Chapter 6

_Enter PROFESSOR OLNEY and FREDERICK BELCOUR._

OLNEY. You say the sentence will be passed to-day?

BELCOUR. Most certainly; and crowds will press to hear it Judge Bolton has a world-wide reputation, And 'tis a cause to rouse his eloquence.

OLNEY. I wish I could be there.

BELCOUR. What should hinder? 'Twould but detain you for an hour or two.

OLNEY. My pupils stand between. Yet Isabelle Might hear the recitations; she does this Often, when I am ill. A dear, good child: She thinks her learning of no more account, Save as the means to help me in my tasks, Than though she only could her sampler sew Yet she reads Latin like a master, and In Greek bids fair to be a Lizzy Carter. If she but knew I was detained--

BELCOUR. A note Would tell her this. Write one, and I will send it. Here's paper, pencil-- [_Taking them from his pocket, OLNEY writes._

OLNEY. I shall trouble you.

BELCOUR. No trouble in the least. Now, hurry on. The court-room will be filled. I'll send the note-- _[Exit OLNEY._

Or bear it, rather. She shall see me, too Before she has the letter from my hand. A proud, ungrateful girl:--reject my love! [_Turns to go out_.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN PAWLETT

PAWLETT How, Belcour--what's the matter? You go wrong. 'Tis to the court-house all the world is going.

BELCOUR (_impetuously_). Let the world go its way, and me go mine We've parted company, the world and I. When Fortune frowns, the wretch is left alone

PAWLETT. Ah! true--I've heard of some embarrassments--

BELCOUR. Embarrassments!--A puling, milliner phrase! One of those tender terms we coin to throw A sentimental interest round the bankrupt;-- As though he may recover if he choose. Why, Pawlett, man, I'm ruined, if the plan I've formed to-day should fail. It shall not fail. I will succeed. And Isabelle once mine, With cash to bear us to a foreign land, I care not for the rest, though death and hell Should stand at the goal to seize me. [_Exit violently_.

PAWLETT (_looking after him_). The fool! He's in a furious mood--and let him rave-- He'll never win his way with Isabelle. My chances there are better, but not good. Young Bolton's in my way. He loves her well; And she, I fear, loves him. But then his father Is proud as Lucifer, and selfish too. Ambition makes the generous nature selfish. He'll ne'er consent his only son should wed The portionless daughter of a pedagogue. No, no. I'll tot these bitter waters out. I'll give the judge an inkling of the matter. I'll write a note--he'll think it comes from Belcour. If I can drive young Bolton from the field, Then Isabelle is mine.--I'll do it.

(_As_ PAWLETT _is going out, Enter_ DR. MARGRAVE _and_ REV. PAUL GODFREY.)

GODFREY. You say Judge Bolton lives in princely style. Is he a married man?

MARGRAVE. He has been married;-- Most happily married, too. His wife was one Of those pure beings, gentle, wise, and firm. That mould our sex to highest hopes and aims. He loved her as the devotee his saint: And from the day he wed he trod life's path As one who came to conquer.

GODFREY. I see it now. The motive to excel was all he needed. He had a vigorous mind, a generous heart, An innate love of goodness and of truth. But he was wayward, and he hated tasks. Such men must have an aim beyond themselves, Or oft they prove but dreamers. And with such, Woman's companionship, dependence, love, Are like the air to fire:--the smouldering flame Of genius, once aroused, sweeps doubts away, And brightens hope, till victory is won.

MARGRAVE. 'Twas thus with Bolton. To his keeping given The weal of one so dear--then he bore on, Gathering from disappointments fruitful strength, As winter's snows prepare the earth for harvest. And when his angel wife was taken from him, She left him pledges of her love and trust, A son of noble promise, and a daughter To nestle, dove-like, in her father's heart, And keep her place for ever. She is blind!

GODFREY. I marvel not that Bolton has excelled, And won a station of the highest trust, If his warm heart enlisted in the work: But the small cares, the constant calculations Required to make, at least to keep, a fortune-- I never should have looked to him for these.

MARGRAVE. 'Twas luck that favored him; or Providence, As you would say. A friend of his and ours. De Vere, the young West Indian in our class-- You must remember him--he left to Bolton All his estate. A hundred thousand pounds 'Twas said he would inherit.

GODFREY. How happened this? De Vere returned to Cuba, there to marry?

MARGRAVE. He did, and had a family. But all His children died save one, and then his wife. And so he hither came to change the scene. Bolton, just widowed then, received his friend With more than brother's kindness, for their griefs Bound them, like ties of soul, in sympathy. De Vere was ill, and, with his motherless babe, He found in Bolton's home the rest he sought. And there he died, and left his little daughter To his friend's guardian care; and to his will A codicil annexed, unknown to Bolton, That gave him all if Isabelle should die Before she reached the age of twenty-one, And die unmarried.

GODFREY. She is dead, then?

MARGRAVE. She is. Her life was like the early rose, That bears th' frost in its heart. The bud is fair; The strength to bloom is wanting; so it dies But come, we shall be late.

GODFREY. What crowds are going! And Irishmen!--Are these so fond of Justice?

MARGRAVE. Ay; where they feel she holds an even scale, And is the friend alike of rich and poor, They yield a prompt obedience, and become Americans. Our motto is--"The law." [_Exeunt._

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