University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

The same evening, a few minutes before
nine o'clock, in a small apartment in one of
the humblest dwellings of the city alleys,
was assembled the small family that occupied
it. It consisted of a pale middle-aged woman
with the traces of beauty and refinement
upon her sickly features, lying upon a
neat but plain bed that stood on one side of
the room, —and a lovely girl in youthful
bloom, save that the lily of confinement and
care had supplanted the joyous rose that
should have tinted her cheek, who sat by the
bed-side and read to her from the Bible,
while the sewing, she had temporarily put
down, lay upon her lap. In a trundle bed
that was partly rolled beneath the larger,
slept two handsome little boys that were the
very images of their sister; while seated by
the candle which gave light to her, was their
elder brother, a little lame lad, but very intellectual
looking, as almost all lame boys
are. He had Captain Riley's travels in his
hand, and was reading his adventures with
absorbing interest, Caroline continued to read
aloud:

`Behold the eye of the Lord is upon them
that fear him, upon them that hope in his
mercy.

`To deliver their soul from death, and to
keep them alive in famine.

`Our soul waiteth for the Lord, he is our
health and our shield.

`Our hearts shall rejoice in him: because
we have trusted in his holy name.'

`How beautiful this language, dear mother.'

`It is precious, indeed, my child. Every
word touches my heart, and in every sentence
I see the faithful promise of the widow's
God.'

At this moment an abrupt knock was heard
at the door, and the city clocks began to toll
nine.

`It is the landlady,' exclaimed Caroline, as
her heart flew into her mouth.

`Fear not, my daughter, she is in God's
hands as well as we.'

Caroline opened the door, and a large, masculine-looking
woman, with a red fleshy face,
and a hard expression to her little gray eyes,
appeared at it.

`Well, Miss, I have come for my rent. I
have given your mother since yesterday
twelve o'clock, to raise it. I suppose it's
ready for me.' And with these words she
entered the room and seated herself in a
chair by the door with the insolent and over-bearing
air of a mistress in her own house.

`Indeed, Mrs. Cringle, I have not yet heard
from my brother in Louisville, to whom I
wrote, and he is my only dependence,' said

Mrs. Archer from the bed. `I shall soon
hear—have the kindness to indulge me a
few days.'

`You'll get no letters, I tell ye, now, Mrs.
Archer; if you do there'll be no more money
in't than'll hide my thumb-nail. These brothers
are as fond of keeping their money as
other folk. No—I can't wait. My rent I
must have, and my rent I will have. So pay
it over, or tramp!'

`Indeed, Mrs. Cringle'—

`Don't Mrs. Cringle me with your indeeds.
If you han't no money, what are you doin'
with that gilt portrait up there? The pawn-broker
'll advance you a five on't.'

`It's my husband's.'

`So much the better to belong to a dead
person. I sold all my man's dud's—watch,
black profile, and all. When one husband's
gone make a clean sweep for a new one—
that's my maxim. Here's young Miss here
with a new bright gown on!'

`It's only clean and smoothly ironed, Mrs.
Cringle. It is a cheap calico, and I have
worn it several months,' said Caroline with
gentleness.

`Why don't you help your mother? you
work at the milliners's and must earn something.'

`I do earn a little, ma'am—from two to
three 'levies a day, but there are five mouths
to feed—five to clothe—besides medicine for
mother.'

`Yes, and not a dollar for your rent. This
won't do for me—I must have tenants that'll
pay. So down with twenty-five dollars or
march. Not a thing do you carry off with
you. Every article here would'nt two-thirds
pay me. So down with it.'

`I implore you to be merciful,' cried Mrs.
Archer, raising herself in the bed—do not
visit your vengeance upon my children.'

`What right have you to take a house
when you were not able to pay the rent. It's
downright swindlin' o' honest folks.'

`We must have a shelter somewhere—and
we hoped to be able to pay for it—but I have
been sick, and misfortunes have come upon
us in various ways.'

`This is the old song. It won't come over
me. I must have my rent.'

`We cannot pay it to-night, Mrs. Cringle,'
said Caroline, imploringly—`if you have any
human feeling let my mother remain in your
house until to-morrow afternoon, and in the
meanwhile I will see what I can to do to
raise the amount due you. Surely charity
and generosity have not fled the human
breast. There must be some way of relief.'

`There is a way you can get the money
very easily, my pretty Miss,' said the vile
hag, with a look and glance, that the purity
of Caroline's nature could not understand.

`Oh, how—tell me how?' she asked eagerly.

`Do you ask me how, with that pretty face
of yours, and nice young figure! I could
show you many a fine young gentleman who
would make your fortune for ye, and in one
hour from now place ten times my debt in
your hands.'

`Fiend! I understand you now! Oh, God!
that I should come to this!'

For a moment Caroline struggled to suppress
her tears, but in vain. Her pure, insulted
spirit was crushed, and she burst into
a shower of bitter tears. She wept as if her
heart would break. Even the devilish landlady
was at length moved.

`Well, child—I've seen greater matters
than that I hinted at make a less to do! If
you won't, why then you won't. I've known
many a young girl sitivated like you would
be glad of the offer I made you. Well, if
you can pay me a part to-night, five dollars or
so—I'll wait 'till to-morrow sun-down for the
balance—an' if you can't pay then, vy you
must tramp, and no more said!'

`I have four dollars and three quarters—if
that will satisfy you, take it,' said Caroline,
going to her reticule. `It is the last I have
saved from my wages for my sick mother.
Take it up,' she said, laying it upon the table,
and shrinking back from her instinctively—for
her delicacy had received too severe
a shock for her to bear the sight or touch of
the iniquitous creature who had been the
cause of it.

`Well, this 'll do for to-night. I'll call to-morrow
sun-down, and hopes you 'll have
the balance. If as how you do, vy I'll be
willin' to try ye here another quarter, if ye
choose to stay.'

Thus speaking, this iniquitous wretch, who

is the counterpart of too many landladies and
landlords of a certain class, left the house.
She had scarcely closed the door, when with
an agonizing shriek of poignant suffering,
Caroline threw herself upon her mother's bed,
and wept till gentle sleep sealed her sunses
in oblivion.