John Lothrop Motley - "History of the United Netherlands, 1586"

Compiled and edited by Elias Lönnrot - "The Kalevala"

James Sheridan Knowles - "The Hunchback"

Charles Dickens - "The Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargin"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: The Fallen Leaves

W >> Wilkie Collins >> The Fallen Leaves




The policeman's view of the girl's position was beyond dispute. Amelius
turned to her gently; she was shivering with cold or terror, perhaps
with both. "Tell me," he said, "is that man really your father?"

"Lord bless you, sir!" interposed the policeman, astonished at the
gentleman's simplicity, "Simple Sally hasn't got father or mother--have
you, my girl?"

She paid no heed to the policeman. The sorrow and sympathy, plainly
visible in Amelius, filled her with a childish interest and surprise.
She dimly understood that it was sorrow and sympathy for _her._ The
bare idea of distressing this new friend, so unimaginably kind and
considerate, seemed to frighten her. "Don't fret about _me,_ sir," she
said timidly; "I don't mind having no father nor mother; I don't mind
being beaten." She appealed to the nearest of her two women-friends.
"We get used to everything, don't we, Jenny?"

Amelius could bear no more. "It's enough to break one's heart to hear
you, and see you!" he burst out--and suddenly turned his head aside.
His generous nature was touched to the quick; he could only control
himself by an effort of resolution that shook him, body and soul. "I
can't and won't let that unfortunate creature go back to be beaten and
starved!" he said, passionately addressing himself to the policeman.
"Oh, look at her! How helpless, and how young!"

The policeman stared. These were strange words to him. But all true
emotion carries with it, among all true people, its own title to
respect. He spoke to Amelius with marked respect.

"It's a hard case, sir, no doubt," he said. "The girl's a quiet,
well-disposed creature--and the other two there are the same. They're
of the sort that keep to themselves, and don't drink. They all of them
do well enough, as long as they don't let the liquor overcome them.
Half the time it's the men's fault when they do drink. Perhaps the
workhouse might take her in for the night. What's this you've got girl,
in your hand? Money?"

Amelius hastened to say that he had given her the money. "The
workhouse!" he repeated. "The very sound of it is horrible."

"Make your mind easy, sir," said the policeman; "they won't take her in
at the workhouse, with money in her hand."

In sheer despair, Amelius asked helplessly if there was no hotel near.
The policeman pointed to Simple Sally's threadbare and scanty clothes,
and left them to answer the question for themselves. "There's a place
they call a coffee-house," he said, with the air of a man who thought
he had better provoke as little further inquiry on that subject as
possible.

Too completely pre-occupied, or too innocent in the ways of London, to
understand the man, Amelius decided on trying the coffee-house. A
suspicious old woman met them at the door, and spied the policeman in
the background. Without waiting for any inquiries, she said, "All full
for to-night,"--and shut the door in their faces.

"Is there no other place?" said Amelius.

"There's a lodging-house," the policeman answered, more doubtfully than
ever. "It's getting late, sir; and I'm afraid you'll find 'em packed
like herrings in a barrel. Come, and see for yourself."

He led the way into a wretchedly lighted by-street, and knocked with
his foot on a trap-door in the pavement. The door was pushed open from
below, by a sturdy boy with a dirty night-cap on his head.

"Any of 'em wanted to-night, sir?" asked the sturdy boy, the moment he
saw the policeman.

"What does he mean?" said Amelius.

"There's a sprinkling of thieves among them, sir," the policeman
explained. "Stand out of the way, Jacob, and let the gentleman look
in."

He produced his lantern, and directed the light downwards, as he spoke.
Amelius looked in. The policeman's figure of speech, likening the
lodgers to "herrings in a barrel," accurately described the scene. On
the floor of a kitchen, men, women, and children lay all huddled
together in closely packed rows. Ghastly faces rose terrified out of
the seething obscurity, when the light of the lantern fell on them. The
stench drove Amelius back, sickened and shuddering.

"How's the sore place on your head, Jacob?" the policeman inquired.
"This is a civil boy," he explained to Amelius, "and I like to
encourage him."

"I'm getting better, sir, as fast as I can," said the boy.

"Good night, Jacob."

"Good night, sir." The trap-door fell--and the lodging-house
disappeared like the vision of a frightful dream.

There was a moment of silence among the little group on the pavement.
It was not easy to solve the question of what to do next. "There seems
to be some difficulty," the policeman remarked, "about housing this
girl for the night."

"Why shouldn't we take her along with us?" one of the women suggested.
"She won't mind sleeping three in a bed, I know."

"What are you thinking of?" the other woman remonstrated. "When he
finds she don't come home, our place will be the first place he looks
for her in."

Amelius settled the difficulty, in his own headlong way, "I'll take
care of her for the night," he said. "Sally, will you trust yourself
with me?"

She put her hand in his, with the air of a child who was ready to go
home. Her wan face brightened for the first time. "Thank you, sir," she
said; "I'll go anywhere along with you."

The policeman smiled. The two women looked thunderstruck. Before they
had recovered themselves, Amelius forced them to take some money from
him, and cordially shook hands with them. "You're good creatures," he
said, in his eager, hearty way; "I'm sincerely sorry for you. Now, Mr.
Policeman, show me where to find a cab--and take that for the trouble I
am giving you. You're a humane man, and a credit to the force."

In five minutes more, Amelius was on the way to his lodgings, with
Simple Sally by his side. The act of reckless imprudence which he was
committing was nothing but an act of Christian duty, to his mind. Not
the slightest misgiving troubled him. "I shall provide for her in some
way!" he thought to himself cheerfully. He looked at her. The weary
outcast was asleep already in her corner of the cab. From time to time
she still shivered, even in her sleep. Amelius took off his great-coat,
and covered her with it. How some of his friends at the club would have
laughed, if they had seen him at that moment!

He was obliged to wake her when the cab stopped. His key admitted them
to the house. He lit his candle in the hall, and led her up the stairs.
"You'll soon be asleep again, Sally," he whispered.

She looked round the little sitting-room with drowsy admiration. "What
a pretty place to live in!" she said.

"Are you hungry again?" Amelius asked.

She shook her head, and took off her shabby bonnet; her pretty
light-brown hair fell about her face and her shoulders. "I think I'm
too tired, sir, to be hungry. Might I take the sofa-pillow, and lay
down on the hearth-rug?"

Amelius opened the door of his bedroom. "You are to pass the night more
comfortably than that," he answered. "There is a bed for you here."

She followed him in, and looked round the bedroom, with renewed
admiration of everything that she saw. At the sight of the hairbrushes
and the comb, she clapped her hands in ecstasy. "Oh, how different from
mine!" she exclaimed. "Is the comb tortoise-shell, sir, like one sees
in the shop-windows?" The bath and the towels attracted her next; she
stood, looking at them with longing eyes, completely forgetful of the
wonderful comb. "I've often peeped into the ironmongers' shops," she
said, "and thought I should be the happiest girl in the world, if I had
such a bath as that. A little pitcher is all I have got of my own, and
they swear at me when I want it filled more than once. In all my life,
I have never had as much water as I should like." She paused, and
thought for a moment. The forlorn, vacant look appeared again, and
dimmed the beauty of her blue eyes. "It will be hard to go back, after
seeing all these pretty things," she said to herself--and sighed, with
that inborn submission to her fate so melancholy to see in a creature
so young.

"You shall never go back again to that dreadful life," Amelius
interposed. "Never speak of it, never think of it any more. Oh, don't
look at me like that!"

She was listening with an expression of pain, and with both her hands
lifted to her head. There was something so wonderful in the idea which
he had suggested to her, that her mind was not able to take it all in
at once. "You make my head giddy," she said. "I'm such a poor stupid
girl--I feel out of myself, like, when a gentleman like you sets me
thinking of new things. Would you mind saying it again, sir?"

"I'll say it to-morrow morning," Amelius rejoined kindly. "You are
tired, Sally--go to rest."

She roused herself, and looked at the bed. "Is that your bed, sir?"

"It's your bed to-night," said Amelius. "I shall sleep on the sofa, in
the next room."

Her eyes rested on him, for a moment, in speechless surprise; she
looked back again at the bed. "Are you going to leave me by myself?"
she asked wonderingly. Not the faintest suggestion of immodesty--
nothing that the most profligate man living could have interpreted
impurely--showed itself in her look or manner, as she said those words.

Amelius thought of what one of her women-friends had told him. "She
hasn't grown up, you know, in her mind, since she was a child." There
were other senses in the poor victim that were still undeveloped,
besides the mental sense. He was at a loss how to answer her, with the
respect which was due to that all-atoning ignorance. His silence amazed
and frightened her.

"Have I said anything to make you angry with me?" she asked.

Amelius hesitated no longer. "My poor girl," he said, "I pity you from
the bottom of my heart! Sleep well, Simple Sally--sleep well." He left
her hurriedly, and shut the door between them.

She followed him as far as the closed door; and stood there alone,
trying to understand him, and trying all in vain! After a while, she
found courage enough to whisper through the door. "If you please,
sir--" She stopped, startled by her own boldness. He never heard her;
he was standing at the window, looking out thoughtfully at the night;
feeling less confident of the future already. She still stood at the
door, wretched in the firm persuasion that she had offended him. Once
she lifted her hand to knock at the door, and let it drop again at her
side. A second time she made the effort, and desperately summoned the
resolution to knock. He opened the door directly.

"I'm very sorry if I said anything wrong," she began faintly, her
breath coming and going in quick hysteric gasps. "Please forgive me,
and wish me good night." Amelius took her hand; he said good night with
the utmost gentleness, but he said it sorrowfully. She was not quite
comforted yet. "Would you mind, sir--?" She paused awkwardly, afraid to
go on. There was something so completely childlike in the artless
perplexity of her eyes, that Amelius smiled. The change in his
expression gave her back her courage in an instant; her pale delicate
lips reflected his smile prettily. "Would you mind giving me a kiss,
sir?" she said. Amelius kissed her. Let the man who can honestly say he
would have done otherwise, blame him. He shut the door between them
once more. She was quite happy now. He heard her singing to herself as
she got ready for bed.

Once, in the wakeful watches of the night, she startled him. He heard a
cry of pain or terror in the bedroom. "What is it?" he asked through
the door; "what has frightened you?" There was no answer. After a
minute or two, the cry was repeated. He opened the door, and looked in.
She was sleeping, and dreaming as she slept. One little thin white arm
was lifted in the air, and waved restlessly to and fro over her head.
"Don't kill me!" she murmured, in low moaning tones--"oh, don't kill
me!" Amelius took her arm gently, and laid it back on the coverlet of
the bed. His touch seemed to exercise some calming influence over her:
she sighed, and turned her head on the pillow; a faint flush rose on
her wasted cheeks, and passed away again--she sank quietly into
dreamless sleep.

Amelius returned to his sofa, and fell into a broken slumber. The hours
of the night passed. The sad light of the November morning dawned
mistily through the uncurtained window, and woke him.

He started up, and looked at the bedroom door. "Now what is to be
done?" That was his first thought, on waking: he was beginning to feel
his responsibilities at last.


CHAPTER 2

The landlady of the lodgings decided what was to be done.

"You will be so good, sir, as to leave my apartments immediately," she
said to Amelius. "I make no claim to the week's rent, in consideration
of the short notice. This is a respectable house, and it shall be kept
respectable at any sacrifice."

Amelius explained and protested; he appealed to the landlady's sense of
justice and sense of duty, as a Christian woman.

The reasoning which would have been irresistible at Tadmor was
reasoning completely thrown away in London. The landlady remained as
impenetrable as the Egyptian Sphinx. "If that creature in the bedroom
is not out of my house in an hour's time, I shall send for the police."
Having answered her lodger's arguments in those terms, she left the
room, and banged the door after her.

"Thank you, sir, for being so kind to me. I'll go away directly--and
then, perhaps, the lady will forgive you."

Amelius looked round. Simple Sally had heard it all. She was dressed in
her wretched clothes, and was standing at the open bedroom door,
crying,

"Wait a little," said Amelius, wiping her eyes with his own
handkerchief; "and we will go away together. I want to get you some
better clothes; and I don't exactly know how to set about it. Don't
cry, my dear--don't cry."

The deaf maid-of-all-work came in, as he spoke. She too was in tears.
Amelius had been good to her, in many little ways--and she was the
guilty person who had led to the discovery in the bedroom. "If you had
only told me, sir," she said pentitently, "I'd have kep' it secret.
But, there, I went in with your 'ot water, as usual, and, O Lor', I was
that startled I dropped the jug, and run downstairs again--!"

Amelius stopped the further progress of the apology. "I don't blame
you, Maria," he said; "I'm in a difficulty. Help me out of it; and you
will do me a kindness."

Maria partially heard him, and no more. Afraid of reaching the
landlady's ears, as well as the maid's ears, if he raised his voice, he
asked if she could read writing. Yes, she could read writing, if it was
plain. Amelius immediately reduced the expression of his necessities to
writing, in large text. Maria was delighted. She knew the nearest shop
at which ready-made outer clothing for women could be obtained, and
nothing was wanted, as a certain guide to an ignorant man, but two
pieces of string. With one piece, she measured Simple Sally's height,
and with the other she took the slender girth of the girl's
waist--while Amelius opened his writing-desk, and supplied himself with
the last sum of spare money that he possessed. He had just closed the
desk again, when the voice of the merciless landlady was heard, calling
imperatively for Maria.

The maid-of-all-work handed the two indicative strings to Amelius.
"They'll 'elp you at the shop," she said--and shuffled out of the room.

Amelius turned to Simple Sally. "I am going to get you some new
clothes," he began.

The girl stopped him there: she was incapable of listening to a word
more. Every trace of sorrow vanished from her face in an instant. She
clapped her hands. "Oh!" she cried, "new clothes! clean clothes! Let me
go with you."

Even Amelius saw that it was impossible to take her out in the streets
with him in broad daylight, dressed as she was then. "No, no," he said,
"wait here till you get your new things. I won't be half an hour gone.
Lock yourself in if you're afraid, and open the door to nobody till I
come back!"

Sally hesitated; she began to look frightened.

"Think of the new dress, and the pretty bonnet," suggested Amelius,
speaking unconsciously in the tone in which he might have promised a
toy to a child.

He had taken the right way with her. Her face brightened again. "I'll
do anything you tell me," she said.

He put the key in her hand, and was out in the street directly.

Amelius possessed one valuable moral quality which is exceedingly rare
among Englishmen. He was not in the least ashamed of putting himself in
a ridiculous position, when he was conscious that his own motives
justified him. The smiling and tittering of the shop-women, when he
stated the nature of his errand, and produced his two pieces of string,
failed to annoy him in the smallest degree. He laughed too. "Funny,
isn't it," he said, "a man like me buying gowns and the rest of it? She
can't come herself--and you'll advise me, like good creatures, won't
you?" They advised their handsome young customer to such good purpose,
that he was in possession of a gray walking costume, a black cloth
jacket, a plain lavender-coloured bonnet, a pair of black gloves, and a
paper of pins, in little more than ten minutes' time. The nearest
trunk-maker supplied a travelling-box to hold all these treasures; and
a passing cab took Amelius back to his lodgings, just as the half-hour
was out. But one event had happened during his absence. The landlady
had knocked at the door, had called through it in a terrible voice,
"Half an hour more!" and had retired again without waiting for an
answer.

Amelius carried the box into the bedroom. "Be as quick as you can,
Sally," he said--and left her alone, to enjoy the full rapture of
discovering the new clothes.

When she opened the door and showed herself, the change was so
wonderful that Amelius was literally unable to speak to her. Joy
flushed her pale cheeks, and diffused its tender radiance over her pure
blue eyes. A more charming little creature, in that momentary
transfiguration of pride and delight, no man's eyes ever looked on. She
ran across the room to Amelius, and threw her arms round his neck. "Let
me be your servant!" she cried; "I want to live with you all my life.
Jump me up! I'm wild--I want to fly through the window." She caught
sight of herself in the looking-glass, and suddenly became composed and
serious. "Oh," she said, with the quaintest mixture of awe and
astonishment, "was there ever such another bonnet as this? Do look at
it--do please look at it!"

Amelius good-naturedly approached to look at it. At the same moment the
sitting-room door was opened, without any preliminary ceremony of
knocking--and Rufus walked into the room. "It's half after ten," he
said, "and the breakfast is spoiling as fast as it can."

Before Amelius could make his excuses for having completely forgotten
his engagement, Rufus discovered Sally. No woman, young or old, high in
rank or low in rank, ever found the New Englander unprepared with his
own characteristic acknowledgment of the debt of courtesy which he owed
to the sex. With his customary vast strides, he marched up to Sally and
insisted on shaking hands with her. "How do you find yourself, miss? I
take pleasure in making your acquaintance." The girl turned to Amelius
with wide-eyed wonder and doubt. "Go into the next room, Sally, for a
minute or two," he said. "This gentleman is a friend of mine, and I
have something to say to him."

"That's an _active_ little girl," said Rufus, looking after her as she
ran to the friendly shelter of the bedroom. "Reminds me of one of our
girls at Coolspring--she does. Well, now, and who may Sally be?"

Amelius answered the question, as usual, without the slightest reserve.
Rufus waited in impenetrable silence until he had completed his
narrative--then took him gently by the arm, and led him to the window.
With his hands in his pockets and his long legs planted wide apart on
his big feet, the American carefully studied the face of his young
friend under the strongest light that could fall on it.

"No," said Rufus, speaking quietly to himself, "the boy is not raving
mad, so far as I can see. He has every appearance on him of meaning
what he says. And this is what comes of the Community of Tadmor, is it?
Well, civil and religious liberty is dearly purchased sometimes in the
United States--and that's a fact."

Amelius turned away to pack his portmanteau. "I don't understand you,"
he said.

"I don't suppose you do," Rufus remarked. "I am at a similar loss
myself to understand _you._ My store of sensible remarks is copious on
most occasions--but I'm darned if I ain't dried up in the face of this!
Might I venture to ask what that venerable Chief Christian at Tadmor
would say to the predicament in which I find my young Socialist this
morning?"

"What would he say?" Amelius repeated. "Just what he said when
Mellicent first came among us. 'Ah, dear me! Another of the Fallen
Leaves!' I wish I had the dear old man here to help me. _He_ would know
how to restore that poor starved, outraged, beaten creature to the
happy place on God's earth which God intended her to fill!"

Rufus abruptly took him by the hand. "You mean that?" he said.

"What else could I mean?" Amelius rejoined sharply.

"Bring her right away to breakfast at the hotel!" cried Rufus, with
every appearance of feeling infinitely relieved. "I don't say I can
supply you with the venerable Chief Christian--but I can find a woman
to fix you, who is as nigh to being an angel, barring the wings, as any
she-creature since the time of mother Eve." He knocked at the bedroom
door, turning a deaf ear to every appeal for further information which
Amelius could address to him. "Breakfast is waiting, miss!" he called
out; "and I'm bound to tell you that the temper of the cook at our
hotel is a long way on the wrong side of uncertain. Well, Amelius, this
is the age of exhibition. If there's ever an exhibition of ignorance in
the business of packing a portmanteau, you run for the Gold Medal--and
a unanimous jury will vote it, I reckon, to a young man from Tadmor.
Clear out, will you, and leave it to me."

He pulled off his coat, and conquered the difficulties of packing in a
hurry, as if he had done nothing else all his life. The landlady
herself, appearing with pitiless punctuality exactly at the expiration
of the hour, "smoothed her horrid front" in the polite and placable
presence of Rufus. He insisted on shaking hands with her; he took
pleasure in making her acquaintance; she reminded him, he did assure
her, of the lady of the captain-general of the Coolspring Branch of the
St. Vitus Commandery; and he would take the liberty to inquire whether
they were related or not. Under cover of this fashionable conversation,
Simple Sally was taken out of the room by Amelius without attracting
notice. She insisted on carrying her threadbare old clothes away with
her in the box which had contained the new dress. "I want to look at
them sometimes," she said, "and think how much better off I am now."
Rufus was the last to take his departure; he persisted in talking to
the landlady all the way down the stairs and out to the street door.

While Amelius was waiting for his friend on the house-steps, a young
man driving by in a cab leaned out and looked at him. The young man was
Jervy, on his way from Mr. Ronald's tombstone to Doctors' Commons.


CHAPTER 3

With a rapid succession of events the morning had begun. With a rapid
succession of events the day went on.

The breakfast being over, rooms at the hotel were engaged by Rufus for
his "two young friends." After this, the next thing to be done was to
provide Simple Sally with certain necessary, but invisible, articles of
clothing, which Amelius had never thought of. A note to the nearest
shop produced the speedy arrival of a smart lady, accompanied by a boy
and a large basket. There was some difficulty in persuading Sally to
trust herself alone in her room with the stranger. She was afraid, poor
soul, of everybody but Amelius. Even the good American failed to win
her confidence. The distrust implanted in her feeble mind by the
terrible life that she had led, was the instinctive distrust of a wild
animal. "Why must I go among other people?" she whispered piteously to
Amelius. "I only want to be with You!" It was as completely useless to
reason with her as it would have been to explain the advantages of a
comfortable cage to a newly caught bird. There was but one way of
inducing her to submit to the most gently exerted interference. Amelius
had only to say, "Do it, Sally, to please me." And Sally sighed, and
did it.

In her absence Amelius reiterated his inquiries, in relation to that
unknown friend whom Rufus had not scrupled to describe as "an
angel--barring the wings."

The lady in question, the American briefly explained, was an
Englishwoman--the wife of one of his countrymen, established in London
as a merchant. He had known them both intimately before their departure
from the United States; and the old friendship had been cordially
renewed on his arrival in England. Associated with many other
charitable institutions, Mrs. Payson was one of the managing committee
of a "Home for Friendless Women," especially adapted to receive poor
girls in Sally's melancholy position. Rufus offered to write a note to
Mrs. Payson; inquiring at what hour she could receive his friend and
himself, and obtain permission for them to see the "Home." Amelius,
after some hesitation, accepted the proposal. The messenger had not
been long despatched with the note before the smart person from the
shop made her appearance once more, reporting that "the young lady's
outfit had been perfectly arranged," and presenting the inevitable
result in the shape of a bill. The last farthing of ready money in the
possession of Amelius proved to be insufficient to discharge the debt.
He accepted a loan from Rufus, until he could give his bankers the
necessary order to sell out some of his money invested in the Funds.
His answer, when Rufus protested against this course, was
characteristic of the teaching which he owed to the Community. "My dear
fellow, I am bound to return the money you have lent to me--in the
interests of our poor brethren. The next friend who borrows of you may
not have the means of paying you back."