What Came Afterwards CHAPTER 8.

Henry Guyton's "Lottery and Exchange Office" was on Baltimore Street, in an old, dingy, two storied brick house, built in the preceding century. In each of the lower windows was a painted screen — one bore a figure of the goddess Fortune, blindfold, standing on an immense cornucopia, from which gold and silver coin were pouring, as from a fountain. The other screen had, under the words, "Prizes sold at this lucky office!" the tempting figures, $100,000; $50,000; $30,000; $20,000; $10,000; $5,000; $4,000; $3,000; $2,000; $1,000; $500 — arranged in lines one under the other, so as to fill the whole window. Standing on each side of the door were other canvas screens, on which the early drawings of Virginia, Maryland, and Delaware Lotteries were announced, and the prices of tickets, half tickets, quarters, and eighths, made alluringly prominent.

It was about eleven o'clock in the day, when Doctor Hofland entered this office. Three people were behind the counter, busy in the work of exchanging uncurrant money for coin and city bills, or in selling tickets to covetous men and women, who had more faith in luck than work. One of these people, he recognized as Mr. Guyton, and waited until he was disengaged.

"And now, what can I do for you, Doctor?" said the man of money, a business smile on his face, as he turned to Doctor Hofland.

"Can I have a few words with you in private?" asked the Doctor.

"Certainly. Walk back here," and Guyton came from behind the counter. But the smile had gone suddenly out of his face, which now wore an aspect as cold and as hard as iron. The two men retired to a small room, which was used for private and confidential purposes.

"Take a chair, sir." It was as if another man had spoken, so changed was the broker's voice from what it was, when he said, blandly, "And now, what can I do for you, Doctor?"

The offered chair was accepted, and the two men sat down, at a small table, covered with flannel.

"Are you aware," said Doctor Hofland, coming at once to the business in hand, "that your sister Lydia is now in the city."

"No, sir. I am not aware of the fact." Guyton's manner showed both annoyance and indifference; and his hard mouth grew harder.

"It is true. I discovered her this morning, under circumstances of a distressing character."

"I am sorry, but I can have nothing to do with her. She took her own way in life — and must walk in it to the end. She is no more to me, Doctor, than any other woman."

"She is your sister," answered the Doctor, speaking firmly.

"As you choose about that." The man showed irritation.

"No, it is not as I choose, Mr. Guyton. The fact stands by itself, and words cannot change it. But, I did not come here to annoy you; only, as in duty bound, to inform you, that your sister is in a very distressed condition. Her husband is too sick to leave his room; one of her children died this morning; and she is without money to buy food, or even to bury her dead."

"Did you come here at her insistence?" demanded Guyton.

The Doctor answered: "No, I came at my own. She did not mention your name."

"Very well." Guyton spoke in a short, off-hand manner. "Let it be so. And now, Doctor, we must understand each other. I'll give you one hundred dollars for her use on this express condition — She is not to know from whence it comes. Spend it for her in your own way. I leave that to your discretion. But, I enjoin this obligation — be silent in regard to me."

"Just as you please about that, Mr. Guyton," returned the Doctor. "I will be your almoner, and keep your secret."

Guyton arose, in a quick, nervous manner, and went into the front office. In a few minutes he came back, clasping some bank notes in one of his hands.

"There," he said, almost impatiently, as he thrust them towards Doctor Hofland.

"I will see that the money is spent so as to do the largest service," remarked the latter, as he took the bills.

"And don't mention my name! I must repeat that injunction!"

"I have already promised, Mr. Guyton," answered the Doctor, with just enough decision in his voice, to make himself felt as a man above trifling or double dealing. "And," he added, permit me to remark, that whatever you may feel inclined to do for your sister in her present painful extremity, may be effected without fear of intrusion or annoyance for the future. I do not believe that either Lydia, or her husband, will ever, of their own motion, cross your path."

"Tell that to the marines!" was half lightly, half gruffly responded.

"The old pride is not crushed out of your sister, Mr. Guyton. She has something of her father's spirit left. She can suffer, but not humiliate herself."

"Maybe so," was returned. But the fellow, her husband, is, no doubt, of a different kind." He said this with an air of heartless indifference, moving, as he spoke, towards the front office, and showing his desire to get rid of his visitor.

"You will find yourself mistaken in him also," said the Doctor.

"It doesn't matter to me what he is, Doctor Hofland," replied this man, facing squarely around in a resolute way. "And I want you to understand once for all, that, so far as I am concerned, he belongs to the indistinguishable mass of paupers, beggars and adventurers. I don't wish to hear about him — don't want to know him — don't care whether he starves to death, hangs, or is drowned!" Mr. Guyton wrought up, suddenly, into a state of passion, and betrayed more than seemly intemperance of speech.

"Good day," said his visitor, with contrasting calmness, and bowing low, retired. There was a degree of unfeeling brutality about Mr. Guyton that shocked, painfully, the feelings of Doctor Hofland; and it was some time before he could shake off a sense of humiliation produced by the interview. He felt like one who had extorted for himself an unwilling favor.

As in nature, so in life; peace and tranquility ever follow stormy periods — and, usually, the sky is clearer, and our vision penetrates further into its heavenly depths. Winter breaks, often, amid lightning and thunder. The season which followed closely upon that stormy and wintry period, wherein it seemed to Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank that everything was about perishing — was full of calmness and hope. Lydia had unbounded faith not only in Doctor Hofland's willingness, but in his ability to aid her husband; and she inspired Mr. Ewbank with a like confidence. The money received from Mr. Guyton was not placed in their hands, but expended in such ways as the Doctor thought most useful, and least calculated to wound a native sense of independence, which he was pleased to see existed.

There were tender incidents connected with little Theo's burial, that gave to Doctor and Mrs. Hofland new opportunities to read the stricken hearts, laid, almost bare, before them. Every changing aspect of character, presented by Mr. Ewbank, increased their respect. There was a basis of high moral qualities — a sensitive honor — and a love of independence, that marked him as a true man. They found him under a cloud; but, already, the cloud was breaking. It seemed as if, for discipline and the use to others, he had been kept for this time, perfecting in trial and suffering. Supplied with all things needful to health and strength; and with hope beginning to rest on a fairer promise in the future, Mr. Ewbank found himself rapidly gaining his lost vigor of mind and body.

One thing was especially pleasing to Doctor Hofland, whose interest in Lydia and her husband daily increased. There evidently existed a very tender attachment between them; and it grew plainer, the more he observed and studied Lydia, that she regarded her husband not only as a good, but as a wise man, and leaned upon his judgment of things as conclusive. The union was one of hearts; and the wife had found in her husband a man whom she could implicitly trust and deeply love — a man, who, standing far higher than she had stood, was steadily raising her to his serener level. It was only a part of needed discipline, that they should pass under the cloud; but, now that it was lifting itself, and the sun beginning to fall through — now that winter had broken, and the air become milder — the motions of a true life were pervading their souls with a promise of another springtime, another summer, and an autumn rich in fruitfulness. So Doctor Holland read the signs.

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