Part 4 (1/2)

Saying this, he shook hands with Harson, and joining the doctor, they set out at a rapid pace for the girl's abode.

They reached it without interruption, other than a short delay on the part of the doctor, who being of a belligerent disposition, was desirous of stopping to flog a man who had intentionally jostled him off the sidewalk.

Kornicker, however, by urging upon him the situation of the girl, had induced him to postpone his purpose, not a little to the relief of the offender, who in insulting him had only intended to insult an inoffensive elderly person, who could not resent the affront.

'Can it be possible that any thing human tenants such a den as this?' said the doctor, looking at the half-hung door of the girl's abode, and listening to the wind as it sighed through broken window-panes and along the entry.

'Come on, and you'll see,' replied Kornicker; and seizing him by the arm, he led him half stumbling up the stairs, and finally paused at the girl's room.

'Look in there, if you want to see comfort,' said he, with an irony that seemed almost savage, from the laugh which accompanied it. 'Isn't that a sweet death-chamber for one who all her life has had every thing that money could buy?'

The doctor glanced in the room, then at the fierce, excited face of his companion. 'Come, come,' said he, in a kind tone, taking Kornicker's hand; 'don't give way to these feelings. She'll be well taken care of now. Harry Harson never does a good action by halves. Come in.'

He pushed the door open very gently, and went to the bed. The girl seemed sleeping, for she did not move. He took the candle, and held it so that the light fell on her face. He then placed his hand gently upon her wrist.

He kept it there for some moments, then held up the light again, and looked at her face; after which he placed it on the floor, rose up, and took a long survey of the room.

'It's a wretched place,' said he, speaking in a whisper. 'She must have suffered terribly here.'

'This is the way the poor live,' said Kornicker, in a low, bitter tone; 'this is the way _she_ has lived; but we'll save her from dying so.'

The doctor looked at him, and then turned away and bit his lip:

'What are you going to do for her?' demanded Kornicker, after a pause: 'have you medicine with you?'

'She requires nothing now,' said the doctor, in a tone scarcely above a whisper. 'She's dead!'

Kornicker hastily took the light, and bent over her. He remained thus for a long time; and when he rose, his eyes were filled with tears.

'I'm sorry I left her,' said he, in a vain effort to speak in his usual tones. 'It was very hard that she should die alone. I acted for the best; but d--n it, I'm always wrong!'

He dashed his fist across his face, walked to the window and looked out.

At that moment the door opened, and Harson entered, his face somewhat attempered in its joyous expression; and close behind followed the house-keeper with a large basket.

'How is she?' asked he, in a subdued tone.

Kornicker made no reply, but looked resolutely out of the window, and snuffed profusely. It would not have been manly to show that the large tears were coursing down his cheeks. Harson threw an inquiring glance at the doctor, who answered by a shake of the head: 'She was dead when we got here.'

Harson went to the bed, and put back the long tresses from her face. There was much in that face to sadden the old man's heart. Had it been that of an old person, of one who had lived out her time, and had been gathered in, in due season, he would have thought less of it; but it was sad indeed to see one in the first blush of youth, scarcely more than a child, stricken down and dying in such a place, and so desolate.

'Was there no one with her--not a soul?' inquired Harson, earnestly, as he rose; 'not one human being, to breathe a word of comfort in her ear, or to whisper a kind word to cheer her on her long journey?'

The doctor shook his head: 'No one.' Harson's lips quivered, but he pressed them tightly together, and turning to Kornicker said:

'Come, my good fellow, you must struggle against your feelings; you must not be downcast about it. She's better off than if she had lived--much better off.'

'I'm not in the least downcast,' replied Kornicker, in a very resolute manner; 'I don't care a straw about it. She was nothing to me; only it's a little disagreeable to be living in this world without a soul to care for, or a soul that cares for you; and then there was some satisfaction in being of use to some one, and in feeling it was your duty to see that no one imposed on her, or ill treated her; but no matter; it's all over now.

I suppose it's all right; and I feel quite cheerful, I a.s.sure you. But you'll look to her, will you? I can be of no farther use here, and I'd rather go.'