The brother clerks : $b a tale of New-OrleansTownsend, Mary Ashley
General
The brother clerks : $b a tale of New-Orleans
Townsend, Mary Ashley
New Orleans (La.) -- Fiction
With a shout of triumph, Wilkins' arms were pinioned at his side; and
despite all his prayers and entreaties, he was hurried away to the
guard-house. He begged to be allowed to stop at Doctor C.'s office, and
deliver him the message he had brought, assuring them that, would they
but give him a few minutes' time, he could fully assure them of his
innocence; but all in vain. An atrocious murder had been committed
somewhere up town, and they had been chasing all night, they said, to
find the assassin, who had escaped. They declared themselves "fagged
out," and swore they must "chuck" somebody, and if he wasn't the right
man he could prove it in the morning, and that was all they had to say;
and, in bitterness of heart and anxiety of mind, Wilkins heard the heavy
door shut with a short clang, and knew he was a prisoner! Wearily the
night sped away; and, tortured with anxiety for the pale young being
whom he had left senseless on his pillow, Wilkins walked the narrow
precincts of his cell moody and disconsolate. For with all the evil of
this man's strange nature, there were some pure and sparkling gems of
good, which cast a radiance, bright and purifying, over the dark traits
of his character. This love for Guly was one of these. Springing up, as
it did, from among the rank weeds of sin and recklessness in his breast,
it proved that he could appreciate the lovely, and knew how to cherish
it. Then, his guardian care of Blanche, the brodereuse--where a thousand
men would have but thought of evil, his sole care was to ward it from
her. And now, as he walked back and forth across the heavily spiked
floor, another ray of glorious and intense light shot from his great
heart heavenward. It was a prayer! breathed there in the midst of the
perplexities and troubles which surrounded him, earnestly, hopefully
breathed for Guly; and if ever a prayer ascended to the "Great White
Throne," accepted for its faith and sincerity, that one did, sent from
the burning lips of Bernard Wilkins that night.
Morning came, and he was taken before the Recorder, and though it
required but little trouble to prove his innocence, it took _time_, and
it was with a breast lacerated by a thousand fears that he found himself
again at liberty, and turned his steps towards the store.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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