University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.
AN UNEXPECTED FRIEND.

Throwing himself upon a seat, in a
state of mind full of alarm and strange
misgivings, insomuch that he soon found
himself in a profuse perspiration, Edgar
sought to invent a cause for the absence
of Virginia. It was so singular she
should absent herself while he was away,
and leave the house unfastened. Surely,
she could not have gone far, and would
soon return! Somewhat consoling himself
with this idea, he waited rather impatiently
for her appearance, hoping and expecting
every moment she would enter;
but as minute after minute glided by,
and no Virginia came, he began to
grow alarmed in earnest, and rising
from his seat, paced rapidly to and fro the
apartment. At length, when a half hour
had passed, bringing no intelligence of the
missing one, the excitement of Edgar had
reached such an intensity, that he could
no longer content himself in remaining
idle. Something had happened, he felt
sure, and his heart fairly sunk within him
at the thought. Rushing down the stairs
with the haste of a madman, he made eager
inquiries of the people living in the
lower story, and of whom he rented his
apartments. But they could give him no
satisfactory information. They had seen
his sister go out about an hour and a half
before, alone, taking the direction of the
Bowery, and that was all they knew.

It was passed the hour of noon, and Edgar
was fatigued and hungry; but forgetful
of every thing but his sister, whom he
somehow fancied was lost, he darted away
in search of her. Fortunately, he had not
to go far, ere, to his great joy, he met her
returning, accompanied by a young man
of genteel appearance, who walked respectfully
by her side, carrying a small bundle
wrapped with paper. Edgar was not surprised
at this, for he fancied she had been
shopping, and that the purchased articles
were being sent home as is customary.

“O, Virginia!” he exclaimed, springing
forward and seizing her hand, “how could
you so alarm me! For the last half hour
I have been on the rack of agony. Why
could you not have deferred this business
till my return?”

“I thought to give you a gentle surprise,”
replied Virginia; “expecting, when
I left, to return before you; but I have
been disappointed, and shall not again attempt
the like, for already my folly has
found a punishment.”

“As how?” queried Edgar, eagerly.

“I have been insulted.”

“Insulted!” repeated her brother; and
his dark eyes flushed angrily upon the
stranger.

“Nay,” interposed Virginia, divining
his thoughts, “not by him, Edgar. This
gentleman has proved my deliverer.”

“I crave pardon, sir!” said Edgar,quickly,
changing his manner and cordially extending
the other his hand. “Let me thank
you in my sister's behalf, and trust we may
be friends!'

“The latter, most certainly!” returned
the youngman with warmth, and a hearty
shake of the hand; “but as to thanks, I
know not that one deserves them for simply
doing his duty. I saw this lady annoyed
by one whom I had reason to suppose
entertained evil intentions, and I hastened
to her protection. You should have
seen how the offender slunk away as he
beheld my visage, with a half uttered
apology and look of shame—for well he
knew me and I him—though for various
reasons I hardly feel myself at liberty to
give his name at present. I could not
again leave the lady unprotected, and so
am I here.”

“But how happened this, Virginia!”—
eagerly inquired Edgar.

“I cannot tell you here,” answered Virginia,
somewhat excited. “Let us first
go home, it is but a few steps, and I will
explain all.”

Here the stranger was about to take
his leave, but Edgar and Virginia both insisted
he should accompany them, and accordingly
all proceeded to the house together.

“And now,” said Virginia, with a bright
flush that heightened the beauty of her
lovely features, “I will tell you, dear brother,
how it all happened, if you will promise,
before you hear my story, to pardon
any error I may have committed.”

“My pardon I know you will have,” answered
Edgar, “no matter what you have
done, and so I may as well grant it first as
last. Proceed!”

“Well, then, you must know, as I have
before told you, I thought to give you a
gentle surprise, and for this purpose determined,
according to my argument last
night, to render you what assistance I
could in the way of earning a living.”

“But, Virginia—”

“Do not interrupt me, and do not frown,
for you know I have your pardon already
Well, half the night I pondered on what I
could do, and this morning was still undecided,
when I chanced to see a woman
pass, carrying a bundle of shirts. Accosting
her, I learned that she was making
them for a large manufacturer, whose address
she gave me. I thought to myself I
could do as well as she, and as soon as
she was gone, hurried round to the place,
expecting to return within half an hour.
The result is, I succeeded in getting some
work to do; but not until I had been kept
waiting a full hour, and had been quetioned
as closely as if I were a thief. Several
times I was on the point of indignantly
leaving—but then I thought of
you, dear brother, and felt, after all, it was
little to endure for your sake.”

“And what were you to get for all this
labor?” asked Edgar.

“A dime for each shirt,” replied Virginia.

“And how many do you fancy you
could complete in a day?”

“One, at least.”

“One, my sweet sister! And you would
work off your fingers, dim your eyes and
ruin your health, for the paltry sum of a
dime a day, and all to aid me! God bless
you, dear Virginia, for a noble soul!—but
I cannot allow such a sacrifice. Thank
Heaven! I have brighter prospects in
view, of which I will tell you anon. A
dime a day!” he pursued; “how pitiful!
And yet I suppose there are hundreds—
perhaps thousands—forced to toil for even
this.”

“Indeed there are, sir!” chimed in the
young man, who on his way hither had
given his name as Dudley, and learned
those of his new acquaintances in return:
“Indeed there are, Mr. Courtly; thousands,
who are not only forced to toil for this
meagre sum, but are glad to get even this,
to keep them from starvation.”

“Ah! what a world!” sighed Edgar,
musingly. What mighty contrasts! It
does not seem as though we all had one
Heavenly Father, as our divines inform
us from the pulpit we have. Alas! God
help the poor!”

“Ay,” rejoined Dudley, “God help
them indeed! for He is all the friend they
have to look to.”

“But you have not finished your story,
Virginia,” said Edgar, turning to her.

“While waiting for work,” resumed
Virginia, “and passing the ordeal of rather
insulting interrogatives, I noticed a
gaudily dressed fellow loitering about the
door, who occasionally stared at me in an
ungentlemanly manner; but I thought no
more of it, until, having regained the
street and gone a few yards, I found him
walking by my side. Thinking it accidental,
I slackened my pace that he might
pass; but to my indignant surprise, I found
he suited his to mine. He then requested
permission to carry my bundle, as he
was going the same way. I coldly thanked,
and informed him I had no occasion
for his services.

“ `But you must, my angel,' he said.

“ `Sir!' returned I, haughtily, coming to
an abrupt halt, `you are insulting! Go
your way, and leave me to go mine.'

“'Pon my word.' he answered, with a
leer, `you talk prettily, and are really too

lovely to walk the streets alone. Come,
let us be companions.'

“ `Leave me!' I cried, indignantly, `for
you are no gentleman.'

“ `Ay, leave, sir—begone!' said a voice
behind me; and turning, I beheld this
gen—a—I should say Mr. Dudley, since
we have become slightly acquainted,”
concluded Virginia, blushing modestly.

“Of which acquaintance,” chimed in
Dudley, gallantly, with a polite bow to
Virginia, “I am most proud, and sincerely
trust it may be of long duration.”

“The feeling is mutual, I assure you,”
responded Edgar. And then he added,
apologetically: “We were not always as
we now are, sir. Born to wealth, we
never knew the want of money until after
our father's death, when our uncle, his
manager, came into possession of nearly
all his property, as I have strong reason
to believe most villainously.

Here Edgar proceeded to briefly sketch
some of the prominent events of the past
five years, winding up with an account of
his last visit to his uncle, the manner
in which he obtained the check and
its subsequent loss, together with the
death of his mother, adding at the conclusion:

“And now, sir, I must say, I feel I have
been almost too confiding to one so late
an utter stranger; but there is a something
in your countenance and manner,
which, step by step, has drawn me on to
the full revelation.”

“I thank you, Mr. Courtly, for the high
compliment thus paid me,” returned Dudley,
warmly; “and assure you, you will
never have cause to regret your confidence
as misplaced. But a question, if I may be
permitted to ask one; for since you have
told me your story, I feel a deep interest
in your welfare, and will do all
in my power to aid you. Will you give
me the name of your uncle!”

Edgar mused a moment, and then said:

“I do not know why I should withold it.
It is Oliver Goldfinch.”

“What! the millionaire!” cried Dudley
in surprise: “Oliver Goldfinch, the millionaire!
Is it possible? No, it cannot be
—there must be some mistake!”

“Then you know him?” said Edgar,
quickly.

“But do you mean Oliver Goldfinch of
—street?”

“The same, Mr. Dudley.”

“Know him? Ay, I know him well, and
very few that do not,either personally or by
reputation. Why, he is one of our most
prominent citizens, although he has been
but a few years among us. There is
scarcely a charitable association but is indebted
to him for a handsome donation—
or a charity-subscription paper afloat, that
is not led off by his name, with a round
sum attached. Besides, he is a member
of one of our most popular churches, and
is every where spoken of as a rich, but
truly pious and benevolent gentleman.”

“The hypocrite!” muttered Edgar, grinding
his teeth. “O, that I could unmask
him! but that I may never be able to do—
for he is deep, cunning and far-reaching.
Had I the money I wrung from him, I
would quit the city and molest him no
more.”

“Really, I am all amazement,” mused
Dudley, “and hardly know what to think.
You say he gave you a check, which you
lost, and which, had you now, would relieve
you from all embarassment. On
whom was it drawn?”

“If I remember rightly, John Peyton of
Wall street.”

“You of course have been to stop payment?”

“Good heavens!” ejaculated Edgar, with
a start, “I have overlooked that.” And
then, after a pause, he added: “But it
matters not—for some poor wretch may
as well have it as Goldfinch.”

“But by stopping payment, and applying
again to your uncle, you may procure another.”

Edgar shook his head.

“I would rather starve,” he answered,
“than again enter his hateful presence as
a suitor. No! no!—let it go—let it go.
There will perhaps be some way opened,
by which my dear sister and I can live
without begging favors of rich relations;”
and as he spoke, he threw an arm fondly
around Virginia, drew her to him, and
pressed a kiss upon her lips.

Dudley followed the movement with his
eyes, and his features expressed something
like envy of the brother; and the
color deepened on his cheeks, and those of
Virginia, as, at the moment, they accidentally,
as it were, exchanged glances.

What were the fancies, the feelings, the
emotions in the breasts of each, we shall
not here pause to divine. Suffice, that in
refinement of thought and language, grace
of manner, dignity of mien and personal
appearance, each was well calculated to
inspire the other with at least a sentiment
of high regard. Mr. Dudley was what in
common parlance would be called a handsome
man. His age was about twenty-five,
and in stature he was full six feet, but
with proportions so symmetrical as not
to appear awkward or over-size. He
seemed formed by nature for a model, with
not a pound too much or too little. And
then his features were as comely as his
person, with a forehead, nose, mouth, and
chin of the Grecian cast. In his countenance
were no sinister lines—no sly
curves, where a sneer might lurk, or hypocracy
find a foothold. No! all was
open, and frank, and honest; and a
single glance showed you he was a man
after God's own image. In repose, his
face exhibited a stern, thoughtful benevolence,
as one who would do a good act for
the act itself, and not for the reward that
might accrue to the doer. Much of this
expression was in the eye, a dark gray,
which rarely changed its aspect—never,
unless altered by some one of the strong
passions of his soul. His complexion was
light, with light brown, curly hair, that
added much to his good looks. Partly
covering and under his chin he wore
his beard unshaved, but neatly trimmed,
which for him was very becoming.

In dress he had excellent taste. He
wore nothing showy or gaudy, and yet every
garment was rich, and fitted his person
with the utmost exactness. No rings,
chains, or breast-pins were displayed as ornaments,
he seeming to fancy that nature
and the tailor had done enough for him.—
And this was a true index to his mind—as
in fact dress generally is—showing him
to be severely chaste and strictly correct
in principle. And in fine it was this correct
principle which effected his acquaintance
with Virginia and her brother—an
acquaintance of which neither party as
yet dreamed the import. It was not her
beauty, as some might suppose, which led
him to her protection. No! he saw not
that till afterwards. He only saw a female
grossly insulted, and distressed by
the attentions of a villain, and he hastened
to her relief; and had she been old
and exceesively ugly, his correct principle
of gallantry would have caused him to do
precisely as he did. Not that we would
imply he had no choice between ugliness
and beauty; that he would have felt the
same interest in Virginia, had she possessed
no personal charms; by no means:
we only wish to say, that in the former instance
a sense of duty would have urged
him to do with pleasure, what he now
performed with great delight.

After some farther conversation of a
nature similar to that detailed, Dudley rose
to take his leave. Turning to Edgar, he
took his hand and said:

“Our meeting and acquaintance, Mr.
Courtly, I trust may prove of mutual advantage.
You may think it a little strange,
that having confided to me some important
secrets of your life, I, in return, tell
you nothing of myself. But you must
not think hard of me, if I reveal nothing
now. I shall soon see you again, and
sometime you shall know more. I have
my reasons for concealment. Consider
me, however, your friend; and should you
need my aid in any manner, have no scruples
in so telling me, for it will prove a
pleasure to me to do you a service.—
Meantime, I will make your affairs in some
measure my own; and depend upon it, if
wrong has been done you, in the manner
you suppose, the guilty shall be made to
feel it, no matter how lofty their station.
You may think me boasting, my friend—
but time will show; and when time has
shown, I trust you will have little cause to
regret having gained my friendship.”

With these somewhat mysterious words,
Dudley again shook Edgar's hand warmly,
and bowing gracefully to Virginia,
withdrew.

For some time after his departure, Edgar
and his sister conversed about the
stranger, or Dudley as he had termed himself,
and then the former proceeded to detail
all that had occurred in his absence,
and the sanguine expectations he had of
obtaining the prize. Both were young,
and notwithstanding the terrible trials
they had experienced both were full of
hope. Friends seemed to rise up to their
aid where they least expected them, and
the longer they talked, the lighter grew
their hearts.

Poor, bitterly wronged orphans! Let
us hope that day is again dawning upon
their long, dark and dismal night of adversity.