If I cannot have access to
her now, I must go; and shall return when you are willing to grant it." "Nay," replied she, "she is not, perhaps, so very sick but that I will
go, and see if she will admit you." So saying, she left me for three
minutes; and, returning, said her mother wished to see me. I followed up-stairs, at her request; and, entering an ill-furnished
chamber, found, seated in an arm-chair, a lady seemingly in years, pale,
and visibly infirm. The lines of her countenance were far from laying
claim to my reverence. It was too much like the daughter's. She looked at me, at my entrance, with great eagerness, and said, in a
sharp tone, "Pray, friend, what is it you want with me? Make haste; tell
your story, and begone." "My story is a short one, and easily told. Amos Watson was your agent in
Jamaica. He sold an estate belonging to you, and received the money." "He did," said she, attempting ineffectually to rise from her seat, and
her eyes beaming with a significance that shocked me; "he did, the
villain, and purloined the money, to the ruin of me and my daughters. But if there be justice on earth it will overtake him. I trust I shall
have the pleasure one day--I hope to hear he's hanged. Well, but go on,
friend. He _did_ sell it, I tell you." "He sold it for ten thousand pounds," I resumed, "and invested this sum
in bills of exchange. Watson is dead. These bills came into my hands. I
was lately informed, by the public papers, who were the real owners, and
have come from Philadelphia with no other view than to restore them to
you. There they are," continued I, placing them in her lap, entire and
untouched. She seized the papers, and looked at me and at her daughter, by turns,
with an air of one suddenly bewildered. She seemed speechless, and,
growing suddenly more ghastly pale, leaned her head back upon the chair. The daughter screamed, and hastened to support the languid parent, who
difficultly articulated, "Oh, I am sick; sick to death. Put me on the
bed." I was astonished and affrighted at this scene. Some of the domestics, of
both colours, entered, and gazed at me with surprise. Involuntarily I
withdrew, and returned to the room below, into which I had first
entered, and which I now found deserted. I was for some time at a loss to guess at the cause of these
appearances. At length it occurred to me, that joy was the source of the
sickness that had seized Mrs. Maurice. The abrupt recovery of what had
probably been deemed irretrievable would naturally produce this effect
upon a mind of a certain texture. I was deliberating whether to stay or go, when the daughter entered the
room, and, after expressing some surprise at seeing me, whom she
supposed to have retired, told me that her mother wished to see me again
before my departure. In this request there was no kindness. All was
cold, supercilious, and sullen. I obeyed the summons without speaking. I found Mrs. Maurice seated in her arm-chair, much in her former guise. Without desiring me to be seated, or relaxing aught in her asperity of
looks and tones,--"Pray, friend, how did you _come by_ these papers?" "I assure you, madam, they were honestly _come by_," answered I,
sedately and with half a smile; "but, if the whole is there that was
missing, the mode and time in which they came to me is matter of
concern only to myself. Is there any deficiency?" "I am not sure. I don't know much of these matters. There may be less. I
dare say there is. I shall know that soon. I expect a friend of mine
every minute who will look them over. I don't doubt you can give a good
account of yourself." "I doubt not but I can--to those who have a right to demand it. In this
case, curiosity must be very urgent indeed before I shall consent to
gratify it." "You must know this is a suspicious case. Watson, to-be-sure, embezzled
the money; to-be-sure, you are his accomplice." "Certainly," said I, "my conduct, on this occasion, proves that. What I
have brought to you, of my own accord; what I have restored to you,
fully and unconditionally, it is plain Watson embezzled, and that I was
aiding in the fraud. To restore what was never stolen always betrays the
thief. To give what might be kept without suspicion is, without doubt,
arrant knavery. To be serious, madam, in coming thus far, for this
purpose, I have done enough; and must now bid you farewell." "Nay, don't go yet. I have something more to say to you. My friend, I'm
sure, will be here presently. There he is;" (noticing a peal upon the
bell.) "Polly, go down, and see if that's Mr. Somers. If it is, bring
him up." The daughter went. I walked to the window absorbed in my own reflections. I was
disappointed and dejected. The scene before me was the unpleasing
reverse of all that my fancy, while coming hither, had foreboded. I
expected to find virtuous indigence and sorrow lifted, by my means, to
affluence and exultation. I expected to witness the tears of gratitude
and the caresses of affection. What had I found? Nothing but sordidness,
stupidity, and illiberal suspicion. The daughter stayed much longer than the mother's patience could endure. She knocked against the floor with her heel. A servant came up. "Where's
Polly, you slut? It was not you, hussy, that I wanted. It was her." "She is talking in the parlour with a gentleman." "Mr. Somers, I suppose; hey, fool? Run with my compliments to him,
wench. Tell him, please walk up." "It is not Mr. Somers, ma'am." "No? Who then, saucebox? What gentleman can have any thing to do with
Polly?" "I don't know, ma'am." "Who said you did, impertinence? Run, and tell her I want her this
instant." The summons was not delivered, or Polly did not think proper to obey it. Full ten minutes of thoughtful silence on my part, and of muttered
vexation and impatience on that of the old lady, elapsed before Polly's
entrance. As soon as she appeared, the mother began to complain bitterly
of her inattention and neglect; but Polly, taking no notice of her,
addressed herself to me, and told me that a gentleman below wished to
see me. I hastened down, and found a stranger, of a plain appearance, in
the parlour. His aspect was liberal and ingenuous; and I quickly
collected, from his discourse, that this was the brother-in-law of
Watson, and the companion of his last voyage. CHAPTER XLII. My eyes sparkled with pleasure at this unexpected interview, and I
willingly confessed my desire to communicate all the knowledge of his
brother's destiny which I possessed. He told me, that, returning late to
Baltimore, on the last evening, he found his sister in much agitation
and distress, which, after a time, she explained to him. She likewise
put the packets I had left into his hands. "I leave you to imagine," continued he, "my surprise and curiosity at
this discovery. I was, of course, impatient to see the bearer of such
extraordinary tidings.