no matter how far off it is), I am working at a disadvantage. Would it not be right to enable me to protect myself from this disadvantage?

 "3. While you pay me a price for my labor and for my skill as an _expert_, do you compensate me for the trials you put upon my probity? You pay me for what I do, but do you reward me for what I _might_, but do _not_ do? Is what I do _not_ do a marketable quantity? I think that it is. To prove it, inquire of those whose servants have behaved ill, whether they would not have paid something to have forestalled their dishonesty. 

 "There is a bad strain to this paragraph, and I will not dwell upon it. I only ask you to remember that enormous sums of money pass through my hands every day, and that the smallest slip of my memory, or of my care, or of my fidelity, might cause you irreparable loss. Familiarity with money and operations in money always tend to lessen the respect for the regard that others hold it in. To resist the subtle influences of this familiarity involves a certain wear and tear of those principles which _must_ be kept intact for your sake. 

 "I beg you to accept what is my evident meaning, even if my method of setting it forth has not been particularly happy. I have assured myself that my claim is a valid one, and I await your obliging reply with anxiety. 

 "I remain, very respectfully, "Your obedient servant, "----FIELDS, _Paying Teller. "_

At the end the president suddenly lowered his head with a smile, andlooked over the top of his glasses at his audience, clearly meaning, "There's a letter for you!"

But two of the gentlemen were fast asleep, nodding gently at one anotheracross the table, while their hands clasped the arms of their chairs. The other one was looking up toward the roofs of the buildings opposite, absorbed in speculation. 

The president said, aloud:

"I think, as long as Fields has made such a touse about it, that I'dbetter draft a reply, and not give him a verbal an--"

"Draft!" said the speculator, brought to life by the word. "Draft didyou say, sir? What?--On whom?--"

"I said 'draft a reply' to--to this, " returned the other, waving theletter. 

"Oh, a reply! Draft one. Draft a reply--a reply to the letter about thesalary. Oh, certainly, by all means. "

"And read it to the directors at the meeting next Friday, " suggested thepresident. 

The speculator's eyes turned vacantly upon him, and it was full half aminute before he comprehended. "Yes, yes, of course, read it to thedirectors next Friday. They'll approve it, you know. That will beregular, and according to rule. But about Steinmeyer, you know. When aman like Steinmeyer does such a thing as--but just come to the window aminute. "

He led the president off by the arm, and that was the last of Fields'sletter for that day. 

 * * * * *

II. 

Fields was truly on the anxious-seat. 

As he had said in his letter, he was engaged to be married, and hewanted to be about the consummation of the contract, for he had alreadydelayed too long. His _affiancée_ was a sweet girl who lived with herwidowed mother in the country, where they had a fine house, and a finedemesne attached to it. When the time for the marriage was finallysettled upon, the lady instantly set about remodelling her domicile andits surroundings, and making it fit for the new spirits that were soonto inhabit it. She drew upon her accumulation of money that had thrivenlong in a private bank, and expended it in laying out new lawns, planting new trees, building new stables, erecting tasteful graperiesand kiosks. This sum was not very large, and it included not only whathad been saved out of the earnings of the farm, but also what had beensaved out of the income from the widow's property, which consisted oftwelve thousand dollars in insurance stock. 

Fields had thus far expended nearly all of his salary of four thousanddollars. He was accustomed to use a quarter of it for his own purposes, and the rest he applied to the comfort of his aged parents, whom hemaintained. Thus it will be seen that Fields's desire to add to his ownwealth had reason to be. 

Just at this time there stepped in the Chicago fire. On the second dayFields began to be frightened about the twelve thousand dollars ininsurance stock. Telegrams poured into the city by hundreds, and thetale grew more dismal with each hour. 

His fears were realized. The widow's money was swept away, and a sort ofparalysis fell upon the country-house and all its surroundings. Thecarpenters went away from the kiosks, the masons from the face-walls, the smiths from the graperies, the gardeners from the lawns, andeverything came to a stand-still. The extra farm-hands were discharged, and much of the work was left unfinished. 

What was to be done?

The mother and daughter wept in secret. Their careers had beeninterrupted. Desolation was out-of-doors, and desolation was in theirhearts. The earth lay in ragged heaps; beams and timbers leaned halferect; barns were party-colored with the old paint and the new, and theshrubbery was bare to the frosts. Joys which had smiled had fled intothe far distance, and now looked surly enough; all pleasures wereunhorsed, and hope was down. 

It was under these circumstances that Fields wrote a second time to thehonorable board of directors to ask them to pay him better wages. 

Friday came. There was a meeting, and Fields knew that his case must nowbe receiving consideration. 

At eleven o'clock the directors emerged from their parlor, and passedby his desk in twos and threes, chatting and telling watery jokes, asmost great men do. 

"They look as if they had entirely forgotten me, " said Fields tohimself. 

Pretty soon the cashier came and placed a letter upon his counter. 

"Ah!" thought the teller, "I was mistaken. I wonder if I can read ithere without changing countenance?"

He could but try it. He tore off the envelope. It went thus:

 "_Mr. ----Fields, Paying Teller. _

 "DEAR SIR: The president and directors, to whom you addressed a request for an increase of salary, must beg to criticise the arguments advanced in your polite note. 

 "They do not understand why you should place a new value upon your honesty because in other people there happens to be sometimes such a thing as dishonesty. It is a popular notion that honesty among men is rare, but the idea is a mistaken one. Honesty of the purest kind, as honesty is usually understood, is very common. They cannot help feeling, also, that you somewhat overestimate the value of your work, which to them seems to be only a higher sort of routine, calling for no intellectual endeavor, and requiring but little more than an ordinary bookkeeper's care for its perfect performance. But for the differences that _do_ exist between your tasks and those of the bookkeeper you will remember you are already compensated by a salary a fourth larger. 

 "Briefly, they consider their bank a piece of money-making mechanism, of which you are an able and respected part; but they cannot understand how you could hope to raise their fear of peculations and villainies when their system of checks and counter-checks is so perfect. They have never lost a dollar by the immorality of any of their employés, and they are sure that matters are so arranged that any such immorality, even of the rankest kind, could occasion them no inconvenience. 

 "Nor do they comprehend why your idea that increase of business justifies a request for an increase of salary may not be met with the suggestion that your hours of labor are the same as your former hours, and that all you were able to perform in those hours, to the best of your capacity, was purchased at the beginning of your connection with them. 

 "In regard to the pure question of the sufficiency of your salary, they hint in the kindest manner that all expenditures are contractible as well as extensible. 

 "They hasten to take this opportunity to express to you their appreciation of your perfect exhibits; and, complimenting you upon the care with which you have fulfilled the duties of your post, they remain your obedient servants. "

The teller felt that a more maddening letter could not have beenwritten. Its civility seemed to him to be disagreeable suavity; itsfailure to particularize the points he made to be a disgraceful evasion;and the liberty it took in generalizing his case to be an enormousinsult. 

The very first sentence on honesty put him in the light of ablackmailer--one that threatened mischief if his demands were notcomplied with. The next sentence went to show that he was an egotist, because he thought his labors required wear and tear of brain. The thirdcalled him a sound cog-wheel. The latter part of the same said that avillain could do no evil if he wished to, for they (the directors) hadprotected themselves against villains. Then it went on to say that thewriters did not understand how anxiety and caution could be involved inthe pursuit of his duties; and then it was thrown out that his marriagewas _his_ seeking--not theirs. Finally, they patted him on the head. 

The devil!

Fields passed a sleepless night. He felt that he had been belittled tothe extremest point, and that there was not a foothold left for hisdignity. His soul was incised and chafed, and he lay awake thinking thatdegradation of himself and his office could have proceeded no further. 

Toward morning he hit upon a plan to establish himself in what hebelieved to be the proper light. "It will require nerve, " reflected he, doubtingly, "and not only nerve in itself, but a certain exact quantityof it. Too much nerve would destroy me, and too little nerve would dothe same thing. I think, however, that I can manage it. I feel able todo anything. Even a paying teller will turn if--" etc. , etc. 

 * * * * *

III. 

On the following Monday there was a special meeting of the directors forthe purpose of examining the books and accounts of the bank. Thebank-controller was expected to call for an exhibit within the comingweek, and it was desirable that the directors should feel assured thattheir institution was in the proper order. The call of the controllerwas always impending. It might come any day, and it would require anexhibit of the condition of the bank on any previous day. He waspermitted to make five of these calls during the year, and, inasmuch ashe was at liberty to choose his own days, his check upon the banks wascomplete. If he found a bank that had not fulfilled the requirements oflaw, he was obliged to take away its charter, and to close it: hence theexamination-meeting in the present case. The accounts of the tellerswere passed upon, the cashier's books were looked over, as were alsothose of the regular bookkeepers. There seemed to be no errors, and thecontents of the safes were proved. There was perfect order in all thedepartments. The clerks were complimented. "Now, " said Fields tohimself, "is my opportunity. "

On the next day at ten o'clock the directors again assembled--this timefor their regular labors--to examine the proposals for discount. 

The day happened to be cold and stormy. The twenty clerks were busilyand silently at work behind their counters and gratings, and thefourteen directors were shut tight in their mahogany room. There was butlittle passing to and fro from the street, though now and then ahalf-frozen messenger came stamping in, and did his errand, withbenumbed fingers, through the little windows. The tempest made businesslight. 

At eleven o'clock Fields wrote a note and sent it to the directors'room. The boy who carried it knocked softly, and the president appeared, took the letter, and then closed the door again. 

Then there was a moment of almost total silence; the clerks wrote, theleaves rattled, and it seemed as if it were an instant before anexpected explosion. 

Presently an explosion came. The clerks heard with astonishment a tumultin the directors' room--exclamations, hurried questions, the hastyrolling of chairs on their casters, and then the sound of feet. 

The door was hastily drawn open, and those who were near could see thatnearly all the directors were clustered around it, straining their eyesto look at the paying teller. Most of them were pale and they called, in one voice, "Come here!" "Come in here at once!" "Fields!" "Mr. Fields!" "Sir, you are wanted!" "Step this way instantly!" Fields putdown his pen, opened the tall iron gate which separated him from thecounters, and walked rather quickly toward the den of lions. An openingwas made for him in the group, and he passed through the door, and itwas shut once more. 

He walked across the room to the fireplace. He took out hishandkerchief, and, seizing a corner between a thumb and forefinger, slowly shook it open, and then turned around. 

"This note, sir! What does it mean?" cried the president, advancing uponhim, waving the paper in his trembling hand. 

"Have you read it?" demanded Fields, in a loud voice. 

"Yes, " said the president. He was astonished at Fields's manner. He casta glance upon his fellow-directors. 

"Then what is the use of asking me what I mean? It is as plain as I canmake it. "

"But it says--but it says, " faltered the venerable gentleman, turningthe paper to the light, "that you have only money enough to last untiltwelve o'clock. Your statement yesterday showed a balance to your creditof three hundred and fifty-two thousand dollars. That will last atleast--"

"But I have not got three hundred and seventy-seven thousand dollars. Ihave only got twenty-seven thousand dollars!"

"But we counted three hundred and seventy-seven thousand dollars. "

"When?"

"Yesterday. "

"Yesterday--yes. But not this morning. "

"Great God!" cried Stuart, thrusting himself forward, "what!--" He fixedhis feeble eyes upon Fields, but could speak no further. His arms felldown by his sides, and he began to tremble. He did not have sufficientcourage to ask the question. Somebody else did. 

"What has become of it?"

"That I shall not tell you!" returned Fields, looking defiantly at onedirector after another. 

"But is it gone?" cried the chorus. Many of the faces that confrontedFields had become waxen. The little group was permeated with a tremor. 

"Yes, it is gone; I have taken it. "

"You have _taken_ it!" "_You_ have taken it!" "_You have taken it!_"

The directors, overwhelmed and confounded, retreated from Fields as ifthey were in personal danger from him. 

"In Heaven's name, Fields!" exclaimed the president, "speak out! Tellus! What!--where!--the money! Come, man!"

"You had better lock the door, " said the teller; "some one will becoming in. "

One of the most feeble and aged of the board turned around andhastened, as fast as his infirm limbs would permit him, and threw thebolt with feverish haste, and then ran back again to hear. 

"Yes, " said Fields, with deliberation, "I have taken the money. I havecarried it away and hidden it where no one can lay hands upon it butmyself. "

"Then--then, sir, you have stolen it!"

Fields bowed. "I have stolen it. "

"But you have ruined us!"

"Possibly. "

"And you have ruined yourself!"

"I am not so sure of that. "

"Stop this useless talk!" cried a gentleman, who had heretofore beensilent. He bent upon Fields a look of great dignity. "Make it clear, sir, what you have done. "

"Certainly. When I left the bank last night I put into my pockets onehundred and fifty thousand dollars in greenbacks of theone-thousand-dollar denomination, one hundred thousand dollars innational-currency notes of the one-hundred-dollar denomination, and onehundred thousand dollars in gold certificates. I left to the credit ofmy account twenty-seven thousand eight hundred and sixty-two dollars andsome odd cents. Eight thousand of these have been already drawn thismorning. It is not unlikely that the whole of what is left may be drawnwithin the next five minutes, and the next draft upon you will find youinsolvent. If the balance is against you at the clearing-house, youwill undoubtedly be obliged to stop payment before one o'clock. "

Fields's interlocutor turned sharply around and sank into his seat. Atthis three of the young members of the board--Slavin, a wool-dealer, Debritt, a silk importer, and Saville, an insurance actuary--made aviolent onslaught upon the teller, but others interposed. 

What was to be said? What was to be done? Somebody cried for apoliceman, and would have thrown up a window and called into the street. But the act was prevented. It was denounced as childish. After a moment, everybody but Fields had seated himself in his accustomed place, overcome with agitation. Those who could see devoured the teller withtheir eyes. Two others wept with puerile fear and anger. They began torealize the plight they were in. It began to dawn upon them that animmense disaster was hanging over their heads. How were they to escapefrom it? Which way were they to turn to find relief? It was no time forbrawling and denunciation; they were in the hands of an unscrupulousman, who, at this crucial moment, was as cool and implacable as aniceberg. They watched him carelessly draw and redraw his handkerchiefthrough his fingers; he was unmoved, and entirely at ease. 

"Can it be possible!" said a tall and aged director, rising from hischair and bending upon the culprit a look of great impressiveness--"canit be possible that it is our upright and stainless clerk who confessesto such a stupendous villainy as this? Can it be that one who has earnedso much true esteem from his fellow-men thus turns upon them and--"

"Yes, yes, yes!" replied Fields, impatiently, "that is all true; but itis all sentiment. Let us descend to business. I know the extent of mywickedness better than you do. I have taken for my own use from yourbank. I have robbed you of between a quarter and a half million ofdollars. I am a pure robber. That is the worst you can say of me. Theworst you can do with me is to throw me into prison for ten years. Bythe National Currency Act of 1865, section 55, you will see that forthis offence against you I may be incarcerated from five to tenyears--not more than ten. If you imprison me for ten years, you do yourworst. During those ten years I shall have ample time to perfect myselfin at least three languages, and to read extensively, and I shall leavethe jail at forty-five a polished and learned man, in the prime of life, and possessed of enormous wealth. There will be no pleasure that Icannot purchase. I shall become a good-natured cynic; I shall freelyadmit that I have disturbed the ordinary relations of labor andcompensation, but I shall so treat the matter that I shall become thesubject of a semi-admiration that will relieve me from social ostracism. I have carefully reviewed the ground. I shall go to jail, pass throughmy trial, receive my sentence, put on my prisoner's suit, begin mydaily tasks, and all with as much equanimity as I possess at present. There will be no contrition and no shame. Do not hope to recover adollar of your money. I have been careful to secrete it so that the mostingenious detectives and the largest rewards will not be able to obtaina hint of its whereabouts. It is entirely beyond your reach. "

Fields was now an entire master of the situation. The board was filledwith consternation; its members conferred together in frightenedwhispers. 

"But, " pursued Fields, "do you properly understand _your_ situation? Mydesk is virtually without money. My assistant at this instant maydiscover that he has not sufficient funds to pay the check he has in hishand. In a moment more the street may be in possession of the facts. Besides the present danger, have you forgotten the controller?" Nothingmore could now add to the alarm that filled the room. 

"What shall we do, Fields? We cannot go under; we cannot--"

"I will tell you. "

The room became silent again. All leaned forward to listen. Some placedtheir hands behind their ears. 

"I do not think that the drafts upon us to-day will amount to eightythousand dollars. You might draw that sum from the receiving teller, butthat would occasion remark. I advise you to draw from your privateaccounts elsewhere one hundred thousand dollars, and quietly place itupon my counter. I would do it without an instant's delay. "

"But what guarantee have we that you will not appropriate that also?"

"I give you my word, " replied Fields, with a smile. 

"And to what end do you advise us to keep the bank intact?"

"That we may have time to arrange terms. "

"Terms--for what?"

"For a compromise. "

"Ah-ha!"

Here was a patch of blue sky--a glimpse of the sun. Fields was notinsensible to moderation, after all. 

"What do you propose?" eagerly demanded three voices. 

"I think you had first better insure yourselves against suspension, " wasthe reply. 

In ten minutes one of the directors hurriedly departed, with five checksin his wallet. These were the contributions of his fellows. Thepresident passed out to see how matters stood at the paying teller'sdesk. No more drafts had been presented, and the nineteen thousanddollars were still undisturbed. He returned reassured. He locked thedoor again. 

"Now, sir, " said he to the paying teller, "let us go on. "

"Very well, " was the reply. "I think you all perceive by this time thetrue position of affairs. I possess three hundred and fifty thousanddollars, and your bank has lost that sum. I have detailed the benefitswhich will accrue to me, and the trouble which will in all likelihoodaccrue to you. It will be unpleasant for you to throw your selves uponthe mercies of your stockholders. Stockholders are hard-hearted people. Each one of you will, in case this matter is discovered, find hisfinancial credit and his reputation for sagacity much impaired; and, besides this, there will be incurred the dangers of a 'run' upon you, tosay nothing of the actual loss to the institution, which will have to bemade good to the last dollar. But let us see if we cannot do better. Notwithstanding the fact that I have fully made up my mind to go toprison, I cannot deny that _not_ to go to prison would be an advantage. Therefore, if you will promise me immunity from prosecution, I willreturn to you to-morrow morning a quarter of a million dollars. I askyou to give me a reply within five minutes. The proposition is a bareone, and is sufficiently plain. I shall require your faith as directorsand individuals, and in return I will give my pledge, as a robber of thehighest grade--a bond which perhaps is as good as any that can be madeunder the circumstances. "

The directors no sooner saw that it lay within their power to regainfive-sevenths of their money than they began, almost with one voice, threaten Fields with punishment if he did not return the whole. 

"Gentlemen, " cried the paying teller, interrupting their exclamations, "I must impose one more condition. It is that you do not mention thisaffair again--that you keep the whole matter secret, and not permit itto be known beyond this apartment that I have had any other than themost agreeable relations with you. All that is imperative. There remainbut two more minutes. The president will signify to me your decision. "

The time elapsed. Fields put his watch into his pocket. 

"Well, sir?" said he. 

"We accept the terms, " replied the president, bowing stiffly. 

Fields also bowed. A silence ensued. Presently a director said toFields:

"May I ask you what led you to this step?"

"Sir, " replied the teller, with severity, "you are encroaching upon ourcontract. I may speak of this affair, but you have no right to. "

Then he turned to the board:

"Do you wish me to go back to my work?"

There was a consultation. Then the president said:

"If you will be so kind. "

Fields complied. 

The business of the day went forward as usual. The teller's counter-deskwas supplied with money, and no suspicion was aroused among hisfellows. 

As each director went out of the bank, he stopped at Fields's window, and addressed some set remark to him upon business matters; and sointimate did the relations between them seem that the clerks concludedthat the lucky man was about to be made cashier, and they began to payhim more respect. 

In the intervening night there again recurred to the directors theenormity of the outrage to which they had been subjected. The incidentof recovering so large a part of what they had originally supposed wasgone had the effect of making them partially unmindful of the loss ofthe smaller sum which the teller finally agreed to accept in place ofpunishment. But in the lapse between the time of the robbery and thetime of the promised restitution, their appreciation of their positionhad time to revive again, and when they assembled on the next morning toreceive the money from Fields, they were anxious and feverish. 

Would he come? Was he not at this moment in Canada? Would a man whocould steal one hundred thousand dollars return a quarter of a million?Absurd!

Every moment one of them went to the door to see if Fields had appeared. The rest walked about, with their hands behind them, talking togetherincoherently. The air was full of doubts. The teller usually came at aquarter past nine, but the hour arrived without the man. Intolerablesuspense!

Two or three of the directors made paths for themselves amid the chairs, and anxiously traversed them. Slavin took a post beside a window andgazed into the street. Debritt, with his right hand in his bosom, andwith his left grasping the upper rail of a seat, looked fixedly into thecoals. Stuart sipped at a goblet of water, but his trembling hand causedhim to spill its contents upon the floor. No one now ventured to speakexcept in a whisper; it seemed that a word or a loud noise must disturbthe poise of matters. The clock ticked, the blue flames murmured in thegrate, and the pellets of sand thrown up by the wind rattled against thewindows. 

But yet there were no signs of the paying teller. 

Was it possible that this immense sum of money was _gone?_ Could it betrue that they must report this terrible thing to the world? Had theypermitted themselves to become the lieutenants to a wily scoundrel? Werethey thus waiting silent and inactive while he was being borne away atthe speed of the wind, out of their reach?

All at once Fields came in at the door. 

He was met with a gladness that was only too perceptible. Everygentleman emitted a sigh of relief, and half started, as if to take thedelinquent by the hand. 

Fields had expected this. He was shrewd enough to act before the feelinghad evaporated. 

He advanced to the table. The directors hastened like schoolboys totake their accustomed places. They bent upon the teller's face the mostanxious looks. 

"Gentlemen, " said he, "I believe that you fully understand that I returnthis large sum of money to you at my own option. You recognize the factthat most men would endure, for instance, an imprisonment of ten yearsrather than lose the control of a quarter of a million of dollars. "

The directors hastened to signify "Yes!"

"But, " continued Fields, taking several large envelopes from his innerpockets, "I shall be content with less. There is the sum I mentioned. "

The directors fell upon the packages and counted their contents. Thetable was strewed with money. Fields contemplated the scene withcuriosity. Presently it was announced that the sum was complete. 

"Now, gentlemen, " said Fields, "you have suffered loss. I have a hundredthousand dollars which I have forced you to present me with. That is alarge sum, though to us who are so familiar with millions it seemssmall, almost insignificant; but, in reality, it has a great importance. You now see, my friends, what a part of your money-making mechanism mayachieve. There is no bank, even of third-rate importance, in this city, whose receiving teller or paying teller may not do exactly as I havedone. On any day, at any hour, they may load themselves with valuablesand go away. You, and all directors, depend servilely upon the purehonesty of your clerks. You can erect no barrier, no guard, no defence, that will protect you from the results of decayed principle in them. They are deeply involved in dangerous elements. Ease, luxury, life-longimmunity from toil, wait upon their resolution to do ill. Thisresolution may be the determination of an instant, or the result oflong-continued sophistical reasoning. You cannot detect the approach tosuch a resolve in your servant, and he, perhaps, can hardly detect it inhimself. But one day it is complete: he acts upon it. You are bereft ofyour property; he flees, and there is the nine days' stir, and all isover. Your greatest surety lies in your appreciation of your danger. Ihave proved to you what that danger consists of; you did not knowbefore. Your best means of defence is to respect, to the fullest extent, the people upon whom you depend. They are worthy of it. An instant'sreflection will show you that neither of you would be proof against astrong temptation. For the sake of recovering a sum of money you havecompounded with felony. All of you are at this moment in breach of thelaw. You have submitted without a struggle to the dominant impulse. Theprinciple of exact honor which you demand in me does not exist inyourselves. But let us end this disagreeable scene. Perhaps I havedemonstrated something that you never realized. I hope you understand. Inow surrender to you the one hundred thousand dollars, which youthought I had stolen. I had no intention of keeping it; I only pretendedto take it in order to impress you with my ideas. "

Every director arose to his feet in haste. Fields placed another packetupon the table, and, in face of the astonished board, left theapartment. 

An hour afterward he was again summoned to the parlor. He advanced tohis old position at the end of the table. It was clear that the temperof the assembly was favorable to him. 

"Mr. Fields, " said the president, "your attack upon us was singular andrapid, and I think it has made the mark that you intended it should. Your mode of convincing us was, one might say, dramatic; and, though Ibelieve you might have attained your object in another way, weacknowledge that your letter had but little effect. We now wish toprovide for you as you claim, and as you deserve. But we cannot lookupon you with quietude. It is almost impossible to see you withoutshuddering. We must place you elsewhere. If you remained here, you wouldalways be in close proximity to a quarter of a million dollars. "

"But you believe in my integrity?"

"Perfectly. "

"You understand my motives?"

"Fully. "

"And you acknowledge them to be just?"

"Unqualifiedly just. "

"Well?"

"But you personify a terrible threat. You are an exponent of a greatdanger, and you could not ask us to live with one who showed that heheld a sword above our heads. That would be impossible. We thereforeoffer you the position of actuary in the ---- Life. Mr. Stuart is aboutto resign it, and at our request he has consented to procure you thechair. Your salary will be thrice that you now receive. Do you accept?"

"Without an instant's hesitation, " replied Fields. 

He then shook hands with each director, and they separated excellentfriends. 

 * * * * *

Fields winged his way to the farm in the country, and told the news. That is, he told the best of it. He told the actual news after hours, when there was but one to tell it to. 

There was a shriek. 

"Oh, if they _had_!"

"Had what--Sun and Moon!"

"Why, sent you to prison. "

"Well, we should have had to wait ten years, that's all. After that, weshould have been worth, with interest added to the capital, five hundredand sixty thousand dollars. "

"Sir! Can you suppose that I would ever marry a robber, a wretchedrobber?"

"Never! But it is different where one robs for the sake of principle. "

"Y--yes, that is true; I forgot that. I think that principle is a greatthing. Don't you?"

"Exceedingly great. "

In the spring the face-walls and the lawns and the kiosks went forwardaccording to the original design, and the actuary frequently brought hiscity friends, directors and all, down to look at them.