Chapter 42
"Ha! ha! ha! What a ridiculous farce!" chimed in another.
"He'll be rolling in the gutter before three days, feeling upwards for the ground," added a third.
"Why, I don't believe he can see through a ladder now;" the first speaker said, with his contemptuous sneer. "Look here, mister," to the stranger who had appeared so opportunely. "This is all gammon!
He's been fooling you."
"Come along, my friend," was all the stranger said, drawing his arm within that of the penitent young man, as he did so,--"this is no place for you."
And the two walked slowly out, amid the laughter, sneers, and open ridicule of the brutal company. Once again in the open air, Alfred breathed more freely.
"O, sir," he said, grasping the hand of the individual who had appeared so opportunely--"you have saved me from my last temptation, into which I was led so naturally, that I had not an idea of danger.
If I had fallen then, as I fear I should have fallen but for you, I must have gone down, rapidly, to irretrievable ruin. How can I express to you the grateful emotions that I now feel?"
"Express them not to me, young man," the stranger said, in a solemn voice; "but to him, who in his merciful providence, sent me just at the right moment to meet your last extremity. Look up to him, and, whenever tempted, let your conscious weakness repose in his strength, and no evil power can prevail against you. Be true to the resolution of this hour--_to your pledge_--to those who have claims upon you, for such, I know there must be, and you shall yet fill that position of usefulness in society, which no one else but you can occupy. And now let me advise you to go home, and ponder well this act, and your future course. No matter how dark all may now seem, light will spring up. If you are anxious to walk in a right path, and to minister to those who have claims upon you, the way will be made plain. This encouragement I can give you with confidence; for twelve months ago, _I_ trembled on the brink of ruin, as _you_ have just been trembling. _I_ was once a slave to the same wild infatuation that has held you in bondage. Hope, then, with a vigorous hope, and that hope will be a guarantee for your future elevation!"
And so saying, the stranger shook the hand of Alfred heartily, and, turning, walked hastily away.
The young man had proceeded only a few paces when he observed his old friend and companion, Charles Williams, driving along towards him. No one had done so much towards corrupting his morals, and enticing him away from virtue, as that individual. But he had checked himself in his course of dissipation, long before, while Alfred had sunk rapidly downward. Years had pa.s.sed since any intercourse had taken place between them, for their condition in life had long been as different as their habits. Charles had entered into business with his father, and was now active and enterprising, increasing the income of the firm by his energy and industry.
His eye rested upon Graham, the moment he came near enough to observe him. There was something familiar about his gait and manner, that
"It is only a few minutes since I was thinking about you, Alfred,"
he said. "How are you? But you do not look well. Have you been sick?"
"I have been very ill, lately," Alfred Graham replied, in a mournful tone; former thoughts and feelings rus.h.i.+ng back upon him in consequence of this unexpected interview, and quite subduing him.
"I am really sorry to hear it," the young man said, sympathizingly.
"What has been the matter?"
"A slow fever. This is the first time I have been out for weeks."
"A ride, then, will be of use to you. Get up, and let me drive you out into the country. The pure air will benefit you, I am sure."
For a moment or two, Alfred stood irresolute. He could not believe that he had heard aright.
"Come," urged Williams. "We have often ridden before, and let us have one more ride, if we should never go out again together. I wish to have some talk with you."
Thus urged, Alfred, with the a.s.sistance of Charles Williams, got up into the light wagon, in which the latter was riding, and in a moment after was das.h.i.+ng off with him behind a spirited horse.
It was on the morning of a day, nearly a week previous to this time, that Mary Williams, or rather Mrs. Harwood,--for Anna and Mary Graham's old friend had become a married woman--entered the store of Mrs.--on Chestnut-street, for the purchase of some goods.
While one of the girls in attendance was waiting upon her, she observed a young woman, neatly, but poorly clad, whom she had often seen there before, come in, and go back to the far end of the store.
In a little while, Mrs.--joined her, and received from her a small package, handing her some money in return, when the young woman retired, and walked quickly away. This very operation Mrs. Harwood had several times seen repeated before, and each time she had felt much interested in the timid and retiring stranger, a glance at whose face she had never been able to gain.
"Who is that young woman?" she asked of the individual in attendance.
"She's a poor girl, that Mrs.--buys fine work from, out of mere charity, she says."
"Do you know her name?"
"I have heard it, ma'am, but forget it."
"Have you any very fine French worked capes, Mrs.--," asked Mrs.
Harwood, as the individual she addressed came up to that part of the counter where she was standing, still holding in her hand the small package which had been received from the young woman. This Mrs.
Harwood noticed.
"O, yes, ma'am, some of the most beautiful in the city."
"Let me see them, if you please."
A box was brought, and its contents, consisting of a number of very rich patterns of the article asked for, displayed.
"What is the price of this?" asked Mrs. Harwood, lifting one, the pattern of which pleased her fancy.
"That is a little damaged," Mrs.--replied. "But here is one of the same pattern," unrolling the small parcel she had still continued to hold in her hand, "which has just been returned by a lady, to whom I sent it for examination, this morning."
"It is the same pattern, but much more beautifully wrought," Mrs.
Harwood said, as she examined it carefully. "These are all French, you say?"
"Of course, ma'am. None but French goods come of such exquisite fineness."
"What do you ask for this?"
"It is worth fifteen dollars, ma'am. The pattern is a rich one, and the work unusually fine."
"Fifteen dollars! That is a pretty high price, is it not, Mrs.--?"
"O, no, indeed, Mrs. Harwood! It cost me very nearly fourteen dollars--and a dollar is a small profit to make on such articles."
After hesitating for a moment or two, Mrs. Harwood said--
"Well, I suppose I must give you that for it, as it pleases me."'
And she took out her purse, and paid the price that Mrs.--had asked. She still stood musing by the side of the counter, when the young woman who had awakened her interest a short time before, re-entered, and came up to Mrs.--, who was near her.
"I have a favour to ask, Mrs.--," she overheard her say, in a half tremulous, and evidently reluctant tone.
"Well, what is it?" Mrs.--coldly asked.
"I want six dollars more than I have got, for a very particular purpose. Won't you advance me the price of three capes, and I will bring you in one a week, until I have made it up."
"No, miss," was the prompt and decisive answer--"I never pay any one for work not done. Pay beforehand, and never pay, are the two worst kinds of pay!"
All this was distinctly heard by Mrs. Harwood, and her very heart ached, as she saw the poor girl turn, with a disappointed air, away, and walk slowly out of the store.
"That's just the way with these people," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mrs.--, in affected indignation, meant to mislead Mrs. Harwood, who, she feared, had overheard what the young woman had said. "They're always trying in some way or other, to get the advantage of you."
"How so?" asked Mrs. Harwood, wis.h.i.+ng to learn all she could about the stranger who had interested her feelings.