Part 29 (2/2)
”To-night or never! To-night is the last night that I shall ever set foot in your house. I have registered a vow in heaven to that, and I will keep it.”
So he did. He had good cause to remember that night.
Mrs. Laylor saw that he looked as though he intended to keep it, and as he had been fool enough to tell her so, she at once determined to fool him to her own profit. So she promised him that he should have his utmost desire, and upon that she ordered up another bottle of wine, urged him to drink and amuse himself with the young ladies, while she went up and ”smoothed the way.”
There is but little need of smoothing the way that leads nearly every young man, who visits such places, to destruction. But she had a way to smooth. It was her last chance with this victim, and she determined on profit and revenge.
In due time she came in, and reported favorably.
”The lady would see him, in consideration of his profession, upon one condition--that he would not seek to learn her name, or anything about her, and that he should not see her face.”
What did he care for that, since he had already seen it, and it was daguerreotyped upon his heated imagination, so that he would know her whenever he should meet her afterwards in the street.
Let the curtain of night fall. The sun shone into an eastern window of No. -- H----n street the next morning, while Otis still slept. Its bright rays awakened him to the startling consciousness of having over-slept himself after a night of debauch. How should he get away without being seen? The thought troubled him sorely. But he soon determined what he would do; he would steal the veil from the face of the sleeping beauty to hide his own, and then slip out by the bas.e.m.e.nt door, perhaps unseen. What harm could it do to her, since he had seen and knew the face so well?
He dressed himself hurriedly, then gently drew the veil away, with a salvo to his conscience that he would not then see her face, he would look the other way. His conscience would have been more easy afterwards if he had kept that resolve. He could not. The glance at Athalia's beauty the night before had maddened him, and he turned, as he was going out of the door, to look back where she slept, and steal--”Thou shalt not steal”--he had forgotten that--steal one more glance. He did, but instead of the face of Athalia, he saw that of a common street-walker--a young harridan--and he rushed from the room with the full weight of a burning conscience for his folly, with a feeling of self-degradation at being victimized a second time by the same deceitful woman; hating himself and everybody else; dreading to meet any one he knew, and, finally, encountering in the bas.e.m.e.nt hall, striving to get out in the same sly way, the very man whom he had first taken to task for visiting this den of infamy. What a recognition! Neither could speak, so intense was the thought in the mind of each that the other might ruin him by simply revealing the truth. Strange that neither thought how little the other would dare to speak, least it should be inquired, ”How did you know he was there? Where was you?”
Otis said afterwards to an acquaintance of mine, a physician, whom he was obliged to consult in consequence of that sinful night, that he could not conceive any agony more intensely painful in this life than that which he endured the next Sabbath, when he arose in the pulpit and looked down upon the congregation, but saw nothing, could see nothing, but that one pair of eyes glaring upon him just as they did the morning he met them in the hall of that house where he had been so disgraced.
”I little knew then,” said he, ”as I did afterwards, that he felt just as bad as I did, for he told me that it seemed to him that I was about to denounce him to the whole congregation. So intense had this feeling become, that he was on the point of seizing his hat and rus.h.i.+ng out when the words burst from my lips, 'if thou knowest aught of thy brother's failing, cover it up from the rude gaze of the world, for it can profit them nothing to know of his faults.'
”'Go to him privately and speak kindly, and he will reform!' So he did, to our mutual benefit.”
This relieved the mind of Otis, but it did not save him from the sad effect of a poisoned, neglected system, but it cured him from visiting places where he was ashamed to show his face. It taught him that ”the way of the transgressor is hard.” He had one more trial. He had not paid Mrs. Laylor the hundred dollars promised while heated with wine, for he felt that she was not ent.i.tled to it, and he had no such sum to spare.
Late one Sat.u.r.day night he received a note from the lady, requesting immediate payment, and threatening exposure in church the next day if he failed to make it instanter. He had not so much money in the world, and knew no way by which he could get it immediately. He was in an agony of fear all the evening. The only man to whom he dared apply either for money or advice, the man who was equally guilty, was out of town. What should he do? He did what every Christian should do. He opened his Bible, and the first words, that his eyes fell upon were, ”ask and it shall be given you.”
He did ask, and ask earnestly, what shall I do? Before he had done asking, the door bell rang and a letter marked ”private--by express,”
was laid upon his table. A glance at the superscription told him it was from the man he was so anxious to see.
He opened and read:
”MY DEAR FRIEND OTIS,
”I have had a sort of presentiment upon my mind that you were about to be distressed for that hundred dollars, and as I am well aware that you never would have been placed in jeopardy if I had not first done wrong, I beg you to accept the enclosed check for that amount.
”I need not say who it is from.”
How strange, how opportune, how quick the answer to his asking had come back. What a load it lifted off his mind. It is not the first load that prayer, earnest, sincere prayer, has lifted. He was relieved in more ways than one; he had repented of his folly, and had become a better and a wiser man. Gold is refined of its adhering dross by fire. Otis still lives, and every day he warns some one, not only of the folly and sin, but the danger, of visiting that cla.s.s of houses, if only from curiosity. They are all traps for the unwary, and gulfs into which the soul sinks blindfold down to perdition.
We have lost sight of Athalia. Let us return to her--she will need all our sympathy, for she stands upon the very brink of a precipice, over which though many have fallen, few ever returned.
Mrs. Laylor manifested the greatest sympathy for Athalia that one friend could for another. She gave her the most private room in the house, and a.s.sured her that she should be welcome to it just as long as she pleased; ”but of course,” she said, ”you will not remain a moment, after you get your things from that wicked woman. Now what can I do to a.s.sist you?”
This was said in such a kind, sympathizing manner, that a more suspicious mind than hers might have been deceived; and she answered, ”Oh, you can do a good deal. I am afraid to go out, particularly to go to that house, or that woman, and I want my keepsakes. I have got seventy dollars, and I will give it freely if I can get them again.”
She did not see the glisten of the eye, or the avaricious clutch of the hand, as that miserly woman thought, ”I will have that.” She only heard the soft tones of her voice as she said, ”my dear Mrs. Morgan, I will take it and see what I can do, but I am really afraid it is not sufficient to induce her to part with them, as you say they are actually worth more money.”
”What shall I do then? I feel as though I could not part with them, and in such a way too, that is worse than all. I would have sacrificed them in a moment for that man, if he had been sick and suffering, for want of food or medicine.”
”Well, well, my dear friend, do not worry yourself. Remember that you have friends, kind sympathizing friends, who will do more for you than they would for themselves. I will go directly and see what can be done if you will give me the money.”
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