Part 52 (1/2)
”No, papa,” answered she soothingly, ”not a breath; I've been secret as the grave.”
”That's right!” rejoined he--”that is right! I love George, but not as I do you. He only comes to me when he wants money. He is not like you, darling--you take care of and nurse your poor old father. Has he come in yet?”
”Not yet; he never gets home until almost morning, and is then often fearfully intoxicated.”
The old man shook his head, and muttered, ”The sins of the fathers shall--what is that? Did you hear that noise?--hus.h.!.+”
Lizzie stood quietly by him for a short while, and then walked on tiptoe to the door--”It is George,” said she, after peering into the gloom of their entry; ”he has admitted him self with his night-key.”
The shuffling sound of footsteps was now quite audible upon the stairway, and soon the bloated face of Mr. Stevens's hopeful son was seen at the chamber door. In society and places where this young gentleman desired to maintain a respectable character he could be as well behaved, as choice in his language, and as courteous as anybody; but at home, where he was well known, and where he did not care to place himself under any restraint, he was a very different individual.
”Let me in, Liz,” said he, in a thick voice; ”I want the old man to fork over some money--I'm cleaned out.”
”No, no--go to bed, George,” she answered, coaxingly, ”and talk to him about it in the morning.”
”I'm coming in _now_,” said he, determinedly; ”and besides, I want to tell you something about that n.i.g.g.e.r Garie.”
”Tell us in the morning,” persisted Lizzy.
”No--I'm going to tell you now,” rejoined he, forcing his way into the room--”it's too good to keep till morning. Pick up that wick, let a fellow see if you are all alive!”
Lizzie raised the wick of the lamp in accordance with his desire, and then sat down with an expression of annoyance and vexation on her countenance.
George threw himself into an easy chair, and began, ”I saw that white n.i.g.g.e.r Garie to-night, he was in company with a gentleman, at that--the a.s.surance of that fellow is perfectly incomprehensible. He was drinking at the bar of the hotel; and as it is no secret why he and Miss Bates parted, I enlightened the company on the subject of his antecedents. He threatened to challenge me! Ho! ho!--fight with a n.i.g.g.e.r--that is too good a joke!”
And laughing heartily, the young ruffian leant back in his chair. ”I want some money to-morrow, dad,” continued he. ”I say, old gentleman, wasn't it a lucky go that darkey's father was put out of the way so nicely, eh?--We've been living in clover ever since--haven't we?”
”How dare you address me-in that disrespectful manner? Go out of the room, sir!” exclaimed Mr. Stevens, with a disturbed countenance.
”Come, George, go to bed,” urged his sister wearily. ”Let father sleep--it is after twelve o'clock. I am going to wake the nurse, and then retire myself.”
George rose stupidly from his chair, and followed his sister from the room.
On the stairway he grasped her arm rudely, and said, ”I don't understand how it is that you and the old man are so cursed thick all of a sudden. You are thick as two thieves, always whispering and talking together. Act fair, Liz--don't persuade him to leave you all the money. If you do, we'll quarrel--that's flat. Don't try and cozen him out of my share as well as your own--you hear!”
”Oh, George!” rejoined she reproachfully--”I never had such an idea.”
”Then what are you so much together for? Why is there so much whispering and writing, and going off on journeys all alone? What does it all mean, eh?”
”It means nothing at all, George. You are not yourself to-night,” said she evasively; ”you had better go to bed.”
”It is _you_ that are not yourself,” he retorted. ”What makes you look so pale and worried--and why do you and the old man start if the door cracks, as if the devil was after you? What is the meaning of that?” asked he with a drunken leer. ”You had better look out,” concluded he; ”I'm watching you both, and will find out all your secrets by-and-by.”
”Learn all our secrets! Ah, my brother!” thought she, as he disappeared into his room, ”you need not desire to have their fearful weight upon you, or you will soon grow as anxious, thin, and pale as I am.”
The next day at noon Lizzie started on her journey, after a short conference with her father.
Night had settled upon her native city, when she was driven through its straight and seemingly interminable thoroughfares. The long straight rows of lamps, the snowy steps, the scrupulously clean streets, the signs over the stores, were like the faces of old acquaintances, and at any other time would have caused agreeable recollections; but the object of her visit pre-occupied her mind, to the exclusion of any other and more pleasant a.s.sociations.
She ordered the coachman to take her to an obscure hotel, and, after having engaged a room, she left her baggage and started in search of the residence of McCloskey.
She drew her veil down over her face very closely, and walked quickly through the familiar streets, until she arrived at the place indicated in his letter. It was a small, mean tenement, in a by street, in which there were but one or two other houses. The shutters were closed from the upper story to the lowest, and the whole place wore an uninhabited appearance.