stirring. But you'll hear it some two years hence.'
'Read that;' and I handed him the paper which Hallet had signed.
'What is it, father?' asked Frank, his face alive with interest.
'Cragin will show it to you, if it ever gets through his hair. I reckon he's learning to read.'
'Well, I believe I can't read. What the deuce does it mean?'
'Just what it says—Frank is free.'
The young man glanced over the paper. His face expressed surprise, but he said nothing.
'Then you've heard how things have been going on?' asked Cragin.
'No, not a word. I've seen that Hallet was abusing the boy shamefully. I came on, wanting an excuse to break the copartnership.'
'Do you know you've done me the greatest service in the world? I told Hallet, the other day, that we couldn't pull together much longer. He refused to let me off till our term is up; but I've got him now;' and he laughed in boyish glee.
'Of course, the paper releases you as well as Frank. It's a general dissolution.'
'Of course it is. How did you manage to get it? Hallet must have been crazy. He wasn't John Hallet, that's certain!'
'The genuine John, but a little excited.'
'He must have been. But I'm rid of him, thank the Lord! Come, what do you say to Frank's going in with me? I'll pack him off to Europe at once—he can secure most of the old business.'
'He must decide about that. He can come with me, if he likes. He'll not go a begging, that's certain. He'll have thirty thousand to start with.'
'Thirty thousand!' exclaimed Frank. 'No, father, you can't do that; you need every dollar you've got.'
'Yes, I do, and more too. But the money is yours, not mine. You shall have it to-morrow.'
'Mine! Where did it come from?'
'From a relative of yours. But he's modest; he don't want to be known.' 'But I ought to know, I thought I had no relatives.'
'Well, you haven't—only this one, and he's rich as mud. He gave you the five thousand; but this is a last instalment—you won't get another red cent.'
'I don't feel exactly like taking money in that way.'
'Pshaw, my boy! I tell you it's yours—rightfully and honestly. You ought to have more; but he's close-fisted, and you must be content with this.'
'Well, Frank,' said Cragin, 'what do you say to hitching horses with me? I'll give you two fifths, and put a hundred against your thirty.
'What shall I do?' said Frank to me.
'You'd better accept. It's more than I can allow you.'
'Then it's a trade?' asked Cragin.
'Yes,' said Frank.
'Well, old gentleman, what do you say—will you move the old stool?' said Cragin, addressing David.
'Yes; I like Frank too well to stay with even his father.'
In the gleeful mood which had taken possession of the old man, the words slipped from his tongue before he was aware of it. He would have recalled them on the instant, but it was too late. Cragin caught them, and exclaimed:
'His father! Well, that explains some riddles. D—d if I won't call the new firm Hallet, Cragin & Co. I've got him all around—ha! ha!'
Frank seemed thunderstruck. Soon he plied me with questions.
'I can say nothing; I gave my word I would not. David has betrayed it; let him explain, if he pleases.'
The old bookkeeper then told the young man his history, revealing everything but the degradation of his poor mother. Frank walked the room, struggling with contending emotions. When David concluded, he put his hand in mine, and spoke a few low words. His voice sounded like his mother's. It was again her blessing that I heard.
Two weeks afterward, the old sign came down from the old warehouse—came down, after hanging there three quarters of a century, and in its place went up a black board, on which, emblazoned in glaring gilt letters, were the two words,
On the same day, the busy crowd passing up old Long Wharf might have seen, over a doorway not far distant, a plainer sign. It read:
CHAPTER XXIII
Kate heard frequently from Selma within the first two months after her departure, but then her letters suddenly ceased. Her last one expressed the intention of returning to the North during the following week. We looked for her, but she did not come. Week after week went by, and still she did not come. Kate wrote, inquiring when we might expect her, but received no reply. She wrote again and again, and still no answer came. 'Something has happened to her. Do write Mrs. Preston,' said Kate. I wrote her. She either did not deign to reply, or she did not receive the letter.
None of Selma's friends had heard from her for more than three months, and we were in a state of painful anxiety and uncertainty, when, one morning, among my letters, I found one addressed to my wife, in Selma's handwriting. Her previous letters had been mailed at Trenton, but this was post-marked 'Newbern.' I sent it at once to my house. About an hour afterward I was surprised by Kate's appearance in the office. Her face was pale, her manner hurried and excited. She held a small carpet bag in her hand.
'You must start at once by the first train. You've not a moment to spare!'
'Start where?'
She handed me the letter. 'Read that.'
It was hurriedly and nervously written. I read:
'My Dearest Friend: I know you have not forsaken me, but I have written you, oh! so many times. To-day, Ally has told me that perhaps our letters are intercepted at the Trenton post office. It must be so. He takes this to Newbern. Is he not kind? He has been my faithful friend through all. Though ordered away from the plantation, he refused to go, and stood by me through the worst. He whom my own sister so cruelly wronged, has done everything for me! Whatever may become of me, I shall ever bless him.
'I have not heard from or seen any of my friends. Even my brother has not answered my letters; but he must be here, on the 17th, at the sale. That is now my only hope. I shall then be freed from this misery—worse than death. God bless you!
'I will go,' was all that I said. Kate sat down, and wept 'Oh! some terrible thing has befallen her! What can it be?'
I was giving some hurried directions to my partners, when a telegram was handed in. It was from Boston, and addressed to me personally. I opened it, and read:
'I have just heard that Selma is a slave. To be sold on the seventeenth. I can't go. You must. Buy her on my account. Pay any price. I have written Frank. Let nothing prevent your starting at once. If your partners should be short while you're away, let them draw on me.
It was then the morning of the twelfth. Making all the connections, and there being no delay of the trains, I should reach the plantation early on the seventeenth.
At twelve o'clock I was on the way. Steam was too slow for my impatience. I would have harnessed the lightning.
At last—it was sundown of the sixteenth—the stage drove into Newbern.
With my carpet bag in my hand, I rushed into the hotel. Four or five loungers were in the office, and the lazy bartender was mixing drinks behind the counter.
'Sir, I want a horse, or a horse and buggy, at once.'
'A horse? Ye're in a hurry, hain't ye?'
'Yes.'
'Wall, I reckon ye'll hev ter git over it. Thar hain't a durned critter in th' whole place.'
'I'm in no mood for jesting, sir. I want a horse at once. I will deposit twice his value.'
'Ye