Fashion and Famine Part 52

"Be at rest; you will see them within a few hours, no doubt," replied the young man. "But your grand-daughter, at least, will, I trust, be at liberty. It was on this subject that I came to see you, aunt."

"And right glad I am you did come, nephew," replied the huckster woman.

"I wanted to help the poor things somehow, but didn't know what on earth to begin with. I know just about as much of the law as a spring gosling, and no more. It costs heaps of money, that every one can tell you; but how it is to be spent, and what for, is the question I want answered."

"Well, aunt, the first step, I fancy, is to get the poor woman's grandchild out of that horrid place. I can tell you it made my blood run cold to see her among those women!"

"Yes--yes. But how is it to be done?"

"You must go up to court and give bonds for her appearance; that is, you agree to give five hundred dollars to the treasury, if this young girl fails to appear when her grandfather is put on trial. If she appears, you are free from all obligation. If she fails, the money must be paid."

"Fails! I thought better of you, nephew. How can you mention the word?

Haven't I trusted her with fruit? Didn't I go security for half the flowers in Dunlap's green-house at one time within this very month?

Robert, Robert, the world is spoiling you. How could you speak as if that girl--I love her as if she were my own niece. Robert--how could you speak as if she could fail, and her poor grandmother sitting by?"

Was it this energetic rebuke that brought the blood so richly into the young man's cheek, or was it the little word "niece" that fell so affectionately from the old huckster woman's lips? It could not be the former, for a bright smile kindled up the flush, and that, a rebuke, however kindly intended, was not likely to excite.

"You cannot feel more confidence in her than I do, dear Aunt Gray," he said; "but I thought it right to place the responsibility clearly before you!"

"That was right--that was like a man of business. Never mind what I said, nephew," cried the great hearted woman, shaking the youth's hand till the motion flushed his face once more. "Aunt Gray always was an old fool, seeing faults where they never existed, and making herself ridiculous every way, but never mind her--she'll give bonds for the poor child, of course; but then the old gentleman, how much will the law ask for him?"

"I'm afraid it will be out of your power to free him, aunt."

"What, they ask too much, ha? You think Aunt Gray must not run the risk; but she will, though. I tell you that old man is honest, honest as steel. They might trust him with the prison doors open; he will do what is right without fear or favor. I'll give bonds for him up to the last shilling of my savings, if the court asks it. He's innocent as a creeping babe, and I, for one, will let the world, yes, the whole world, know that this is my opinion."

"You will not hear me, out. Aunt Gray, I did not advise you against giving bonds, far from it; but Mr. Warren is charged with a crime for which no bonds can be received."

"I did not know that," answered Mrs. Gray, sinking her voice, "still something can be done; see how earnestly she is looking at us! My heart aches for her, Robert."

"Heaven knows I pity her," said the young man, "for I tell you fairly, aunt, the evidence against her husband is terribly strong."

"But you, Robert--you cannot think him guilty?"

"No, aunt, I solemnly believe Mr. Leicester killed himself. But what is my belief without evidence?"

"Then you solemnly believe him innocent?"

"As I believe myself innocent, good aunt."

"I won't ask you to kiss me, Robert, because we are in the open market, and people might laugh--but shake hands again. Next to faith in G.o.d I love to see trust in human nature--faith in G.o.d's creatures--it's a beautiful thing! The good naturally have confidence in the good. That old man is a Christian, treat him reverently in his prison, nephew, as you would have bowed before one of the apostles; his blessing would do you good, though it came from the gallows."

"I believe all this, aunt; something of mystery there is about the man, but it would be impossible to think him guilty of murder! Still there must have been some connection between him and Mr. Leicester yet unexplained."

"I know nothing of this--nothing but what the papers tell me; but one thing is certain, Robert, no one ever had anything to do with Mr.

Leicester without suffering for it. He was kind to you once, but somehow it seemed to wear out your young life. The flesh wasted from your limbs; the red went out from your cheeks. It made me heart-sick to see the boy I loved to pet like a child, shooting up into a thoughtful man so unnaturally. I remember once, when Leicester boarded at our house, Robert, there was a cabbage-rose growing in one corner of the garden. I haven't much time for flowers, but still I could always find a minute every morning before coming to market for these rose-buds when the blossom season came. That summer the bush was heavy with leaves, still there was but a single bud, a n.o.ble one, though, plump as a strawberry, and with as deep a red breaking through the green leaves. I loved to watch the bud swell day by day. Every morning I went out while the dew was heavy upon it, and saw the leaves part softly, as if they were afraid of the sunshine.

"One morning, just as this bud was opening itself to the heart, I found Mr. Leicester bending over the bush, tearing open the poor rose with his fingers. His hands were bathed in the sweet breath that came pouring out all at once upon the air. The soft leaves curled round his fingers, trying to hide, it seemed to me, the havoc his hands had made. It was hard to condemn a man for tearing open a half-blown rose, nephew, but somehow this thing left a prejudice in my heart against Mr. Leicester.

The flower did not live till another morning. I told him of this, and he laughed.

"'Well, what then? I had all the fragrance at a breath,' he said. 'Never let your roses distil their essence to the sun, drop by drop, Mrs.

Gray, when you can tear open the hearts and drink their sweet lives in a moment.'

"I remember his answer, word for word, for it came fresh to my mind many times, when I saw you, my dear boy, pining away as it were, under his kindness. It seemed to me as if he were softly parting the leaves of your young heart, and draining its life away!"

"And you really thought my fate like that of your rose, dear aunt?"

The youth uttered these words with a pale cheek and downcast eyes. The good woman's words had impressed him strangely.

"It kept me awake many a long night, Robert."

"But you did not think that Uncle Jacob was at hand? Had he been in your garden, Leicester would not have found an opportunity to kill your pet rose--he might have breathed upon it, nothing more."

The huckster woman looked earnestly into that n.o.ble young face; and Robert met her glance with a frank, but somewhat regretful smile.

"And Jacob, my brother, stood between you and this bad man," she said at length, with a degree of emotion that made the folds of her double chin quiver.

"He made me wiser and better--he was my salvation, Aunt Gray."

"G.o.d bless my brother--G.o.d bless Jacob Strong!" cried the huckster woman, softly clasping her hands, while her eyes were flooded with tears--grateful tears, that hung upon them like dew in the husks of a ripe hazelnut.

"Amen!" said the young man, in a low voice.

"Now, aunt, let us go to this poor woman--observe how earnestly she is watching us."

The aunt and nephew had stepped aside as their conversation became personal; and old Mrs. Warren had been eagerly regarding them all the time. They were the only friends she had on earth. To her broken spirit, they seemed to hold the power of life and death over the beings she loved so devotedly. Robert had promised that she should see her husband and her grandchild; the heart-stricken woman asked for nothing more. She never, for an instant, questioned his power, but sat with her eyes turned reverently upon his fine person and n.o.ble features, as if he had been an angel empowered to unlock the gates of heaven for her.

Robert and his aunt approached her as their conference ended, and the young man took out his watch.

"Is it time? Would they let me in now?" questioned the poor woman, half rising as she saw the movement.

"Are you strong enough?" he answered, observing that she trembled.

"Oh, yes! I am strong--very strong. Let us go!"

With her thin, eager hands, she folded the shawl over her bosom and stood up, strong in her womanly affections, in her Christian humility, but oh, how weak every way else!

Mrs. Gray folded herself in an ample blanket shawl, and tying on her bonnet, led the way out of the market, forgetting for the first time in her life, that her stall was unattended.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE FIRST NIGHT IN PRISON.

With the gloom of a prison, above and around, He lay down at night, like a child to its sleep;-- His soul was at rest and his faith was profound, His anchor was strong and G.o.d's mercy is deep!

If there is any portion of the city prison more cheerful than another, it is the double line of cells looking upon Elm street. Plenty of pure light pours in through the glazed roof, filling the s.p.a.ce open from pavement to ceiling, with a pleasant atmosphere. The walls that form this s.p.a.cious parade-ground are pierced with cells up to the very skylights. Each tier of cells is marked by a narrow iron gallery; and each gallery is bridged with that opposite, by a narrow causeway, upon which a keeper usually sits smoking his cigar, and idly reading some city journal.