Lovers and Husbands CHAPTER 19.
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It was about nine o'clock on the morning of the day following the one on which the occurrences took place which have been described in the chapter before the last, that a man, in a disturbed condition, entered the store of Lily, Frogmore, and Co., and asked to see the junior partner of the house.
"I am that individual," returned the man he addressed.
"You?" and the stranger looked incredulous.
"Yes, sir, I am he. Do you wish to see me particularly?"
"I want to see the junior partner of the firm of Lily, Frogmore, and Co."
"There is but one junior partner — and I am the man."
"Is Mr. Lily in?"
"Yes, sir. There he stands in the store."
The stranger's eye followed quickly the direction given; but as soon as he saw Mr. Lily, he shook his head.
"And now, be so kind as to point me out Mr. Frogmore," he said.
"Here he is," turning to a man close by.
Again the interlocutor shook his head. He now seemed confused, and stood thoughtful for some moments. Then he said, "A cursed villain, calling himself the junior partner of your house, has assisted to cheat me out of about thirty thousand dollars. I am now in search of him. My money or his life must come!" and the stranger ground his teeth with rage.
"That was doubtless but a trick to deceive you the more perfectly," replied the merchant, at once comprehending the situation of the stranger: "a gambler's stool pigeon has manycharacters."
"Yes — but he introduced me to several merchants in your city, with whose names and standing I am perfectly familiar. Mr. Hopewell, for instance."
"What kind of a looking man was Mr. Hopewelll"
"About your size and age, I would say, with a black mustache."
"Ha! ha! Another villainous deception. The real Mr. Hopewell is fifty years of age — and as unlike the man you describe as two people can be."
This caused a new light to flash upon the mind of the planter. He stood thoughtful for a little while, and then said,
"Yes, yes, I see it all now. It was a regular scheme to make me a victim; to fleece me out of the earnings of a whole year; but they've missed their man. They'll not find me fool enough to blow out my brains. No, no. I'll play on the other string. Here in this town I stay until I meet this 'junior partner,' even if it is for ten years! He can't escape me! And when we do meet! Aha!" With a look of bitter revenge, as his voice lingered menacingly on the closing interjection, he turned away and left the store.
All the morning he walked the streets of the city, or visited the various taverns, in search of Whitney — but without effect. The barkeeper of the hotel where he lodged knew his countenance well enough — but not his name, nor the place where he was to be found. After dinner the planter started out again. In the first tavern he entered, he saw Whitney, with two or three others, drinking at the bar. Walking up to him, he laid his hand heavily upon his shoulder. Whitney turned suddenly round, and seeing who it was that had made so familiar with him, affected anger at such an insult from a perfect stranger.
"And who are you, sir?" he asked, in return for the bold, fixed look that the other placed upon him.
"You don't know me then, ha?" and Melton smiled sneeringly.
"I do not recollect your face, certainly," was the cool reply.
"You don't?"
"No." Whitney's face had on it a dark scowl as he said this.
"You don't remember anything about the young man in New Orleans who fell among a parcel of thieving gamblers, and who was fool enough to blow out his brains in consequence, ha?"
"No, I don't."
"Perhaps this will assist your memory." The young man quickly drew a pistol, and placed it at the ear of Whitney, the hammer clicking sharply as the cold barrel touched his face. Half a dozen people seized the partially deranged planter — but their interference only made the horrible catastrophe more certain. The pistol exploded, and Whitney fell instantly lifeless!
It would add but little either to the interest or moral of our story, to present to the reader's mind a picture of the anguish that smote the heart of poor Emily when the awful tidings came to her of her husband's death — or when she bent over his ghastly corpse in a delirium of grief. She had loved him on through evil and good report. As their way grew darker and more toilsome, she drew the closer to his side, seeking rather to sustain than lean against him. He, with the children she had borne to him, were all the world to her. For him, it may be said that his manner towards Emily was never harsh, though too often cold. He loved her as tenderly as such a man could love a wife, and was as kind to her as he was capable of being. This small return for her deep devotion was taken without a murmur; if it did not satisfy her heart — it did not weaken the strength of her affection. The sky that had for years bent over her, was a dark and stormy sky. A single star glimmering through a rifted cloud, was all the light it shed upon her weary way. Now that cloud had suddenly closed its severed fragments — the star was hidden forever!
Of the true cause of her husband's death, Emily remained ignorant. The full account of it, which appeared in the city papers of the next day, was not seen by her. All she knew was, that he had been suddenly assailed by one who mistook him for a person that had wronged him, and killed him before the mistake was discovered. After the funeral, a sufficient sum of money was placed in her hands to convey her, with her children, to New York. This was done by several of her husband's professional friends.
As for the planter, he was arrested, tried for murder, and acquitted. We give the fact. The principal in the affair left the city an hour after the death of his accomplice, with the booty he had gained, and was never afterward seen in Charleston. Thus terminated the affair, leaving at least one of the actors a wiser man.
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