The Bunsby Papers (second series): Irish Echoes

  CHAPTER VIII.

  RETRIBUTION.

  Snugly ensconced in his own particular apartment, Mr. Granite had flunghimself in post-prandial _abandon_ into his easiest of easy-chairs.Leisurely, and with the smack of a true connoisseur, he dallied with aglass of exquisite Madeira. The consciousness of the enviable nature ofhis worldly position never imbued him so thoroughly as at such amoment. Business was flourishing, his health was excellent, and hisson, on whom he concentrated all the affection of which his heart wascapable, had recently distinguished himself at a college examination.Everything, in fact, seemed to him _couleur de rose_.

  It can readily be imagined that to be disturbed at such a period ofenjoyment was positive high treason against the home majesty of themercantile monarch.

  Fancy, therefore, what a rude shock it was to his quiet, when he wasinformed that Mr. Sterling wished to see him on a matter of thegreatest importance. "I cannot, I will not see him, or anybody," saidthe enraged potentate; "you know, he knows, my invariable rule. It mustnot be infringed, for any one whatever, much less for such a person,"and, closing his eyes in a spasm of self-sufficiency, he again subsidedinto calmness, slightly ruffled, however, by the outrageous attack uponhis privacy.

  He had just succeeded in restoring his disturbed equanimity, when hewas once more startled into ill-humor by the sound of voices as if inaltercation, and a sharp knock at the chamber-door.

  The next instant, to his still greater surprise and anger, the oldclerk, Sterling, who had been ignominiously dismissed since the lastinterview between him and Granite, stood before him. Every particle ofhis hitherto meekness and humility had apparently vanished, as for afew moments he regarded the merchant with a fixed and penetrating look.

  "What villainous intrusion is this? Where are my servants? How darethey permit my home to be thus invaded?" cried Granite, with flashingeyes and lowering brow.

  "I am here, not for myself," replied Sterling, calmly, "but for thevictim of your rapacity--of your terrible guilt. I have intruded uponyou at this unusual time to inform you of the extremity in whichTravers is placed, and from my carelessness--my criminal carelessness.Will you not at least remedy that?"

  "No!" thundered the exasperated merchant. "Your indiscreet zeal hasruined both you and those for whom you plead. I'll have nothing to dowith any of ye--begone!"

  "Not before I have cautioned you that my lips, hitherto sealed for fearof injury to him, shall henceforward be opened. Why should I hesitateto denounce one who is so devoid of common charity?"

  "Because no one will believe you," responded the other, with a bittersneer. "The denunciations of a discharged servant are seldom muchheeded; empty sounds will be of no avail. Proof will be needed inconfirmation, and where are you to find that?"

  "Ah! where, indeed! you have taken care of that; but have you reflectedthat there _is_ a power to whom your machinations, your schemes ofaggrandizement, are as flimsy as the veriest gossamer web?" solemnlyejaculated Sterling.

  "Canting sways me as little as your hurtless threats. What I have, Ishall keep in spite of"----

  "Heaven's justice?" interposed the old clerk.

  "In spite of anything or everything," savagely replied the irritatedmerchant. "You have your final answer, nor is it in the power of angelor devil to alter it; and so, the sooner you relieve me from yourpresence the better I will like it, and the better it may be for yourfuture prospects."

  "Of _my_ future, God knows, I take no care; but for the sake of thosepoor young things, so cruelly left to struggle with a hard, hard world,I feel that I have strength even to oppose the stern rock of yourobstinacy, almost hopeless though the effort may be. I am going," hewent on, seeing the feverish impatience working in Granite's face,"but, as a parting word, remember that my dependence is not in my ownability to unmask your speciousness, or contend against the harshnessof your determination. No, I surrender my case and that of my clientsinto _His_ hands who never suffers the guilty to triumph to the end.The avalanche falls sometimes on the fruitfullest vineyards, as well ason the most sterile waste."

  "By Heaven! you exhaust my patience," roared the other, as he rung theservants' bell impetuously; "since you will not go of your own accord,I must indignantly thrust you forth into the street like a cur."

  "There shall be no need of that," meekly replied the clerk, turning toleave the apartment, just as the servant entered, bringing a letter forMr. Granite on a silver waiter.

  The latter was about to address an angry sentence to the servant, whenhe perceived that the letter he carried was enclosed in an envelopedeeply bordered with black.

  His heart gave one mighty throb as he snatched it--tearing it open, andgasping with some terrible presentiment of evil, he but glanced at thecontents, and with a fearful shriek fell prostrate.

  Sterling rushed to his side, and with the aid of the servant, loosedhis neckcloth, and placed him in a chair, using what immediate remedieshe could command in the hope of restoring animation. It was someminutes before the stricken man, clutched from his pride of place inthe winking of an eyelid, gave signs of returning vitality. During hisunconsciousness, Sterling ascertained from the open letter lying at hisfeet, that the merchant's son, the sole hope of his existence, for whomhe had slaved and toiled, set at naught all principle, and violatedeven the ties of kindred and of honesty, had died suddenly at college.No previous illness had given the slightest shadow of an apprehension.He had quietly retired to his bed at his usual hour on the previousnight, and in the morning was found stark and cold. None knew the agonywhich might have preceded dissolution. No friendly tongue was nigh tospeak of consolation; no hand to do the kindly offices of nature.

  Slowly, slowly and painfully the wretched parent returned toconsciousness, and with it, the terrible reality of his bereavement.Glaring around him fiercely: "Where am I?--what is this?--why do youhold me?" he cried, madly. At this instant his glance fell upon thefatal letter; "Oh, God! I know it all--all! my son! my son!" Turningupon Sterling, fiercely, he grasped him by the throat. "Old man," hecried, "you have murdered him! you, and that villain Travers!" Then herelaxed his gripe, and in an agony of tears, fell to supplication. "Itcannot be--it shall not be--oh! take me to him--what am I to do?Sterling, my old friend, oh, forgive me--pity me--let us away." Hetried to stand, but his limbs were paralyzed. "The judgment hasfallen--I feared it--I expected it, but not so suddenly--it may be thatthere is still hope--hope, though ever so distant. Perhaps a quickatonement may avert the final blow. Quick, Sterling--give me paper, andpen." They were brought. "Now write," he continued, his voice growingfainter and fainter: "I give Travers all--all--if this late repentancemay be heard, and my son should live. I know I can rely on hisbenevolence--quick, let me sign it, for my strength is failing fast."

  With extreme difficulty, he appended his signature to the documentSterling had drawn up at his desire. When it was done, the pen droppedfrom his nerveless grasp, his lips moved for an instant as though inprayer--the next--he was--nothing!