CHAPTER V.

THE SCARLET CHAMBER.

Having once more resumed the attire of Leo the Tenth,--scarlet robe, cap, with nodding plumes and cross with golden chain; Dr. Bulgin was hurrying along a dark passage on his way to the Scarlet Chamber, where his nephew awaited him. The Scarlet Chamber was at the end of the passage; as he drew near it, the Doctor's reflections grew more pleasant and comfortable. It may be as well to make record, that after he had left the Bridal Chamber, he had refreshed himself with a fresh bottle of champagne.

"Odd scene that in the room of Tarleton's daughter! Very dramatic,--wish I knew what it all meant. However my 'nephew;'" a rich chuckle resounded from the depths of his chest--"'my nephew' awaits me, and after another bottle in the Scarlet Chamber, I must see _her_ safely home. It is not such a bad world after all."

Thus soliloquizing he arrived at the end of the passage, and his head was laid against the door of the Scarlet Chamber.

"Cozy place,--bottle of wine,--good company--"

"Hush!" whispered a voice.

"That you Julia? What are you doing out here in the dark?" he wound his arms about his nephew's waist. "Waiting for me?"

"Do not,--do not," she gasped, struggling to free herself from his arms,--"Do not enter,--"

"Tush, child! you're nervous,--" and despite the struggles, he gathered his arm closer around her waist, pushed open the door and entered the Scarlet Room.

A quiet little apartment, lighted by a hanging lamp, whose mild beams softened the glare of the rich scarlet hangings. There was a sofa covered with red velvet, a table, on which stood a bottle, with two long necked glasses, and from an interval in the hangings, gleamed the vision of a snow-white couch. Altogether, a place worthy the private devotions of Leo the Tenth, or of any gentleman of his exquisite taste, and eccentric piety.

"What's the matter child? You're pale, and have been crying,--" exclaimed Bulgin, as he bore her over the threshold, and paused for a moment to gaze upon her face, which was bare to the light, the cap having fallen from her brow. As he spoke his back was to the sofa.

"There," was the only word which she had power to frame, and bursting into tears, she pointed over his shoulders to the sofa.

Somewhat surprised, Dr. Bulgin turned on his heel, the white plumes nodding over his bulky face, and,----

There are some scenes which must be left to the imagination.

On the sofa, sat three grave gentlemen, clad in solemn black, their severe features, rendered even more stern and formal, by the relief of a white cravat. Each of these gentlemen held his hat in one hand, and in the other a cane, surmounted by a head of white bone.

As Bulgin turned, the three gentlemen quietly rose, and said politely, with one voice:

"Good morning Dr. Bulgin."

And then as quietly sat down again.

The Doctor looked as though he had been lost in a railroad collision. He was paralyzed. He had not even the presence of mind, to release the grasp which gathered the young form of his lovely nephew to his side.

The exact position of affairs, at this crisis, will be better understood, when you are informed, that in these three gentlemen, the Rev. Dr. Bulgin recognized Mr. Watkins, Mr. Potts, and Mr. Burns, the leading members, perchance Deacons of his wealthy congregation. The one with the slight form, and short stiff gray, hair,--Watkins. Mr. Potts, is a small man, with a bald head, and the slightest tendency in the world to corpulence. Mr. Burns is tall and lean, with angular features, and an immense nose. Altogether, as grave and respectable men as you will meet in a day's walk, from Wall Street, to the head of Broadway. But what do they in the TEMPLE, at any time, but especially at this unusual hour?

That was precisely the question which troubled Bulgin.

"W-e-l-l Gentle-m-e-n," he said, not exactly knowing what else to say.

To which they all responded with a singular unanimity,--"W-e-l-l D-o-c-t-o-r!"

"Did not I,--did not I,--tell,--tell you not to come in here?" sobbed the nephew,--that is Julia.

Mr. Watkins arose and passed his hand through his stiff gray hair,--

"Allow me to compliment you upon the becoming character of your costume!" and sat down again.

Then Mr. Potts, whose bald head shone in the light as he rose,--

"And allow me to congratulate you upon the character of this house, and especially the elegant seclusion of this chamber." And Mr. Potts sat down.

Mr. Burns' lean form next ascended, and his nose seemed to increase in size, as he projected it in a low bow,--

"And allow me,--" what a deep voice! "to congratulate you upon the society of your companion, who becomes her male attire exceedingly." And Mr. Burns gravely resumed his seat.

"Did--I--not--tell, tell--you,--n-o-t to come in," sobbed Julia.

The Doctor's face was partly hidden by his plumes, but that portion of it which was visible, resembled nothing so much in color, as a boiled lobster.

It now occurred to the Doctor, to release his grasp upon the waist of Julia. He left her to herself, and she fell on her knees, burying her face in her hands. As for the Doctor himself, he _slid_ slowly into a chair, never once removing his gaze, from the three gentlemen on the sofa. Thus confronting them in his cardinal's attire, with the white plumes nodding over his forehead, he seemed, in the language of the chairman of a town meeting, "to be waiting for this here meeting to proceed to business."

There was a pause,--a painful and embarrassing pause.

The three sat like statues, only that Mr. Potts rubbed the end of his nose, with the top of his cane.

Why could not Dr. Bulgin, after the manner of the Genii in the Arabian Nights, disappear through the floor, in a cloud of mist and puff of perfume?

"Well,--gentlemen,--" said Bulgin at last, for the dead silence began to drive him mad, and made him hear all sorts of noises, in his ears,--"what are _you_ doing in _this place_, at this _unusual_ hour!"

This was a pointed question, to which Mr. Burns felt called upon to reply. He rose, and again the nose loomed largely, as he bowed,--

"Precisely the question which we were about to ask you," he said, and was seated again.

Mr. Potts took his turn:

"For a long time we have heard rumors," he said rising, "rumors concerning our pastor, of a painful nature. And although we did not credit them, yet they troubled us. Last night, however, we each received a letter, from an unknown person, who informed us, that in case we visited this house, between midnight and daybreak, we would discover our pastor, in company with the wife of an aged member of our church. As the letter inclosed the password, by which admittance is gained to this place, we took counsel upon the matter, and concluded to come. And,--"

"And,--" interrupted Watkins, rising solemnly, and extending the forefinger of his right hand, toward Bulgin, "and _now we see_!"

"And now we _see_!" echoed Mr. Watkins, absently shutting one eye, as he regarded Bulgin's face.

"We _all_ see," remarked Mr. Potts resuming his seat, and then as if to clinch the matter--"and with _our own_ eyes!"

Bulgin never before fully appreciated the meaning of the word "embarrassed." His wits had never failed him before; would they fail him now? He made an effort--

"Why, gentlemen, the truth is, I was summoned to this house, on professional duty,--" he began.

Mr. Potts groaned; they all groaned.

"In _that_ costume?" asked Potts.

"And with _madam_ there?" asked Watkins.

"Pro-fessi-o-n-a-l d-u-t-y!" thus Watkins in a hollow voice.

'Professional duty' would not do; evidently not. Foiled on this tack, the good Doctor tried another:

"The truth is," he began, with remarkable composure,--"I had been informed that Mrs. Parkins here,--" he pointed to the sobbing "nephew" otherwise Julia, and drew his chair nearer to the three, gradually softening his voice into a confidential whisper,--"Mrs. Parkins, the young wife of my aged friend Parkins, had been so far led away by the insinuating manners of a young man of fashion, as to promise to meet him in this improper place. Desirous to save the wife of my aged friend at all hazards, I assumed this dress,--the one which her seducer was to wear,--and came to this place, and,--rescued her. Do you understand?"

That "do you understand," was given in one of his most insinuating whispers; "and thus you see I periled my reputation in order to save,--_her_!"

What effect this story would have had upon the three, had it been suffered to travel unquestioned, it is impossible to tell. But low and softly as the Doctor whispered, he was overheard by his "nephew," otherwise, Julia.

"Don't lie, Doctor," she said quite tartly as she knelt on the floor. "I was not led away by any young man of fashion, and I did _not_ come here to meet any young man of fashion. I _was_ led away by _you_, and I came here with _you_."

Thus speaking, Julia rose from her knees, and came to the Doctor's side, thus presenting to the sight of the three gentlemen, the figure of a very handsome woman, dressed in blue frock coat and trowsers. She was somewhat tall, luxuriously proportioned, with a fine bust and faultless arms, her hair, chestnut brown, and her complexion a delicate mingling of "strawberries and cream." "A dem foine woman," the exquisite of Broadway would have called her. There was not so much of intellect in her face, as there was health, youth, passion. Married to a man of her own age, and whom she loved, she doubtless would have risen above temptation, and always proved a faithful wife, an affectionate mother. But sold by her parents, in the mockery of a marriage, to a man old enough to be her father,--perchance her grandfather,--transferred at the age of seventeen, like a bale of merchandise, to the possession of one whom she could not revere as a father, or love as a husband,--we behold her before us, the victim of the reverend tempter.

"You know, Doctor, that you led me away, you know you did," she cried, sobbing, "now did you not?" She bent down her head and looked into his face. "You can't say you didn't. No more he can't," and she turned in mute appeal to the three gentlemen.

"Evidently _not_," exclaimed Mr. Potts, who in his younger days had been somewhat wild, "that cock won't fight!" he continued, using a figure of speech, derived from the experience of said younger days.

As for the Doctor, he mentally wished the beautiful Mrs. Julia Parkins in Kamschatka.

"Never have an affair with a _fool_ again, as long as I live!" he muttered.

"And while you soothed my poor old husband, on that doctrinal point; you,--you," sobbed Julia, "told me how handsome I was, and what a shame it was for me, to be jailed up with an old man like that. Yes, you said _jailed_. And how it was no harm for me to love you, and that it was no harm for you to love me. And I heard you preach, and you came to the house, day after day, and,--" poor Julia could not go on for sobbing.

The three gentlemen groaned.

As for Dr. Bulgin, he calmly rose from his seat, and taking the corkscrew from the tray on the table, proceeded quietly to draw the cork of a bottle of champagne. This accomplished, he filled a long necked glass to the brim with foaming Heidsick.

"Jig's up, gentlemen," he said, bowing to the three, as he tossed off the glass, and regarded them with a smile of matchless impudence,--"Jig's up!"

"What does he mean by 'jig's up?'" asked Mr. Burns of Mr. Potts, in a very hollow voice.

"He means," returned Bulgin himself, straightening up, and rubbing his broad chest with his fat hand, "that the jig is up. You've found me out. There's no use of lying about it. And now that you have found me out,--" he paused, filled another glass, and contemplated the three, over its brim,--"allow me to ask, what do you intend to do?"

He took a sip from the glass. The three were thunderstruck.

"Cool!" exclaimed Mr. Potts, punching the toe of his boot with his cane.

"You _can't_ expose me," continued Bulgin, as he took another sip: "that would create _scandal_, you know, and hurt the church more than it would me."

The rich impudence of the Doctor's look, would "have made a cat laugh."

"We _will_ expose you!" cried Watkins, hollowly, with an emphatic nodding of his nose. "The truth demands it. As long as you are suffered to prowl about in this way, no man's wife, sister, or daughter is safe."

"No man's wife, sister, or daughter is safe!" echoed Mr. Potts.

"Did I ever tempt _your_ wife, Burns?" coolly asked Bulgin,--Burns winced, for his wife was remarkably plain.

"Or your sister, Potts?" Potts colored to the eyes; his sister was a miracle of plainness.

"Or your daughter, Watkins?" Watkins felt the thrust, for his daughter was as plain as Burns' wife and Potts' sister combined.

"Be assured I never will," continued Bulgin--"now, what do you intend to do? Expose me and ruin this poor creature here?"--"Don't call me a poor creature, you brute!" indignantly interrupted Julia. "Publish me in the papers, dismiss me from the church, give my name to be a by-word in the mouths of scoffers and infidels? Gravely, gentlemen, is that what you mean to do? Let us reflect a little. You pay me a good salary; I preach you good sermons. Granted. My practice may be a little loose, but, is not my doctrine orthodox? Where can you get a preacher who will draw larger crowds? And is it worth your while, merely on account of a little weakness like this,"--he pointed to Julia,--"to disgrace me and the church together?"

The Doctor saw by their faces, that he had made an impression. They conversed together in low tones, and with much earnestness. Meanwhile, Julia sobbed and Bulgin took another glass of champagne.

"Will you solemnly promise,"--Burns knocked his cane on the floor, and emphasised each word, "to be more careful of your conduct in the future, in case we overlook the present offense?"

"Cordially, gentlemen, and upon my honor!" cried Bulgin, rising from his seat, "I will take Julia quietly home, and to-morrow commence life anew. I give you my hand upon it."

He advanced, and shook them by the hand.

"If you keep your word, this will suit me," said Burns, with gloomy cordiality.

"And me," echoed Watkins.

"And me," responded Potts.

"But it will not suit me!" cried a strange voice, which started the whole company to their feet. The voice came from behind the hangings which concealed the bed. It was a firm voice, and deep as a well.

"It will not suit me, I say," and from the hangings the unknown speaker emerged with a measured stride.

He was a tall man, somewhat bent in the shoulders, and wore a long cloak, of an _antique_ fashion, which was fastened to his neck by a golden clasp. His white hairs were covered by an old-fashioned fur-cap; his eyes hidden by large green glasses, and the furred collar of his cloak, concealed the lower part of his face. An aged man, evidently, as might be seen by his snow-white hair, and the wrinkles on the exposed portion of his face, but his step was strong and measured, and his voice firm and clear.

"And who are _you_?" cried Bulgin, recovering from his surprise. His remark was chorused by the others.

"A pew-holder in your church," emphatically exclaimed the cloaked individual. "Let that suffice you. Gentlemen,"--turning his back on Bulgin, he lifted his cap and exposed his forehead to the three gentlemen,--"you know me?"

With one impulse, they pronounced a name; and it was plainly to be seen that they respected that name, and its owner.

"This compromise does not suit me," said the cloaked gentleman, turning abruptly to Bulgin. "You are a villain, sir. It is men like you who bring the Gospel of Christ into contempt. You are an atheist, sir. It is men like you who fill the world with infidels. I have borne with you long enough. I will bear with you no longer. You shall be exposed, sir."

This style of attack, as impetuous as a charge of bayonets, evidently startled the good Doctor.

"Who are _you_?" he asked, sneeringly.

"I am the man who wrote the letters to these three gentlemen, yesterday," dryly responded the cloaked gentleman.

"This is a conspiracy," growled Bulgin. "Take care, sir! There is a law for conspirators against character and reputation--"

"Baugh!" responded the old gentleman, shrugging his shoulders; and then he beckoned with his hand, toward the recess in which stood the bed. "Come in," he said, "it is time."

Two persons emerged from the recess; one, an old man, of portly form, and mild, good-humored face--now, alas! dark and corrugated with suppressed wrath; the other, a slender woman, with pale face, and large, intellectual eyes,--and a baby, sleeping on her bosom.

Bulgin uttered an oath.

"My wife!--her father!" was all he could utter.

"I have summoned you from your home in the country," said the cloaked gentleman, "to meet me at this house at this unusual hour, to show you the husband and son-in-law in his festival attire, and in company with his paramour.--Look at him! Isn't he beautiful?"

The wife rushed forward, with an indignant glance--

"Let me see the woman who has stolen my husband's affections," she said.

The cloaked gentleman interposed between her and Julia,--

"Softly, my good lady; this poor child must not be disgraced;" and, turning to Julia, he whispered: "Hide your face with your 'kerchief, and hurry from the room. There is a carriage at the door; it will bear you home. Away now!"

"The nephew" did not need a second invitation. Hands over her face, she glided from the room.

Bulgin now found himself in this position:--behind him, Watkins, Burns and Potts; on his right, the cloaked gentleman; on his left, his weeping wife, with her baby; in front, the burly form of his father-in-law, who, clad in the easy costume of a country gentleman, seemed too full of wrath to trust himself with words.

"Oh! husband, how could you--" began the wife.

"Is that your wife, sir?" thundered the father-in-law. "Answer me! Is that your wife?"

"It is," answered Bulgin, retreating a step. "Allow me to explain,--"

"Is that your child, sir?" thundered the enraged old gentleman. "Answer me! Is that your child?"

"It--is--" and Bulgin retreated another step.

"Then, what in the devil do you do in a place like this?--Hey?--Answer me!--answer me!--"

The father-in-law was too much enraged to say any more. So he proceeded to settle the affair in his own way. He did not threaten "divorce;"--did not even mention "separate maintenance." Nothing of the kind. His course was altogether different. From beneath his capacious buff waistcoat, he drew forth a cow-hide--a veritable cow-hide,--and grasped it firmly.

"Don't strike a man of my cloth," cried Bulgin.

The only answer was a blow across the face, which left its livid mark on the nose and cheeks. The good Doctor bawled and ran. The father-in-law pursued, giving the cow-hide free play over the head and shoulders of the Doctor. And the wife, with baby on her bosom, pursued her father,--"Don't, father, don't!" Thus, the chase led round the room; the howls of the Doctor, the blows of the whip, the falling of chairs, and trampling of feet, forming, altogether, a striking chorus. And to add the feather to the camel's back, the baby lifted up its voice in the midst of the scene. Mr. Potts, Mr. Burns, and Mr. Watkins, mounted on the sofa, so that they might not be in the way.

As for the cloaked gentleman, leaning against the door, he laughed,--yes, perhaps for the first time in thirty years.

After making the circuit of the room three or four times, the scarlet attire of the Rev. Dr. Bulgin hung in rags upon his back; and the old man, red in the face, bathed in perspiration, and out of breath, sank panting in a chair.

He glanced at his daughter, who sat weeping in a corner, and then at the Rev. Doctor, who, with the figure of the letter X welted across his face, was rubbing his bruises in another corner.

"Now, sir, if ever I catch you at anything of this kind, if I don't lick you, my name ain't Jenkins!"