"Yes, you can bet on that! I'm the white-headed boy there now."

As Arnold was in a short time highly exhilarated by the contents of the table, he became very communicative, and as his conversation was not such as would be under the head of pure language, we will leave him to make merry with his set of jovial companions.

Hubert Tracy was calm and self-possessed. He was too much intent upon some plans to allow himself to become incapable. He had "another iron in the fire," to quote his expression as he thought the matter over to himself, and called upon all the powers unknown to come to his aid.

It was within a short time that Hubert Tracy had become vitiated in his moral nature. He had hitherto been known as a good-living young man--one that respected what was good and pure; but the old, old story--he fell in with bad company, and almost fell beyond reprieve.

You ask, "Had he a home?" He had, indeed, a home, where all that was good and pure was daily practised--loving, warm-hearted sisters, and a fond trusting mother had not the power to drag him back from the tempting gulf of dissipation and allurement. But we will not say that their prayers were lost. There was yet a small, still voice, that would intrude itself upon the young man, and despite his attempts to silence it forever, would steal upon him in the silent hour of midnight, and haunt him in the noisy abodes of revelry and carousal. It even forces itself upon him now as he sits planning a scheme to outwit his rival. The voice is repeating over and over again the words "Lawson is a good young man," and they are re-echoed until Hubert Tracy raises his head and glances around as if to convince himself of the reality. "A good young man," he murmurs bitterly; "I was one myself--in the past."

A bitter groan escaped the lips of the speaker as he uttered the sentence, and his face became stone-like in expression.

"It is of no use; I must not give up. The fellow is good; but what is that to me now? If he win the day, I am lost forever--for it is only through her I will be a better man--and surely, with Lawson's nature, he would willingly make the sacrifice. But here I am, moralizing like a preacher," cried the young man, as he arose and began pacing up and down the floor in an excited manner. "By heaven!

it won't do to give up! If I ever expect to be a better man I must first fall still lower!"

A strange method of reasoning indeed! But a striking ill.u.s.tration of the fact that degenerate natures have always some loop-hole to crawl through in order to shield themselves from just reproach.

Hubert Tracy had not sufficient moral courage to take upon himself the responsibility of his actions. He had not faith to strike out on the path of right, and with a sense of his own helplessness, turn to Providence for his guide. Oh no, he could not see ahead of him with an honest hopefulness; but instead "an ever-during dark surrounds him," and he, with all the cowardice of his nature, consoles himself with the thought that the n.o.bility of Phillip Lawson is apology for his base actions.

It was after such reverie that Hubert Tracy bethought himself of an engagement he had made to join a number of acquaintances at a whist party. He straightened himself up and cast a glance in the mirror opposite to see if he would "pa.s.s muster" in a crowd. "Guess I'm all right," he exclaimed, stroking his fingers through the ma.s.ses of chestnut curls that clung so prettily around his well-shaped head.

"Halloo, Tracy, not going so soon? The night's young yet, boy! Come, sit down and have some of the 'rosy,'" shouted a rubicund-faced youth, with a generous proportion of carrotty hair crowning his low flat forehead.

"Sit down Tracy," exclaimed another, slapping him on the back by way of accompaniment to the words: "We'll not go home till morning,"

which song the whole company began to roar in a style more forcible than artistic.

When the last strains of music had spent its force and a general interchange of silly speeches had been made, the young man once more rose to go, but a youth with broad Scotch accent seized him by the arm exclaiming: "Don't go yet, Tracy dear; for if ye do, ye need'nt come back here."

"A poet of the first water," cried a voice from behind, at which all joined in another roar of laughter, which reached its climax when a feminine-looking youth exclaimed, "What a pity the government have not discovered such talent! they would surely have him for poet laureate."

Before quiet was again restored Tracy took advantage of the occasion to cover his retreat, and hastily gained a small side entrance which led to the suspicious-looking alley not many yards from a very public thoroughfare. Having reached the street without any serious apprehension, he then set off at a rapid pace in the direction of his lodging.

A careful toilet, including some necessary antidotes, and we find the subject of our remarks an honored guest in one of the luxurious drawing-rooms in the city. Not a trace of the recent a.s.sociation is visible as Mr. Tracy takes his seat at a whist-table with an interesting and amiable young lady for partner.

"What a brilliant young man Mr. Tracy is," remarked an anxious mamma to a lady sitting near, who also was on the _qui vive_ for an eligible _parti_ in the capacity of a son-in-law.

"Don't you think Miss Simpkins is very forward; just see how she is flirting with Mr. Tracy. I'm glad she is no relation of mine."

Miss Dorothy Strong had ventured the above speech in hopes of testing the _strong_ tendencies of her audience. She was a spinster of youthful pretension, and invariably took occasion to condemn any such exhibition on the part of others a dozen years her junior. Not meeting any remonstrance she made quite a speech on the familiarity of young ladies, their want of dignity, and ended in a grand peroration upon the conceit of the young men, their vicious habits and all short-comings she could bring to bear upon the subject.

But Miss Dorothy's speech was unhappily chosen, and therefore "lost its sweetness upon a desert air."

"Sour grapes," whispered a pretty miss of sixteen to her elder sister, as they stood apart from the others and watched the effect of the oration.

As we glance towards the said Miss Simpkins and watch the game for a few moments, we feel certain that Hubert Tracy is not deeply concerned whether he win or lose. He is evidently studying a deeper game--one on which he would willingly stake all he possessed.

"Now, Mr. Tracy, that was mine as it lay!" cried his partner, somewhat petulantly, as she noted the mistake.

"Never mind this time; I will look out better again," said the culprit, his penitential look being sufficient apology for a more grievous offence.

"If I didn't know you better, Tracy, I would say you were in love,"

exclaimed a fashionable young man, engaged as bookkeeper in one of the largest wholesale firms in the city.

"You seem to have great confidence in your own opinion, Mr.

Berkeley," retorted Miss Simpkins, who, be it said, was a girl of much moral stamina, having an aversion to conceited young men, and let no opportunity slip when she could give a home-thrust.

"Pray don't be so captious, Lottie; I am certain that Mr. Berkeley's opinions are always founded on correct observation," timidly ventured a mild-looking little woman, whose speech had no other motive than a desire to throw oil on troubled waters.

As the game progressed, the party became more interested, and after an hour or more thus engaged Miss Simpkins was congratulated on her run of good luck; and Mr. Tracy, to show his appreciation of her ability, turned out some pretty compliments.

"Where is Mr. Arnold to-night, Mr. Tracy?" asked one of the guests, as the party stood in the hall making their adieux to the hostess.

"I cannot say," replied the young man, tugging at his great coat with more vehemence than was necessary, but affording relief to hide this oracular reply.

"Oh! you need not ask that question," exclaimed a voice near; "we all know that he is at 'Sunnybank,' paying his devoirs to the peerless Evelyn." The speaker was a young lady, and the tone of this speech intimated that jealousy was at the bottom of it. But there was another side to the story. Turning to Hubert Tracy, with an air of playful badinage, the young lady continued: "And I believe that Miss Marguerite has a lover too. Surely, Mr. Tracy, you must know about it for you are on intimate terms with the family. You can enlighten us upon the subject."

Hubert Tracy was master of his feelings, but he had difficulty to suppress himself. An opportune bustle among some of the other guests gave him time to reply in a cool and wholly indifferent manner which would turn their attention to another source.

It was only when this would-be suitor had thrown off the mask of studied indifference that he began to realize the state of his mind.

"It will never be," he cried, in a fit, half-anger, half-emotional, as he paced his room during the silent hours that precede the dawn.

"I don't want to injure the fellow in any other way. Arnold says wipe him out; but--heavens! those words--he is a good young man!

what makes them haunt me! It seems as if my mother and the dear girls at home are repeating them to me: Why was I not dragged up, instead of living hourly under the influence of a sainted mother and devoted self-sacrificing sisters? Ah! young man; it is a hard struggle for you to fall when you think of 'Home, sweet home!'"

Such was the soliloquy of Hubert Tracy as he sat himself down in a half-desperate state and commenced writing a letter with that nervous haste which showed he was anxious to get rid of the disagreeable task at once. After the envelope had been addressed the writer gave a sigh of relief, and rising from his seat, exclaimed: "Heavens! I would rather than a fortune it was over with!"

Despite the fact that curiosity has been defined "the lowest emotion of the soul," we cannot forbear glancing over the content of the letter which seemed to affect the writer so deeply. It ran thus:--

ST. JOHN, Jan. 25th, 188-.

_Dear Friend_,--Intended to write you some days ago, but am now at fever heat, and manufacture my thoughts accordingly. Going to make no excuse, but come to the point right off. You heard the report about Lawson. It is too true, and if I cannot choke him off somehow, it is all up with me. I want to get the fellow out of the way. Can you secure that site for him instead of poor Jim Watters?

If we can only get that deuced sprig of the law entrapped out there, some goodly stroke of malaria may come to the rescue, and I can breathe the grateful fog with double freedom. "Give the devil his due," I believe the fellow is a veritable Mark Tapley--jolly under all circ.u.mstances--and will in the end thank us for giving him a change of climate and the vicissitudes of life so invigorating to his athletic and muscular composition. Much depends upon you to think and act at once. Saw that "drummer" yesterday; not a bad sort of a fellow. He speaks well of you--says you are a tramp. Go to headquarters on receipt of this and write immediately. If Lawson can be induced to go, my prayers will follow you for life.

Yours in dilemma, H. T.

This epistle--disconnected and vague as it seems--needed no further explanation on the part of the writer. The recipient was acquainted with the whole history of Hubert Tracy's career and also that of Montague Arnold.

It is necessary to add that while this correspondence was being carried on, that Hubert Tracy was a daily caller at Mr. Lawson's office, and without any apparent effort, had the satisfaction of knowing that the young lawyer was much attracted by his engaging manners and persuasive tongue.

It had been considered somewhat strange that a man of Lawson's integrity should look with favor upon a gay youth whose preferences were ever on the side of conviviality, but many wise-headed seniors said that the influence might be exerted upon the other side and Tracy would thank heaven for the star which guided him thither.

It was surprising how many little attentions were paid our young lawyer from the fact of the newly-formed friendship, and how many consultations were held as regards a promising field which glittered before the eye of the hopeful aspirant. A wide range of labor lay within his grasp, and Phillip Lawson was not made of the stuff to lose a prize when it could be attained at any cost of self-sacrifice and personal feeling. With herculean effort he shakes off the bitter thoughts that hourly intrude within the privacy of his own heart, and armed with all the moral courage and true heroism of his soul he goes forth into the world's conflicts a n.o.ble defender of the rights of true manhood!

CHAPTER V.