University of Virginia Library

14. XIV.
MORE AND MORE ENTANGLED.

Well might Faustina's heart, meanwhile, be filled
with stinging regrets and fears, — a restless swarm, —
although she knew not yet half the mischief she had
done. She wished she had never seen Tasso Smith;
she bitterly repented confiding her secret to Melissa.
Of her blind and foolish haste to deny her real guilt,
when only a minor fault was charged against her, she
could not think without anger at her own stupidity and
dread for the result. And the jewels, — she loathed
them. And the purloined money, — the remorse and
terror it gave her grew momently. She was in such a
state of suspense and alarm that, when she saw Mrs.
Apjohn going to the village that morning, a wild fancy
seized her that the robbery was discovered, that Prudence
was in pursuit of a magistrate, and that the safest
course now would be to overtake her, confess the borrowing,
and offer the jewels as a pawn for the repayment
of the money.

Accordingly, this creature of impulse once more
threw on her bonnet, thrust the jewels into her bag, and
hurried forth. Not often had she ventured to show

herself in the street in a calico morning-dress; but this
time apprehension conquered pride. Her step was
swift, and she came in sight of Prudence as she was
passing the meeting-house green. Then well would it
have been for all, had Faustina promptly carried out
her original intention! But, at the critical moment, her
courage failed. She shrank from the humiliation of
placing herself, by a confession of her trespass, on a level
with her neighbor. And the secret hope revived that
her fears were after all groundless, and that her guilt
might never be known. So she resolved to delay a
little, and watch Mrs. Apjohn's movements.

Prudence passed down the main street of the village,
and appeared to enter a shoe-store, — Faustina following,
vigilant and anxious, at a safe distance. Waiting for
her to transact her business and come out, the young
wife proceeded more leisurely, and began to think of
her unpresentable attire, and to hope that she might not
see anybody that she cared for. Vain wish! A young
gentleman was sunning himself on the sidewalk. He
had a self-satisfied smirk, a complacent, airy strut, a
little moustache, and a little rattan. He bowed rather
formally to Faustina, and was passing on.

“O Tasso,” she cried, stopping him, “you're doing
everything you can to destroy my peace!”

“Be I? Wasn't aware.” And Tasso, who not only
resented her failure to keep her engagement with him
the day before, but also foreboded importunities anent
the jewels, treated her with provoking coolness.

“Didn't you promise me you never would tell about
Mrs. Apjohn? But I was a fool,” said Faustina, “to
expect you to keep a secret I couldn't keep myself!
Though I did rely on your promise, Tasso, and never
suspected you of betraying confidence!”

“Who said I had betrayed confidence? I haven't
betrayed no confidence, madam!” said Tasso, stiff and
distant. “I said I wouldn't tell, and no more I hain't.”

“Then it was you that hung the tomatoes on her door
last night!”

“Have I promised not to hang tomatoes on anybody's
door?” retorted Tasso, with an inward chuckle. “And
what if I did, — though I don't say I did, mind, — what's
the harm to you?”

“Oh, you don't know, Tasso!” And Faustina did
not dare to inform him, though she longed to.

“I sh'd think you had time enough to borrow the
money, by the way you kept me walking up and down
yesterday, waiting for you, by George!” And Smith
tapped his patent leather with the aforesaid rattan. “I
walked in sight of the church there fourteen hours
or more. Never was so disappointed in my life, by
George!” — Switch. — “I keep my engagements.”

“Forgive me, Tasso. You know what a trouble I
was in. I couldn't come.”

“Well, never mind,” said Tasso, softening. “Good
joke, though, about the tomatoes! Hung on Apjohn's
door? Hi! hi! hi! How'd you learn?”

“Oh, there's been such a time about it! Mr. Apjohn

was at our house before daylight to know if we had done
it.”

“Hi! hi!” tittered Mr. Smith. “Capital joke, by
George! Wish I'd seen him! I'm waiting now to meet
the old woman, when she comes out of the lawyer's
office; see how she looks; see if she'll be so deuced independent
with me to-day. Look here; I've got something
to please her!” Tasso unfolded his handkerchief, and
displayed a tomato.

Faustina scarcely heeded the malicious insinuation, a
word he had previously dropped distracting her thoughts.

“What lawyer's office?” she asked, excitedly gazing.
“She went into the shoe-shop, — if you mean Mrs. Apjohn.”

“No, she didn't; though't might have looked so to you.
She's in Lawyer Parker's office now; over the shoe-shop;
entrance next door.”

Taking legal counsel! Then all was lost; and all
might have been well, Faustina thought, had she but
made haste and carried out her first intention, instead of
delaying to reconsider and observe. And yet, perhaps,
the faint hope kindled within her, it was not too late to
retrieve her error. Why not go straight to the lawyer's
room, call out Mrs. Apjohn, and stop legal proceedings?

“What's the matter?” said Tasso. “You look
scared! Going? What's your hurry? Didn't you git
the money of her yist'day?”

“Yes — no — I must see her now. Wait till I come
back, Tasso!”

And she hurried away from him; while he, crossing
the street with the smiling air of a gentleman of elegant
leisure and happy adventures, ensconced himself in an
alley where the warm sunshine fell, and where, screened
from general observation, he could mellow his tomato
and watch the course of events.

Up the lawyer's stairs rushed Faustina; and her hand
was on the latch before she had taken an instant to reflect
upon what she was doing. There she paused to
regain her breath, still her rapid heart-beats, and think
over a speech to Prudence. But already the wind of
impulse began to fail her, the sails of her spirit to collapse
and shake, and the fogs of doubt to loom before
her. And such were this woman's feebleness of conscience
and fickleness of heart, that she might have
changed her purpose once more, and stolen away without
lifting the latch, had not the lawyer, hearing a movement,
opened the door, and found her standing there
confused and irresolute, and invited her in.

“You — are occupied?” she faltered.

“I shall soon be at leisure,” said the cordial old man;
“won't you sit down and wait?”

His broad and genial manners restored Faustina's
confidence. He would not be so civil, she was sure, if
he had undertaken a case against her. The proposal to sit
down and wait seemed to her almost providential; for, so
deep is the natural instinct of faith, that even the wrong-doer
will often flatter himself that his course is shaped
by some divinity. An opportunity to compose herself,

frame excuses, look about her, and then proceed warily,
was what she most desired. And she went in.

Near the desk sat a farmer. He had the appearance
of doing business with Mr. Parker, who went back to
him, after placing a seat for Faustina. In a retired corner
was a third visitor, — a female, russet-faced and
portly, with stoutest arms, and a form whose adipose
folds quite buried her close-drawn apron-strings, as she
sat compressed into one of the office-chairs.

We recognize our friend, Mrs. Apjohn. She has the
look of a client, awaiting her turn. A most fortunate
circumstance for young Mrs. Dane, you think; for of
course she will take advantage of it, to do her difficult errand,
won't she? Not at all. She nods a good-morning,
takes her position as far from Prudence as possible, and
pretends to read a newspaper which she picks up;
while the other holds aloft her head with an air of indifference,
— not at all natural, — and by sneers and frowns
and wry faces and contemptuous snuffs, expresses the
opinion she has formed, since yesterday, of her fair
neighbor.

Faustina, who nervously turns and rustles the newspaper,
and runs her eye over it without understanding
a word that is in it, understood very well these demonstrations
of resentment on the part of Prudence. But
she is at a loss to determine the cause of that resentment.
Is it the money of yesterday, or the tomatoes of last
night? In either case, she feels that she ought to be
more conciliatory in her manner, and prepare the way
for explanations.

“How pleasant it is, this morning, Mrs. Apjohn!”

“Pleasant!” mutters Prudence, with a scowl, elevating
her chin another degree. And with grim satisfaction
she perceives that the cut has told.

Poor, proud Faustina! At another time such insolence
would have angered her forever. But this morning
she cannot afford to take offence. She must humble
herself even at the feet of that miserable, low-bred woman;
and, with her heart guiltily sinking, and her throat
rebelliously rising, she must smile serenely, and respond
sweetly, —

“Rather cool, however; quite a change in the weather
since Sunday.”

“Change!” snarls Mrs. Apjohn, regarding this as an
insulting allusion to her Sunday-afternoon adventure.
And, giving her head a jerk, her frock a flirt, and her
chair a hitch, with a parting look of hatred, she turns
upon Faustina a shoulder of the very broadest and coldest
description. The latter was smitten dumb; not
doubting but it was the complete and certain knowledge
of her guilt which made Prudence so insufferably rude
to her. Then, to increase her confusion, she perceived
that the outrage she dared not resent was observed by
the farmer, who had risen to go, and by the lawyer, who
was advancing to learn the business of his female visitors.
And the time had come for her to act, or at least,
to offer some pretext for being there; and she had not
yet formed a plan, and her wits were a chaos. She was
glad that the lawyer addressed himself first to Mrs. Apjohn;

though she expected the next minute to hear her
crime denounced.

But Prudence was averse to transacting business in
the presence of her neighbor. “I am in no petic'lar
hurry,” she said. “I can wait, while you attend to that
other person.”

So the bland-faced lawyer turned to the “other person.”

“I prefer to take my turn,” Faustina managed to say.
“Mrs. Apjohn was here first.”

“I'll wait for her,” said Prudence, obstinately. “Never
mind who come first. The first shall be last, and
the last shall be first, we are told,” with a significant
scoff at the handsome and once haughty Faustina.

The lawyer looked bothered, and he once more applied
to his younger visitor.

“I — really — cannot come in before her; it wouldn't
be fair,” Faustina stammered.

“Wal,” exclaimed Prudence, sharply, “I hope I ain't
so silly as to stand upon ceremony and all that nonsense!
My business is ruther private; but if Mis' Dane
wants to stay and hear it, I've no petic'lar objection.”

“I'll go,” — and Faustina made a flutter toward leaving.

“No, you needn't, — you may as well stay. I jest as
lives you would. Come to think on't, I'd a leetle druther
you would.”

For Mrs. Apjohn, who had hitherto, for reasons of
her own, kept her financial concerns a secret from her

neighbors, determined of a sudden to manifest her independence
and command the respect of the worldlings,
by letting her wealth be known. She drew near the
desk.

“I have come, Mr. Parker, to see about that fifty
dollars.”

It needed not the surly, exultant glance she flung at
Faustina to carry consternation to that trembling woman's
soul. It was time to speak. She began, —

“As for that fifty dollars, Mrs. Apjohn, you can have
it almost any time. I suppose,” —

She hesitated, quite out of breath.

“I can, — can I?” said the astonished Prudence,
while the lawyer lifted his mild eyes with a puzzled
expression.

“Yes — I — I have just a word to say.”

“You have, — have you? I should like to know!”

Faustina's face was scarlet, and she spoke in a wild
and hurried whisper, —

“I hope — I assure you — your money won't be lost.
If you will have the patience to wait” —

Prudence regarded her with grisly scorn.

“Wait? Didn't I offer to wait? I gave you a
chance to speak, and you wouldn't take it. Now I'll
thank you jest to hold your tongue,” she added, with
overpowering arrogance, “and let me do my business
with Mr. Parker in peace. I've no idee of my money
bein' lost! Trust Mr. Parker for that! 'Tisn't as
though I was goin' to look to you for it!”

This cool cup of impudence dashed the color from
Faustina's cheeks. She stood up, white and quivering
with excitement, — defiant and desperate now that the
worst, as she believed, had come.

“Threaten, — do you? Very well! what do I care?
I laugh at you! Get your money if you can! I fancy
you'll get it about the time I get the tomatoes stolen
out of our garden. Come, my lady” (with frightful
irony), “you see two can play at your game. Finish
your business with Mr. Parker; then I'll propose
mine. You can guess by this time what it is!”

Passion had concentrated the rash young woman's
scattered wits, and she had come to the quick determination
to enter a complaint against Prudence for
a theft of vegetables, if the latter persisted in taking
legal measures to recover the stolen money. Perhaps
Mrs. Apjohn understood something of the malign
intent. Certain it is that her contumeliousness was
very suddenly suppressed.

“Mr. Parker, I leave it to you if I've said or done
anything to merit sech treatment as this!”

“Indeed,” said Mr. Parker, “I am utterly at a loss
to understand this unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“I offered to explain,” cried Faustina. “I'm not
ashamed to have Mr. Parker know all, if you are not.
Begin now, — tell your story; then I'll give my side,”
and she sat down with flashing eyes.

“I come here,” said Prudence, “on a quiet matter of
business. I shall go on with it. I — am sorry — if I

have offended you,” she humbled herself to say, the
words sticking in her throat. “Now, Mr. Parker, le's
see! About that fifty-three dollars” —

“Fifty!” spoke up the excited Faustina. “It was
only fifty! Don't try to make it more than it is.”

The simmering wrath of Prudence came near boiling
over again at this interference.

“I said fifty at first,” — she spoke patiently as she
could, — “but with interest it's fifty-three and a trifle
over.”

“Interest? interest since yesterday! — but go on; go
on!” said Faustina, “see what you'll make of it.”

Mrs. Apjohn could hardly restrain her fury.

“Will you stop, and wait till I am through? I guess
me and Mr. Parker knows what we're about. Interest
since yesterday!” she repeated. “Think I'm a fool?
It's interest for the past year, as Mr. Parker knows.”

Mr. Parker smiled assent, and inquired if she had the
note.

“Yes, I brought it with me,” said she; “for it's on demand,
and you spoke as if you'd like to pay it, and we're
making up a little sum for the first of October, which'll
be here next week; and if it's jest as convenient to-day,
why, you can pay it to-day; if not, some other time;
though we should like it by the first, anyway.”

It seemed to rain riddles around Faustina, who heard,
and stared, and rubbed her forehead, as if to awaken
some benumbed sense which would enable her to see
through the bewildering drizzle.

“I'm very glad to pay you now,” said Mr. Parker.

A little time was consumed in computing the interest
to Mrs. Apjohn's satisfaction; which gave Faustina an
opportunity to recover herself, and see upon what a
brink of folly she had rushed once more, hurried thither
by her own accusing conscience.

“What a simpleton I am!” she said to herself, trembling
at her narrow escape. “Fool to think I had been
found out, or would be!”

And she resolved she would not open her lips again to
speak of the transgression which she now firmly believed
would never be discovered.

She was still hardening her heart with this determination,
when Mrs. Apjohn exclaimed, —

“Why, Mr. Parker, where did you git that bill?”

“The fifty?” said the lawyer.

“Yes! I declare, it's jest like one I've got to hum, —
on the Manville bank, — my mark on't, too!” with increasing
trepidation.

“I had that bill not over an hour ago, of neighbor
Hodge,” replied Mr. Parker.

“Do ye know where he got it?” demanded Mrs. Apjohn,
her russet face actually pale with fright.

“No, I don't; but I've no doubt he can tell you.”

“If he didn't have it of my husband, then I've been
robbed! And John Apjohn wouldn't dare — no — I —
is Mr. Hodge to his store now?” And Prudence hastily
rising, lifted along with her the chair into which her
ample proportions were compressed, upsetting it with a

noise that went to Faustina's quaking soul like a crash
of thunder.

The next moment she was gone. And Mrs. Dane,
rousing from her stupor, ran to the window to see which
way she went.

Prudence, issuing from the office stairway, started
first towards Hodge & Company's store. Then she
changed her mind, determining to rush home and know
for a certainty if her till had been robbed. Then
she changed her mind again, and concluded that she had
better see Mr. Hodge. While she was hesitating thus,
something fell at her feet. She gave it a glance: 'twas a
ripe and well-mellowed tomato. She did not see Tasso
tittering in the alley; but, casting a lurid look upwards,
caught sight of Faustina's sleeve, disappearing from the
window.

Faustina was moved by another gust of impulse to
give chase to Mrs. Apjohn. But how was she to run
the blockade of that craft of the law, — the man-of-warrants,
— standing off and on to ascertain what had
brought her into those straits?

“Excuse me if I have acted rudely this morning,” she
said. “Circumstances have made me irritable. I am in
great haste. I” —

She was trying to beat out of the channel betwixt the
table and the wall; but he intercepted her, and, tack
which way she would, she found herself running under
his bows.

“What can I do for you, this morning, madam?”

This round shot brought her to.

“I wish — to — raise a little money. I thought perhaps
you might” —

“Might aid you. Likely enough; but you will have
to enlighten me in regard to your plans. Sit down.”

“Thank you — I must go — unless” — a new idea. “I
have some jewels here which I should like to borrow
fifty dollars on.”

Mr. Parker smiled curiously, as he glanced at the
trinkets, and returned them to her.

“This is a kind of business I never do,” he politely
informed her.

Her heart sank; but she drew herself up coldly and
proudly, as she put the dross back into her bag, begged
his pardon for calling upon him, and quickly took
leave.

In the street, Prudence was nowhere in sight. Faustina,
in an agony of shame, apprehension, and uncertainty,
was hesitating which way to go, when she saw
Mrs. Apjohn issue from Hodge & Company's store
and run — actually run — up the opposite sidewalk.
She crossed over to accost her; this time with the full
determination to tell her everything.

“Mrs. Apjohn!”

“Don't you stand in my way!” screamed the furious
woman. “Git out, you thing! No more of your insults
to me, or I'll” —

Faustina stood aside as the broad red face blazed past
her.

“You better! — Throw any more tomatuses at me,
if you da's't! — I've been robbed, or I'd 'tend to your
case now, you stuck-up silly upstart!” And Prudence,
with a glare of rage, turned her capacious back, and set
off at an elephantine trot; while Tasso walked softly out
of the alley, and joined Faustina.

“Wish she'd tread on that tomato, and slip up;
wouldn't she make a spread?” observed that genteel
youth.

“I won't try again! That's twice I've tried to tell
her; and you saw how she treated me!” said the incensed
Faustina. “Let her find out if she can!”

Tasso regarded her admiringly. “By George, you
look splendid, now — perfec'ly superb! 'S wuth while to
see you mad once, if's only to get one flash of them
splendid eyes! — What's the scrape?”

“You got me into it, Tasso! — not that I blame you.
We mustn't stand talking here. Come along with me,
and I'll tell you all about it.”