Daisy's Necklace, and What Came of It Part 15

XII.

_Why, true, her heart was all humanity, Her soul all G.o.d's; in spirit and in form, Like fair. Her cheek had the pale, pearly pink Of sea-sh.e.l.ls, the world's sweetest tint, as though She lived, one-half might deem, on roses sopped In silver dew; she spoke as with the voice Of spheral harmony which greets the soul, When, at the hour of death, the saved one knows His sister angel's near: her eye was as The golden pane the setting sun doth just Imblaze, which shows, till heaven comes down again, All other lights but grades of gloom; her dark, Long rolling locks were as a stream the slave Might search for gold, and searching find._

FESTUS.

XII.

WHAT DAISY DID.

_The Arrest--Doubt and Love--Daisy and the Necklace--The Search--The heart of Daisy Snarle._

In an upper room of a miserable, dingy house which faced the spot where the old Brewery used to stand, Edward Walters sat one January evening reading the _Express_. There was one paragraph among the city items which he had read several times, and each reading seemed to strengthen a determination which had, at the first perusal, grown up with him.

"Right or wrong, I'll do it!"

With which words he folded the paper, and placed it in his pocket.

Daisy, too, read the paragraph that night, and the blood rushed into her cheeks, then left them very pale.

It was simply a police report--such as you read over your morning coffee, without thinking how many hearts may be broken by the sight of that little cl.u.s.ter of worn-out type. A young man, no name given, recently a clerk in the house of Messrs. Flint & Snarle, had been arrested on the charge of stealing a case of jewels from his employers.

Daisy, with dry eyes, read it again and again. Dark doubt and trusting love were at conflict for a moment; for doubt had pride for its ally, and love was only love. But the woman conquered. Mortimer, who had been arrested early in the forenoon, found means to send Daisy a note, in which he simply said--"I am charged with stealing the necklace, but I am as guiltless of the crime as you, Daisy."

Mrs. Snarle came in the room while our little heroine held the note in her hand.

"Mother," said Daisy, averting her head, "Mortimer will not come home to-night."

With this she threw the note into the fire, and left Mrs. Snarle alone, before the good lady asked any questions.

"That's very odd!" soliloquized Mrs. Snarle, briefly.

"You tell me that you are innocent," said Daisy, looking at a small portrait of Mortimer which hung over the fire-place--"I do not question, I only believe you!"

And then Daisy did a very strange thing, and yet it was very like Daisy.

She untied the brown ribbon which bound her dark lengths of hair, allowing them to fall over her shoulders; then she braided the string of pearls with her tresses, and brought the whole in a beautiful band over her forehead.

And she looked like a little queen with this coronal of jet and pearl shading her brows.

Daisy next picked the jewel-case to pieces, and threw the minute shreds into the street. This was scarcely done, when the door-bell rang impatiently.

The girl peeped from the window.

The two men at the door-step were not to be mistaken. Daisy's fingers trembled as she undid the fastenings of the door.

"We have orders to search this house, miss," said one of the officers, touching the vizor of his cap respectfully.

Daisy choked down a sob, and led them with an unnatural calmness from room to room.

Every place in the little house was investigated, but in vain; no necklace was to be found. Yet twice the breath of one of the searchers fell on the pearls in Daisy's hair. The two officers left the house in evident chagrin.

When they had gone, the girl sat on the stairs and sobbed.

Happily for her wishes, Mrs. Snarle had been absent during the search; and thus far had been kept in ignorance of Mortimer's disgrace. But Daisy could not hope to keep it a secret from her long, for they both would probably be summoned as witnesses in open court. The thought of giving evidence against Mortimer went through Daisy's heart like an intense pain. It terrified her, and her warm little heart was floating on tears all day.

The cloud which had fallen on her seemed to have no silver lining; all was cold, black and sunless. But there is no mortal wound to which some unseen angel does not bring a balm--

"There are gains for all our losses!"

Daisy remembered Mortimer's words: _"Promise that you will not doubt me, whatever may occur in connection with this necklace--that you will love me, though I may be unable to explain condemning circ.u.mstances, or dispel the doubts of others_"--and the words came to her freighted with such hope and tenderness, that her sleep that night was deep and refres.h.i.+ng. Doubt had folded its wings in the heart of Daisy Snarle.

XIII.

LUDWICK.--_Now here's a man half ruined by ill luck, As true a man as breathes the summer air._

LAUNCELOT.--_Ill luck, erratic jade! but yesterday She might have made him king!_

OLD PLAY.

XIII.

IN THE TOMBS.

_The Author's Summer Residence--The Egyptian Prison--Without and Within--A Picture--Suns.h.i.+ne in Shadow--Joe Wilkes and his unique Proposal--Gloomy Prospects--The face at the cell-window._

There is not a pleasanter place in the world for a summer residence than Blackwell's Island! The chief edifices are substantial, and the grounds are laid out with exceeding care. The water-scape is delightfully invigorating, and the sojourners at this watering-place are not of that transient cla.s.s which one finds at Nahant, Newport, and other pet resorts. Indeed, it is usual to spend from six to eight months on the "Island," and one has the advantage of contracting friends.h.i.+ps which are not severed at the first approach of the "cold term"--for the particulars of which "cold term," see that funny old _savant_ of Brooklyn Heights, who has a facetious way of telling us that it has been raining, after the shower is over.--Bless him!

Such inst.i.tutions as "Blackwell's Island" are G.o.dsends to the _literati_. A poor devil of an author, who has a refined taste for suburban air, but whose finances preclude his dreaming of Nahant, has only to mix himself up in a street fight, or some other interesting city episode, to be ent.i.tled to a country-seat at the expense of his grateful admirers! Owing to a little oversight on his part, the author of this veracious history took a pa.s.sage for "Blackwell's Island" a trifle earlier in the season than he had antic.i.p.ated; and it is at that delightful region these pages are indited.

But the Tombs--heaven save us from that!

There are many pleasanter places in New-York than the Tombs; for that clumsy piece of Egyptian architecture--its dingy marble walls, its nail-studded doors and sickening atmosphere--is uncommonly disagreeable as a dwelling. Many startling tragedies have been enacted there--scenes of eternal farewells and lawful murders. I could not count on my fingers the number of men who have entered its iron gates full of life, and come out cold, still and dreadful!

It was here that Mortimer was brought.

Within, all was sombre and repulsive. Without, there was hum of voices, and the frosty rails which ran in front of the prison creaked dismally as the heavy freight cars pa.s.sed over them; but these sounds of life were not heard inside.

The cell of Mortimer and its occupants, the morning after his arrest, presented a scene of gloomy picturesqueness.

Through a grated window, some six feet from the stone floor, a strip of suns.h.i.+ne came and went, falling on Mortimer, who leaned thoughtfully against the damp wall. The room, if we may call it one, was devoid of furniture, with the exception of a low iron bedstead, whose straw-stuffed mattress and ragged coverlid suggested anything but sleep. Daisy Snarle was standing with downcast eyes near the door which a few minutes before had closed on its creaking hinges, and outside of which the jailor stood listening.

The long, dark lashes were resting on her cheek; the pearls of the necklace, which gleamed here and there in the queenly braid, looked whiter by contrast with Daisy's chestnut hair. In one hand she had gathered the folds of her shawl, the other hung negligently at her side. From beneath the skirt of her simple dress, peeped one of the loveliest feet ever seen, and her whole att.i.tude was unconsciously exquisite. She had just ceased speaking, and the faintest possible tinge of crimson was on her cheeks.

"Daisy, you are one of G.o.d's good angels, or you would never have come to me in this repulsive place."

Daisy's eyes were still bent on the floor.