I never was so be-fogged in my life;" and he bent a penetrating glance on the masked face before him. "It is past my finding out, at least just now; but I've a Yankee tongue in my head, so I don't despair, with time and perseverance;" and Lewis followed Hyacinth into the house.

"Confounded disagreeable fellow," soliloquized Hyacinth, as he handed him over to a knot of ladies in the drawing-room; "very awkward that paragraph; I wish I had the fellow who wrote it, at pistol-shot distance just now; well, if I am badgered on the subject of 'Floy's' poverty, I shall start a paragraph saying, that the story is only a publisher's trick to make her book sell; by Jove, they don't corner me; I have got out of worse sc.r.a.pes than that before now, by the help of my wits and the lawyers, but I don't think a paper of any influence would attack me on that point; I have taken care to secure all the more prominent ones, long ago, by judicious puffs of their editors in the Irving Magazine.

The only one I fear is the ----, and I will lay an anchor to windward there this very week, by praising the editor's last stupid editorial.

What an unmitigated donkey that fellow is."

CHAPTER LXXIX.

"How are you, Walter," said Mr. Lewis, extending his hand; "fine day; how goes the world with you? They say _you_ are a man who dares to 'hew to the line, let the chips fly in whose face they will.' Now, I want you to tell me if 'Floy' is _really_ a sister of Hyacinth Ellet, the editor of 'The Irving Magazine.' I cannot believe it, though he boasted of it to me the other day, I hear such accounts of her struggles and her poverty. I cannot see into it."

"It is very easily understood," said Mr. Walter, with a dark frown on his face; "Mr. Hyacinth Ellet has always had one hobby, namely--social position. For that he would sacrifice the dearest friend or nearest relative he had on earth. His sister was once in affluent circ.u.mstances, beloved and admired by all who knew her. Hyacinth, at that time, was very friendly, of course; her husband's wine and horses, and his name on change, were things which the extravagant Hyacinth knew how to appreciate.

"Hall ('Floy's' husband) was a generous-hearted, impulsive fellow, too n.o.ble himself to see through the specious, flimsy veil which covered so corrupt a heart as Hyacinth's. Had he been less trusting, less generous to him, 'Floy' might not have been left so dest.i.tute at his death. When that event occurred, Hyacinth's regard for his sister evaporated in a lachrymose obituary notice of Hall in the Irving Magazine. The very day after his death, Hyacinth married Julia Grey, or rather married her fortune. His sister, after seeking in vain to get employment, driven to despair, at last resorted to her pen, and applied to Hyacinth, then the prosperous editor of the Irving Magazine, either to give her employment as a writer, or show her some way to obtain it. At that time Hyacinth was constantly boasting of the helping hand he had extended to young writers in their extremity, (whom, by the way, he paid in compliments after securing their articles,) and whom, he was constantly a.s.serting, had been raised by him from, obscurity to fame."

"Well," said Lewis, bending eagerly forward; "well, he helped his sister, of course?"

"He did no such thing, sir," said Mr. Walter, bringing his hand down on the table; "he did no such thing, sir; but he wrote her a cool, contemptuous, insulting letter, denying her all claim to talent, (she had sent him some specimen articles,) and advising her to seek some un.o.btrusive employment, (_what_ employment he did not trouble himself to name,) and then ignored her existence; and this, too, when he was squandering money on 'distressed' actresses, etc."

"Well?" said Mr. Lewis, inquiringly.

"Well, sir, she struggled on bravely and single-handed, with the skeleton Starvation standing by her hearth-stone--she who had never known a wish ungratified during her married life, whose husband's pride in her was only equalled by his love. She has sunk fainting to the floor with hunger, that her children might not go supperless to bed. And now, when the battle is fought and the victory won, _he_ comes in for a share of the spoils. It is 'my sister "Floy,"' and 'tis _his_ 'literary reputation which was the stepping-stone to her celebrity as a writer.'

"To show you how much 'his reputation has helped her,' I will just state that, not long since, I was dining at a restaurant near two young men, who were discussing 'Floy.' One says, 'Have you read her book?' 'No,'

said the other, with a sneer, 'nor do I want to; it is enough for me that Hyacinth Ellet claims her as a sister; _that_ is enough to d.a.m.n any woman.' Then," continued Mr. Walter, "there was an English paper, the editor of which, disgusted with Hyacinth's toadyisms, fopperies, and impudence while abroad, took occasion to cut up her book (as he acknowledged) because the writer was said to be Ellet's sister. That is the way _his_ reputation has helped her."

"No wonder she is at sword's-point with him," remarked Mr. Lewis.

"She is not at sword's-point with him," replied Mr. Walter. "She simply chooses to retain the position her family a.s.signed her when she was poor and obscure. They would not notice her then; she will not accept their notice now."

"Where was the old man, her father, all this time?" said Mr. Lewis, "was he alive and in good circ.u.mstances?"

"Certainly," said Mr. Walter; "and once in awhile he threw her a dollar, just as one would throw a bone to a hungry dog, with a 'begone!'"

"By Jove!" exclaimed Mr. Lewis, as he pa.s.sed out, "what a heartless set."

CHAPTER Lx.x.x.

Ruth returned from her daily walk to the Post Office, one morning, with a bundle of letters, among which was one from Mr. Walter. Its contents were as follows:

"DEAR SISTER RUTH:

"I wonder if you are enjoying your triumph half as much as I? But how should you, since you do not know of it? Your publishers inform me that orders are pouring in for your book faster than they can supply them. What do you think of that? 'Floy,' you have made a decided hit; how lucky that you had the foresight to hold on to your copyright. $800 will not be a circ.u.mstance to the little fortune you are going to make. Your success is glorious; but I don't believe you are half as proud of it as I am.

"And now, I know of what you are thinking as well as if I were by your side. 'Tis of the little exile, 'tis of Katy. You would fly directly to bring her home. Can I be of any service to you in doing this? Business takes me your way day after to-morrow. Can you curb your impatience to see her till then? If so, I will accompany you.

Please write me immediately.

"Yours truly, JOHN WALTER.

"P. S.--I send you a batch of letters, which came by this morning's mail, directed to 'Floy,' office of the Household Messenger."

Ruth tossed the "batch of letters" down unopened, and sprang to her feet; she tossed up Nettie; she kissed the astonished child till she was half strangled; she laughed, she cried, and then she sat down with her forehead in both her hands, for a prolonged reverie.

What _good_ news about the book! How could she wait two days before she brought back Katy! And yet it would be a happy thing, that Mr. Walter, whose name was synonymous with good tidings, should be a.s.sociated with her in the return of the child. Yes, she would wait. And when Katy _was_ secured, what then? Why, she would leave forever a city fraught with such painful a.s.sociations; she would make her a new home. Home? Her heart leaped!--comforts for Nettie and Katy,--clothes--food,--earned by her own hands!--Tears trickled through Ruth's fingers, and her heart went out in a murmured prayer to the "G.o.d of the widow and fatherless."

"May I play house with these?" said Nettie, touching Ruth's elbow, and pointing to the unopened letters.

"No, little puss," said Ruth, "not yet. Wait a bit till I have glanced at them;" and she broke the seal of one.

It was an offer of marriage from a widower. He had read an article of hers on "Step-Mothers," and was "very sure that a woman with _such_ views could not fail to make a good mother for his children." He was thirty-five--good-looking, (every man who had written her a love-letter _was_!) good disposition--warm-hearted--would love her just as well as if he had never bent an adoring knee to Mrs. Dorrance No. 1--was not at all set in his ways--in fact preferred she should, in everything, save him the trouble of _choice_; would live in any part of the Union she desired, provided she would only consent to _the union_. These last two words Mr. Dorrance had italicised, as indicating, probably, that he considered it a pun fit even for the critical eye of an auth.o.r.ess.

"Oh, pshaw!" said Ruth, throwing the letter to Nettie, "make anything you like of it, p.u.s.s.y; it is of no value to me." The next letter ran as follows:

"MADAM:

"I have the honor to be guardian to a young Southern lady (an orphan) of large fortune, who has just completed her education.

She has taken a suite of apartments, and given me orders to furnish them without regard to expense, according to her fancy. I have directions to procure busts of Mrs. Hemans, Miss Landon, and several other distinguished female writers, among whom Miss Le Roy includes 'Floy,' (I have not the pleasure, madam, of knowing your true name,) with whose writings she has become familiar, and who is as great a favorite with her as she is with the mult.i.tude who have paid tribute to her genius.

"Please send me a line, (my address as below,) allowing me to inform my ward how her favorite wish can be best carried out.

"Yours truly, THOMAS PEARCE."

Ruth glanced around her little dark room and smiled. "I would rather, instead, that an artist would take a sketch of my room, now," said she; "that little black stove, where I have so often tried in vain to thaw my frozen fingers--that rickety old bed--the old deal table, with its yellow bowl of milk--that home-made carpet--those time-worn chairs--and then you, my little bright fairy, in the foreground;" and she pushed back the soft, glossy curls from Nettie's fair brow.

"No, no," said Ruth, "better reserve the niche destined for 'Floy' for some writer to whom ambition is not the hollow thing it is to me.

"Well, what have we here? Another letter?" Ruth broke the seal of letter No. 3, and read:

"DEAR MADAM:

"I am a poor devil, and worse editor; nevertheless, I have started a paper. If you will but allow me to put your name on it as a.s.sistant Editress, I am sure it will go like a locomotive. If, in addition to this little favor, you could also advance me the sum of one hundred dollars, it would be an immense relief to your admirer,

"JOHN K. STAPLES.

"P. S.--Be sure you direct to John _K._ Staples, as there is another John Staples in this place, who is a great rascal.

"J. K. S."

"Well!" exclaimed Ruth, "I did not believe I should ever be astonished again, but then--I had not heard from Mr. Staples. But here is another letter. Let us see what the contents of No. 4 are."

Letter No. 4 ran as follows:

"DEAR 'FLOY':