Home as Found, James Fenimore Cooper [bookreader txt] 📗

had been,

an upper servant in a gentleman's family. JOHN MONDAY."

 

This paper was dated several years back, a sign that the disposition

to do right had existed some time in Mr. Monday; and all the letters

and other papers had been carefully preserved. The latter also

appeared to be regularly numbered, a precaution that much aided the

investigations of the two gentlemen. The original letters spoke for

themselves, and the copies had been made in a clear, strong,

mercantile hand, and with the method of one accustomed to business.

In short, so far as the contents of the different papers would allow,

nothing was wanting to render the whole distinct and intelligible.

 

John Effingham read the paper No. 1, with deliberation, though not

aloud; and when he had done, he handed it to his young friend, coolly

remarking--

 

"That is the production of a deliberate villain."

 

Paul glanced his eye over the document, which was an original letter

signed, 'David Bright,' and addressed to 'Mrs. Jane Dowse,' It was

written with exceeding art, made many professions of friendship,

spoke of the writer's knowledge of the woman's friends in England,

and of her first husband in particular, and freely professed the

writer's desire to serve her, while it also contained several

ambiguous allusions to certain means of doing so, which should be

revealed whenever the person to whom the letter was addressed should

discover a willingness to embark in the undertaking. This letter was

dated Philadelphia, was addressed to one in New-York, and it was old.

 

"This is, indeed, a rare specimen of villany," said Paul, as he laid

down the paper, "and has been written in some such spirit as that

employed by the devil when he tempted our common mother. I think I

never read a better specimen of low, wily, cunning."

 

"And, judging by all that we already know, it would seem to have

succeeded. In this letter you will find the gentleman a little more

explicit; and but a little; though he is evidently encouraged by the

interest and curiosity betrayed by the woman in this copy of the

answer to his first epistle."

 

Paul read the letter just named, and then he laid it down to wait for

the next, which was still in the hands of his companion.

 

"This is likely to prove a history of unlawful love, and of its

miserable consequences," said John Effingham in his cool manner, as

he handed the answers to letter No. 1, and letter No. 2, to Paul.

"The world is full of such unfortunate adventures, and I should think

the parties English, by a hint or two you will find in this very

honest and conscientious communication. Strongly artificial, social

and political distinctions render expedients of this nature more

frequent, perhaps, in Great Britain, than in any other country. Youth

is the season of the passions, and many a man in the thoughtlessness

of that period lays the foundation of bitter regret in after life."

 

As John Effingham raised his eyes, in the act of extending his hand

towards his companion, he perceived that the fresh ruddy hue of his

embrowned cheek deepened, until the colour diffused itself over the

whole of his fine brow. At first an unpleasant suspicion flashed on

John Effingham, and he admitted it with regret, for Eve and her

future happiness had got to be closely associated, in his mind, with

the character and conduct of the young man; but when Paul took the

papers, steadily, and by an effort seemed to subdue all unpleasant

feelings, the calm dignity with which he read them completely effaced

the disagreeable distrust. It was then John Effingham remembered that

he had once believed Paul himself might be the fruits of the

heartless indiscretion he condemned. Commiseration and sympathy

instantly took the place of the first impression, and he was so much

absorbed with these feelings that he had not taken up the letter

which was to follow, when Paul laid down the paper he had last been

required to read.

 

"This does, indeed, sir, seem to foretell one of those painful

histories of unbridled passion, with the still more painful

consequences," said the young man with the steadiness of one who was

unconscious of having a personal connexion with any events of a

nature so unpleasant. "Let us examine farther."

 

John Effingham felt emboldened by these encouraging signs of

unconcern, and he read the succeeding letters aloud, so that they

learned their contents simultaneously. The next six or eight

communications betrayed nothing distinctly, beyond the fact that the

child which formed the subject of the whole correspondence, was to be

received by Peter Dowse and his wife, and to be retained as their own

offspring, for the consideration of a considerable sum, with an

additional engagement to pay an annuity. It appeared by these letters

also, that the child, which was hypocritically alluded to under the

name of the 'pet,' had been actually transferred to the keeping of

Jane Dowse, and that several years passed, after this arrangement,

before the correspondence terminated. Most of the later letters

referred to the payment of the annuity, although they all contained

cold inquiries after the 'pet,' and answers so vague and general, as

sufficiently to prove that the term was singularly misapplied. In the

whole, there were some thirty or forty letters, each of which had

been punctually answered, and their dates covered a space of near

twelve years. The perusal of all these papers consumed more than an

hour, and when John Effingham laid his spectacles on the table, the

village clock had struck the hour of midnight.

 

"As yet," he observed, "we have learned little more than the fact,

that a child was made to take a false character, without possessing

any other clue to the circumstances than is given in the names of the

parties, all of whom are evidently obscure, and one of the most

material of whom, we are plainly told, must have borne a fictitious

name. Even poor Monday, in possession of so much collateral testimony

that we want, could not have known what was the precise injustice

done, if any, or, certainly, with the intentions he manifests, he

would not have left that important particular in the dark."

 

"This is likely to prove a complicated affair," returned Paul, "and

it is not very clear that we can be of any immediate service. As you

are probably fatigued, we may without impropriety defer the further

examination to another time."

 

To this John Effingham assented, and Paul, during the short

conversation that followed, brought the secretary from the toilet to

the table, along with the bundle of important papers that belonged to

himself, to which he had alluded, and busied himself in replacing the

whole in the drawer from which they had been taken.

 

"All the formalities about the seals, that we observed when poor

Monday gave us the packet, would seem to be unnecessary," he

remarked, while thus occupied, "and it will probably be sufficient if

I leave the secretary in your room, and keep the keys myself."

 

"One never knows," returned John Effingham, with the greater caution

of experience and age. "We have not read all the papers, and there

are wax and lights before you; each has his watch and seal, and it

will be the work of a minute only, to replace every thing as we left

the package, originally. When this is done, you may leave the

secretary, or remove it, at your own pleasure."

 

"I will leave it; for, though it contains so much that I prize, and

which is really of great importance to myself, it contains nothing

for which I shall have immediate occasion."

 

"In that case, it were better that I place the package in which we

have a common interest in an _armoire_, or in my secretary, and that

you keep your precious effects more immediately under your own eye."

 

"It is immaterial, unless the case will inconvenience you, for I do

not know that I am not happier when it is out of my sight, so long as

I feel certain of its security, than when it is constantly before my

eyes."

 

Paul said this with a forced smile, and there was a sadness in his

countenance that excited the sympathy of his companion. The latter,

however, merely bowed his assent, and the papers were replaced, and

the secretary was locked and deposited in an _armoire_, in silence.

Paul was then about to wish the other good night, when John Effingham

seized his hand, and by a gentle effort induced him to resume his

seat. An embarrassing, but short pause succeeded, when the latter

spoke.

 

"We have suffered enough in company, and have seen each other in

situations of sufficient trial to be friends," he said. "I should

feel mortified, did I believe you could think me influenced by an

improper curiosity, in wishing to share more of your confidence than

you are perhaps willing to bestow; I trust you will attribute to its

right motive the liberty I am now taking. Age makes some difference

between us, and the sincere and strong interest I feel in your

welfare, ought to give me a small claim not to be treated as a total

stranger. So jealous and watchful has this interest been, I might

with great truth call it affection, that I have discovered you are

not situated exactly as other men in your condition of life are

situated, and feel persuaded that the sympathy, perhaps the advice,

of one so many years older than yourself, might be useful. You have

already said so much to me, on the subject of your personal

situation, that I almost feel a right to ask for more."

 

John Effingham uttered this in his mildest and most winning manner;

and few men could carry with them, on such an occasion, more of

persuasion in their voices and looks. Paul's features worked, and it

was evident to his companion that he was moved, while, at the same

time, he was not displeased.

 

"I am grateful, deeply grateful, sir, for this interest in my

happiness," Paul answered, "and if I knew the particular points on

which you feel any curiosity, there is nothing that I can desire to

conceal. Have the further kindness to question me, Mr. Effingham,

that I need not touch on things you do not care to hear."

 

"All that really concerns your welfare, would have interest with me.

You have been the agent of rescuing not only myself, but those whom I

most love, from a fate worse than death; and, a childless bachelor

myself, I have more than once thought of attempting to supply the

places of those natural friends that I fear you have lost. Your

parents--"

 

"Are both dead. I never knew either," said Paul, who spoke huskily,

"and will most cheerfully accept your generous offer, if you will

allow me to attach to it a single condition."

 

"Beggars must not be choosers," returned John Effingham, "and if you

will allow me to feel this interest in you, and occasionally to share

in the confidence of a father; I shall not insist on any unreasonable

terms. What is your condition?"

 

"That the word money may be struck out of our vocabulary, and that

you leave your will unaltered. Were the world to be examined, you

could not find a worthier or a lovelier heiress, than the one you

have already selected, and whom Providence itself has given you.

Compared with yourself, I am not rich, but I have a gentleman's

income, and as I shall probably never marry, it will suffice for all

my wants."

 

John Effingham was more pleased than he cared to express with this

frankness, and with the secret sympathy that had existed between

them; but he smiled at the injunction; for, with Eve's knowledge, and

her father's entire approbation, he had actually made a codicil to

his will, in which their young protector was left one half of his

large fortune.

 

"The will may remain untouched, if you desire it," he answered,

evasively, "and that condition is disposed of. I am glad to learn so

directly from yourself, what your manner of living and the reports of

others had prepared me to hear, that you are independent. This fact,

alone, will place us solely on our mutual esteem, and render the

friendship that I hope is now brought within a covenant, if not now

first established, more equal and frank. You have seen much of the

world, Powis, for your years and profession?"

 

"It is usual to think that men of my profession see much of the

world, as a consequence of their pursuits; though I agree with you,

sir, that this is seeing the world only in a very limited circle. It

is now several years since circumstances, I might almost say the

imperative order of one whom I was bound to obey, induced me to

resign, and since that time I have done little else but travel. Owing

to certain adventitious causes, I have enjoyed an access to European

society that few of