University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

The attempt to deceive Adelaide in regard to
the character of her present home had been successful.
The confused and indecisive manner in
which Mrs. Winfield had met the gross accusations
brought by Glenham seemed a conclusive proof of
her guilt. But the parties to the deception little
dreamed that the result would be so different from

what they had calculated. They little imagined
that Adelaide, destitute and deserted, would reject
the protection of Glenham, even when offered under
the pretence of friendship.

Appalled by what she had heard, her first thought
was to escape from the house immediately, and at
any hazard. After that had been accomplished it
would be time enough for her to consider what was
to become of her. She ran up stairs into her room,
hastily seized her shawl and bonnet, and gliding
gently down to the street-door, opened it and issued
forth into the open air. Hurrying round the neighboring
corner, she took a circuitous route from
street to street, until she found herself at the gate of
St. John's Park. The gate was accidentally open,
and, unaware that the residents of the stately houses
which surrounded the square, were alone privileged
to walk in this shady retreat, she entered.

“Did that lady show you her ticket of admission,
Patrick?” asked one of the deputy gardeners of
another.

“Isn't that face of hers ticket enough, you fool?”
replied Patrick. “Who would think of asking a
lady, the likes of that one, for a ticket?”

Adelaide passed on, and took a seat in the shade
of a catalpa tree. It was not till then that she began
to revolve the question, where shall I go? It
suddenly occurred to her to see how much money
she had remaining in her purse. Alas! it was
empty. Her last half-eagle had been given to the
wandering minstrels, who had roused her by their
music under her windows. But stay! She had
their address—it was inscribed on the blank leaf
of one of her volumes—could she but recall it to
mind! Ay, memory now serves her a good turn.
She remembers the street—the number of the
house. “I will go to them!” she said. “I could
not have been deceived in their looks. They must

be honest, though nothing but vagrant minstrels.
Poor as they are, they are the only friends I have
in this crowded metropolis. To whom else can I
look for shelter and protection!”

She rose and moved towards the gate. As she
reached it she looked up to see a splendid olive-colored
barouche roll by, with its liveried driver and
footman. It contained Fleetwood and Emily Gordon!

Adelaide paused as if a sudden heart-ache had shot
through her frame. But in an instant she was firm,
and walked on with a proud and elastic step. Was
it an emotion of envy that brought the cloud to her
face? Ah, no! It was a momentary regret that
her young heart's creed had been so early trampled
on—that her faith in human honor had received so
severe a shock. But then came the consciousness
that she herself had never wronged a human being
by thought or deed, and she was re-assured and
sustained.

After an hour's search Adelaide reached the
house, of which she was in quest. It was a more
respectable looking building than she had expected
to find; but she soon discovered that it was occupied
by some dozen families, and that it would be
a matter of no little difficulty to learn which apartment
was occupied by her German friends. After
knocking at several doors and instituting a number
of fruitless inquiries, she found herself in the attic
story of the house, with a door on each side of the
landing-place at the head of the stairs. She rapped
with her sun-shade at the nearest of these
doors, and her summons was speedily answered by
a woman of somewhat elderly appearance who
wore spectacles, and, as she opened the door, stood
bent over in a position to keep a parcel of silk stuff,
on which she had been sewing, from rolling from
her lap.

“Can you tell me where a German family, named
Mulder, reside in this building?” asked Adelaide.

“Pray walk in, Miss,” said Mrs. Rugby, for that
was the name of the elderly woman in spectacles.

Adelaide readily complied with the invitation,
for she felt fatigued by her long walk. The room
into which she entered, though an attic apartment,
was large, and received the light from four windows,
so that it had a bright and cheerful aspect.
The front exposure looked out upon the North
River; and the Hoboken ridge, with its green
woods, was plainly to be seen on the opposite bank.

A girl apparently not more than ten years of age,
and beautiful as a sylph, was whirling about the
floor with an airy, graceful movement as Adelaide
crossed the threshold. But on seeing a stranger,
she stopped, curtsied, and walked to the window,
which was open.

The furniture of this apartment, though scanty,
was neat and comfortable. A large double bed
stood in the remotest corner. A black walnut
bureau, a wash-stand, a piano or harp stool, a music
rack, half a dozen chairs, a round table containing
a work-box, surrounded by tassels, spangles and
skeins of bright colored silk, were the objects which
the eye took in on a hasty survey.

“Pray take a seat, Miss,” continued Mrs. Rugby,
throwing down her work, and placing a chair.
“The poor foreigners, after whom you ask, are out
traversing the streets in the hope of picking up a
few pennies. They live in the opposite room; and
will be back soon—as light as they went, I will be
bound! Poor things! If it hadn't been for the
five dollars you gave them, the landlord would
have turned them neck and heels out of the house
before this.”

“And how did you know that it was I who gave
them the money?” asked Adelaide, surprised.

“O, they could speak English words enough to
describe you to me very well, Miss,” said Mrs.
Rugby; “and the moment I set eyes on you, I
knew that you must be the person they meant. It
was very good of you, Miss, to help them; for they
are as deserving as they are poor.”

“I suspect I am not the only one who has helped
them, if I may draw an inference from the harp-stool
without the harp,” said Adelaide.

“It is very true, Miss, that I lent them my harp,
which I treasure, because it belonged to my only
daughter, who is dead and gone, and who was the
mother of that poor child you see there. But, dear
me! the mere lending a harp is little enough to do
for one's next door neighbor. The will must be
taken for the deed in my case.”

“You are the friend of these poor people, madam,”
said Adelaide, abruptly—“you know their resources
—the extent of their accommodations. Think you,
they could receive me for a brief time, and let me
lodge under their roof until I am able to earn for
myself enough to support me?”

“Receive you!” exclaimed Mrs. Rugby, almost
petrified with astonishment—“receive you as a
lodger under their roof—why, Miss, what is the
meaning of such a proposition?”

Adelaide hesitated, for she was debating with
herself the propriety of revealing to one, who, until
the last two minutes was an utter stranger to her,
the cause of her abandoning a home, where she was
surrounded by all the luxuries which wealth could
procure. But she thought of the incident of the
harp; and believing that the woman who would do
such an act of kindness, would appreciate the motives
of her conduct, she communicated with a
simple earnestness of manner, and in a few brief
sentences the whole story of her life up to the present
moment.

When she had concluded, she looked up, and saw
that her hearer had taken off her spectacles to wipe
her eyes, which were literally suffused with tears.
The little girl, too, had gradually drawn near, until,
leaning on the back of her grandmother's chair, she
listened with a look of premature intelligence.

“And are you utterly destitute, my dear?” asked
Mrs. Rugby.

“Alas! yes, madam! I have nothing with me
but the apparel which you see; and my purse is
empty. Do you think it possible that I can induce
these poor German women to give me shelter for
a while?”

“They have not the power to serve you, my
dear, however strong they may have the will.”

“Then, what will become of me?”

“Become of you! Why, haven't I a nice large
bed, and plenty to eat, with the Croton water at my
elbow, as handy as a pocket in a shirt?”

“That's my own, dear, dear grandmother!” exclaimed
the little girl, the tears springing to her
eyes, while she threw her arms about the woman's
neck.

“Child, child, you will choke me! Get away,
Florinda!” exclaimed Mrs. Rugby, trying to make
it appear that it was the child's embrace, and not
her own tears which were choking her.

“Is it real?” exclaimed Adelaide—“and do you,
madam, whose name even I do not know—do you
offer me—a stranger, an outcast—protection and
shelter?”

“To be sure I do!” said Mrs. Rugby, taking
Adelaide by the hand. “And as for clothes, I have
a whole trunk full of clothes that belonged to my
poor daughter, and which I have been keeping for
this child when she is big enough to wear them.
They will just fit you, my dear, and with a little
altering they can be made as fashionable as you
please.”

“Ah! what goodness! Heaven grant that I may
live to repay you! At present I can give you only
my tears—a melancholy recompense!”

“Nonsense, child! Wouldn't you do as much
for me, if I was as badly off, and you had the
means? To be sure you would! Here I am, living
all alone with this little girl, and with nobody
to support but ourselves and Florinda's brother—
Charley, we call him—who is at school in the
country.”

“Ah! I fear that I shall be a burthen. Can I not
assist you in your occupations? What may be the
nature of them?”

“We belong to the theatre, my dear. To be
sure I am nothing but assistant costumer; but Florinda
dances between the plays, and is called on the
bills, Fanny Elssler the younger—Fanny Elssler, in
very big capitals, and the younger, in the smallest
possible letters. Ah, my dear, the day of the legitimate
drama is gone by. Poor Rugby! It was a
terrible blow to him, Miss, to see horses and clowns
and wild beasts draw audiences, while Hamlet was
played to empty benches. Rugby used to play the
ghost of Hamlet's father, Miss. Ah! It was the
death of him when he had to give up the ghost, and
descend to melodrama and pantomime. He never
held up his head after that. The degradation was
too much for him.”

“And was your daughter an actress?”

“Yes, poor thing! But she never took kindly to
the stage. She used to play the walking genteel
young ladies—Maria, in the School for Scandal,
and such parts. She married Romaine—poor Tom
—you may have heard of him, Miss—the best Mercutio
on the boards, and a true gentleman. Poor
fellow! He and his wife were blown up in the
Moselle, while on their way to play at New Orleans.
Their wardrobes had been put on board another

boat, and they were saved. This child and her
brother had been left behind under my charge. I
shouldn't have cared to live a day longer but for
that.”

“And may I ask if you find your present employment
profitable?”

“Ah, my dear, theatricals are at such a very low
ebb, that we costumers can't make a third part of
what we used to. And as for Fanny Elssler the
younger, she has been put on half pay the last
month—so you see business is not quite as flourishing
with us as it was formerly. But hark! I
hear the Germans on the stairs with the harp!”

Mrs. Rugby rose and threw open the door. She
was apparently about sixty-five years old, this
manufacturer of theatrical costumes—with a round,
good-humored contented face, a figure decidedly
stout, and a loud, hearty voice. She was dressed
in a robe of dark calico, and her gray hairs were
concealed by a muslin cap of unsullied whiteness.

“Come in, and see a friend!” exclaimed Mrs.
Rugby, looking out upon the strolling minstrels,
who were ascending the stairs.

As they entered, the women instantly recognised
their benefactress, and pressed her hand to their
lips with a show of unaffected gratitude. The boy,
who had not seen her at the moment, set the harp
down in its place with a look of discouragement
and discontent.

“Poor luck to-day, eh, Gustave?” said Mrs.
Rugby.

The boy showed his empty hat, and smiled bitterly;
and then, seeing Adelaide, he approached, and,
bowing respectfully, followed the example of his
sisters.

Lest unfounded hopes of farther assistance might
be awakened in the minds of her foreign protegés,
Adelaide thought it best to apprise them at once of

the circumstances, under which she came there.
This she did in a few touching words; and when
she made known the fact that she had come to ask
of them—of them, the poor, despised vagrant minstrels—succor
and protection—the sisters looked at
each other with swelling bosoms and moist eyes,
while the boy clenched his fists, and seemed to
swell to the stature of a man.

The minstrels left the room, but in a few moments
the boy returned, and took away the harp;
and, on looking out of the window some moments
afterwards, Adelaide saw them moving off with
more than ordinary speed, to try their luck once
more in the noisy, music-killing streets.

Mrs. Rugby had another visitor, but in this case
an unwelcome one, before conversation was resumed
between her and Adelaide. A bill for the
last quarter's schooling of Master Charles Romaine
was brought in by a stiff, severe-looking, monosyllabic
individual, who presented the account in silence
and in silence awaited a reply.

“Call again on Saturday,” said Mrs. Rugby,
while a visible shade of concern passed over her
countenance.

“On Saturday,” said the austere gentleman.

“This is the first time I have ever put off these
schooling bills,” said Mrs. Rugby, with a transient
look of dismay. And then resuming her mood of
habitual cheerfulness, she took up her work and
began to chat as if nothing had happened.

But Adelaide was too much immersed in thought
to talk, and Mrs. Rugby was delighted to find that
she had so patient a listener.

“I must not be idle with such examples before
me, and under the spur of such necessities,” thought
Adelaide. “But what can I do?”