University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
THE SECRET DISGUISED.

The party alighted at the part of the
alley, David opening the door, and assisting
the poor woman to get out.—
Never had poverty two stauncher friends
than had this helpless female in this her
hour of misfortune. Mr. Gustavus offered
her his arm, while David went forward
leading the way, and kindly and
carefully beating aside the snow with
his boots, that she might walk easier;
for the narrow passage through which
they were passing was very much
blocked up, and she was as fragile as a
willow rudely blasted by the storm.

`Indeed, sir,' said Mrs. Wilson to her
benefactor, `you need not take so much
trouble. You have done more for me
than I could hope for. I can never repay
your kindness. Besides, my house
is too wretched for a gentleman like
you to enter it.

`I nevor yet, dear Madam, saw poverty
so low that charity could not stoop
as low. You have greatly interested
me in yourself and your circumstances.
I wish to see how you live, that I may
know how to aid you. You must let me
do as I wish in this matter,' he added
smiling; `for I assure you I am very
stubborn in such cases as this!'

David now turned out of the alley into
a narrower passage up which the
house stood. As he went along, he saw
the marks made by the shutter, as she
dragged it through the snow the night
previous. He silently pointed it out to
Mr. Gustavus, who perfectly comprehended
him.

`Here is your house, ma'am,' said
David, `and I trust after this, now that
you have found so good a friend as Mr.
Gustavus here, you will enjoy more
happy days in it, than you seem to have
done!'

`God, I see, has raised me up friends,'
she answered warmly, with tears sparkling
in her eyes. `How shall I ever
repay you, sir.'

`Don't think of me. Five dollars is
nothing compared with your staying six
months in prison. I should not have
slept or eaten in peace had you gone
there; for I was a coward in letting old

Jarvey's threats make me act against
my conscience. It would have been
better, ma'am, for me to have lost my
place and trusted to Providence, than
to have taken you up and had you sent
to prison for no crime at all. Good
morning, ma'am; I must go home and
look after my little ones, for they'll
not know what has become of me, for
I'm in usually by day light.'

`David, where is your house?' asked
Mr. Gustavus.

`In a little court that runs out of
Cambridge street, sir!' answered the
watchman.

`What court?'

`It is called Finney Place, sir!'

`I know it. I will not forget you.
Your good conduct to this poor woman
has made me esteem you. Here is the
five dollars again that you have paid
for her. You cannot afford to lose it!'

`I cannot afford to take it, sir! I
am poor, that I know, sir! But I am
richer without that money than I should
be with it! I paid it from my hear.!
Keep it, sir! Will you not let any one
have the pleasure of doing good but
yourself?'

`Then I will not urge you. I know
the gratification that fills the soul from
a generous action. I will not deprive
you of this high enjoyment. It is possible,
Mr. Dalton, that the Justice and
Mr. Jarvey, by their combined influence,
for I see that both are your enemies,
may succeed in getting you dismissed
from your station as a watchman.
If so, do not fear but that you will find
some other employment. This I will
see to myself. Good morning!'

`Good morning, sir!'

`Take the silver and pay the coachman
as you go out, and dismiss him!'

David now took his leave of them,
and Mr. Gustavus followed the poor
woman up the tottering steps that led to
the door of her dwelling. She looked
as if something was on her mind aside
from the present events. She appeared
perplexed and trembled and several
times looked at her benefactor before
she opened the door, with an expression
in which the deepest gratitude seemed
to be struggling with a reluctance to
admit him into the house. He saw
this, but being resolved to do her good,
he did not seem to regard it. He supposed
that she had some secret domestic
grief that she wished to keep from him;
perhaps, an intemperate husband, or,
as he strongly suspected was deserted
by her husband and wished to keep his
conduct from his knowledge.

`Sir, I would rather you would not
take the trouble to enter my cheerless
abode,' she said, as she laid her hand
upon the latch.

`Pardon me, but I wish to know all,
so that I can do you all the good you
need,' he said, kindly, but firmly. `If
you have any thing you wish to keep
secret do not divulge it; for I do not
desire to know what you may wish to
keep back. I only wish to learn sufficiently
to be of real service to you;
for from what I can understand you are
wholly without friends, and are suffering
for the very necessaries of life.'

`Sir, I will not say any more! I may
yet confide in you wholly; for I see
that I can have from you nothing to
fear.'

She then opened the door, which led
into a small entry, from which a second
door opened into the room occupied by
the family. She had no sooner touched
the latch of the outer door than the
inner door was opened by the lad we
have already seen. Upon seeing his
mother, his large, lustrous, half-sunken
eyes blazed with joy and he cried out,

`Mother! dear mother!' and sprang
into her arms.

`Mother!' repeated the daughter
Anny bounding to meet her. `Oh, has
mother returned?' But as she saw behind
her mother, the face of the stranger,
she checked her bound of joy and
stood gazing upon him with looks first
of fear and then of confidence. She
saw that he was not an officer—not an
enemy, but a friend. Benevolence,
peace, and kindness were engraven in
heavenly lines upon his countenance.—
She bounded forward without fear, and
clasped her mother about the neck and
wept in her bosom.

For a few moments the three remained
thus intertwined in one another's
embrace, their hearts throbbing with tumultuous
joy.

`Oh, my dearest mother, how happy
we are,' said the boy, lifting his dark,
expressive eyes to her pale face which
was fondly bent over him with natural
love in every lineament. `Sister was
just going to ask the judge to forgive
you, and tell him all about it, how you
didn't mean to do naughty, when you
took that shutter that made us all so
warm!'

`Oh, mother, how is it that you are
restored to us again?' asked the young
girl, raising her pale, beautiful face all
bathed with tears and beaming with happiness.

`Through God's mercy in sending
me two friends in my extremity, my
child! Knee, both of you, and bless
this gentleman; and I would that the
generous and noble watchman were here
also.'

`And so do I, madam, that he might
have witnessed this joyful meeting as I
have done.'

`I have witnessed it, sir,' answered
the husky and tremulous voice of David
close at his back. `I would not have
missed it for another five dollars, sir!
I came back to ask you if I had not
better step in the market, and get a little
something for them to eat, and a few
bundles of firewood just to begin upon,
for from what I saw last night they have
not enough in their larder for a kitten's
luncheon, and as to firewood, the old
shutter must be pretty well used up by
this time.'

`You are right, David. Here is money.
Use it at your discretion. You will
know what to buy.'

`Yes, sir; poor men can buy best for
the poor,' answered David, taking the
five dollar note and hastening from the
house, his eyes filled with tears at the
scene which he had witnessed.

Anny, the lovely lame girl, would
have knelt with her wasted brother at
the feet of the stranger; but he raised
them up and taking a chair—a broken
one which he had to keep on its feet by
the aid of his own,—he placed the boy
upon his knee and kissing his pale brow,
spoke to him in words of kindness and
sympathy. Anny stood near clasping
her mother's hand, and regarded the
gentleman with looks of mingled curi
osity and surprise. Kindness and
sympathy were very strange things to
her.

`Now, dear madam,' said Mr. Gustavus
after glancing around the almost
naked room and seeing that the family
was in the lowest poverty, `I beg of
you to tell me exactly your situation.—
I am your friend, and will do all I can
to relieve you.'

`Oh, sir, you are so good,' exclaimed
the mother with emotion.

`Have you any fire wood at all?' he
asked, addressing Anny, upon whose
lovely countenance he gazed with the
deepest interest, wondering how it was
that so sweet a flower should ever have
unfolded itself in so uncongenial a
soil.

`We have only this fragment, sir,'
she answered, blushing deeply as she
pointed to a piece of the shutter; `we
did not burn it after they took mother
away, because we feared it would be
wrong.'

`And so you have remained in the
cold.'

`We went to bed and cuddled under
the old quilt, sir,' said the boy. `It
kept us pretty warm, all but my back.'

`Poor child. You look almost frozen
now. In a few minutes the good
watchman will be here with wood.—
Have you got anything to eat in your
house?'

`No, sir,' answered Anny.

`Madam,' said Mr. Gustavus, turning
to the poor woman. `I see you are in
need of every thing. I will do what I
can for you, but I should be glad to
have your confidence fully. You told
me that you had a husband. Where is
he?'

At this question Mrs. Wilson started
and looked distressed; while the face of
Anny and of the boy betrayed alarm
and agitation. Mr. Gustavus felt his
hand tremble in his own; and he could
not but see that he had touched a painful
chord. There was evidently some
mystery—some painful fact which related
to the unseen husband. He was
not disposed to be inquisitive merely
from idle ouriosity. He felt that this
poor family had some secret source of
sorrow even greater than its poverty, if

it were possible. He felt a benevolent
desire to arrive at the knowledge of it
that he might alleviate it by his advice,
or by pecuniary aid.

`My dear good woman,' he said in a
voice of kind persuasion, `I can hardly
assist you as I would wish, unless I
know the sources of your destitution.
Be assured you can confide in me without
fear.'

`Mother, let us tell the good gentleman
all about it,' said the boy earnestly.
`I know he is a friend to you and us.'

`Yes, mother, said Anny, with a face
brightening with trustfulness, `we can
trust this benevolent man. I know he
will never betray us. His advice may
do us good.'

`But we should involve him in the
responsibility of our secret, Anny,' answered
Mrs. Wilson. `He would feel
it a duty to inform, whence we feel it
a duty equally sacred to conceal.'

`I will put an end to the difficulty at
once, dear wife,' said a voice behind
them.

It was the voice of a man; but Mr.
Gustavus, on looking round, to his surprise,
beheld a tall woman, or at least a
person in a gown, shawl and hood.
Mrs. Wilson uttered a cry of fear, and
ran to him, while Anny and the boy
both exclaimed `father,' with looks of
surprise and terror.

`Do not fear, children. Do not fear,
Mary,' said the disguised man; `only
keep the door fast while I am in here.
This gentleman I know well by sight,
and by reputation. I would trust him,
as I am about to do, with my life. It
is Mr Gustavus the friend of the unfortunate.
I overheard his voice, and knew
it, and peeping from my hiding place,
saw him. I heard all that was said, and
made up my mind that it was best to
make a confidant of one who, if he
could not aid us, would never betray
us. Mr. Gustavus, though you see
me appear dressed as a female, I am
the husband of this woman.'

`Who are you, sir, and what circumstances
have rendered it necessary
that you should thus conceal yourself
in such disguise?' asked Mr. Gustavus
looking at first at him, and then at the
displaced boards through which he had
entered the room.

`My name, Mr. Gustuvus, when you
hear it will perhaas make you start with
feelings of revulsion; but before you
condemn me, know my defence.'

`I will hear you and judge impartially,'
answered Mr. Gustavus with surprise,
and wondering what revelation
was about to be made. There was
something in the tones of the man's
voice and in his countenance that prepossessed
him in his favor.

`You have not forgotten the death of
young Temple?' said the man, still
wrapped in his hood and shawl, and
furtively watching the door lest any one
should enter.

`No, sir, I have not.'

`You have heard the name of William
Wilson as the person who killed
him?'

`Yes.'

`That is my name! I am the man,
Mr. Gustavus!' said the disguised father
and husband in a firm tone.

`You! Are you the murderer?'
cried Mr. Gustavus with surprise and almost
with horror. `I was prepared for
some painful revelation, but not for the
bold confession of a murder!'

`Mr. Gustavus, I have made this confession
not boldly, but from a desire to
let at least one important person know
the whole truth. I feel that you will
be my friend as you seem to be that of
my family; and indeed, the friend of
the friendless everywhere. You are
the only man living that I would have
appeared before, as I now do, and acknowledge
myself to be William Wilson—the
man hunted by the police, who
are inspired to almost superhuman exertions
by the large reward that is offered
for my arrest. Will you listen to
me while I relate the circumstances
which led to that deed?'

`I will; and the more willingly, as I
begin to believe from your appearance
and manner that you will be able to
show some mitigating circumstances
that will lessen the horror of the act.'

`I trust I shall do so sir,' answered
the man as he seated himself upon the
low truckle-bed, his wife taking a seat
by his side, and closely watching with

alternate glances, the face of her husband
and that of her listener. Charles
still sat confidingly on the knee of Mr.
Gustavus; while Anny stood near the
window, her countenance expressing
the deep interest she felt in what was to
follow.