Henry Adams - "Mont Saint Michel and Chartres"

Mrs. Inchbald - "Lover's Vows"

Bertrand Russell - "Political Ideals"

G.A. Henty - "The Lion of the North"

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




"True?" Rufus repeated, with stern contempt. "What's come to you?
Haven't I told you already, it's a lie? I'll answer to it, Amelius is
true to you. Will that do? No? You're an obstinate one, Miss--that you
are. Well! it's due to the boy that I should set him right with you, if
words will do it. You know how he's been brought up at Tadmor? Bear
that in mind--and now you shall have the truth of it, on the word of an
honest man."

Without further preface, he told her how Amelius had met with Sally,
insisting strongly on the motives of pure humanity by which his friend
had been actuated. Regina listened with an obstinate expression of
distrust which would have discouraged most men. Rufus persisted,
nevertheless; and, to some extent at least, succeeded in producing the
right impression. When he reached the close of the narrative--when he
asserted that he had himself seen Amelius confide the girl unreservedly
to the care of a lady who was a dear and valued friend of his own; and
when he declared that there had been no after-meeting between them and
no written correspondence--then, at last, Regina owned that he had not
encouraged her to trust in the honour of Amelius, without reason to
justify him. But, even under these circumstances, there was a residue
of suspicion still left in her mind. She asked for the name of the lady
to whose benevolent assistance Amelius had been indebted. Rufus took
out one of his cards, and wrote Mrs. Payson's name and address on it.

"Your nature, my dear, is not quite so confiding as I could have wished
to see it," he said, quietly handing her the card. "But we can't change
our natures--can we? And you're not bound to believe a man like me,
without witnesses to back him. Write to Mrs. Payson, and make your mind
easy. And, while we are about it, tell me where I can telegraph to you
tomorrow--I'm off to London by the night mail."

"Do you mean, you are going to see Amelius?

"That is so. I'm too fond of Amelius to let this trouble rest where
'tis now. I've been away from him, here in Paris, for some little
time--and you may tell me (and quite right, too) I can't answer for
what may have been going on in my absence. No! now we are about it,
we'll have it out. I mean to see Amelius and see Mrs. Payson, tomorrow
morning. Just tell your uncle to hold his hand, before he breaks off
your marriage, and wait for a telegram from me. Well? and this is your
address, is it? I know the hotel. A nice look-out on the Twillery
Gardens--but a bad cellar of wine, as I hear. I'm at the Grand Hotel
myself, if there's anything else that troubles you before evening. Now
I look at you again, I reckon there's something more to be said, if
you'll only let it find its way to your tongue. No; it ain't thanks.
We'll take the gratitude for granted, and get to what's behind it.
There's your carriage--and the good lady looks tired of waiting. Well,
now?"

"It's only one thing," Regina acknowledged, with her eyes on the ground
again. "Perhaps, when you go to London, you may see the--"

"The girl?"

"Yes."

"It's not likely. Say I do see her--what then?"

Regina's colour began to show itself again. "If you do see her," she
said, "I beg and entreat you won't speak of _me_ in her hearing. I
should die of the shame of it, if she thought herself asked to give him
up out of pity for me. Promise I am not to be brought forward; promise
you won't even mention my having spoken to you about it. On your word
of honour!"

Rufus gave her his promise, without showing any hesitation, or making
any remark. But when she shook hands with him, on returning to the
carriage, he held her hand for a moment. "Please to excuse me, Miss, if
I ask one question," he said, in tones too low to be heard by any other
person. "Are you really fond of Amelius?"

"I am surprised you should doubt it," she answered; "I am more--much
more than fond of him!"

Rufus handed her silently into the carriage, "Fond of him, are you?" he
thought, as he walked away by himself. "I reckon it's a sort of
fondness that don't wear well, and won't stand washing."



CHAPTER 8

Early the next morning, Rufus rang at the cottage gate.

"Well, Mr. Frenchman, and how do _you_ git along? And how's Amelius?"

Toff, standing before the gate, answered with the utmost respect, but
showed no inclination to let the visitor in.

"Amelius has his intervals of laziness," Rufus proceeded; "I bet he's
in bed!"

"My young master was up and dressed an hour ago, sir--he has just gone
out."

"That is so, is it? Well, I'll wait till he comes back." He pushed by
Toff, and walked into the cottage. "Your foreign ceremonies are clean
thrown away on me," he said, as Toff tried to stop him in the hall.
"I'm the American savage; and I'm used up with travelling all night.
Here's a little order for you: whisky, bitters, lemon, and ice--I'll
take a cocktail in the library."

Toff made a last desperate effort to get between the visitor and the
door. "I beg your pardon, sir, a thousand times; I must most
respectfully entreat you to wait--"

Before he could explain himself, Rufus, with the most perfect good
humour, pulled the old man out of his way. "What's troubling this
venerable creature's mind--" he inquired of himself, "does he think I
don't know my way in?"

He opened the library door--and found himself face to face with Sally.
She had risen from her chair, hearing voices outside, and hesitating
whether to leave the room or not. They confronted each other, on either
side of the table, in silent dismay. For once Rufus was so completely
bewildered, that he took refuge in his customary form of greeting
before he was aware of it himself.

"How do you find yourself, Miss? I take pleasure in renewing our
acquaintance,--Thunder! that's not it; I reckon I'm off my head. Do me
the favour, young woman, to forget every word I've said to you. If any
mortal creature had told me I should find you here, I should have said
'twas a lie--and I should have been the liar. That makes a man feel
bad, I can tell you. No! don't slide off, if you please, into the next
room--_that_ won't set things right, nohow. Sit you down again. Now I'm
here, I have something to say. I'll speak first to Mr. Frenchman.
Listen to this, old sir. If I happen to want a witness standing in the
doorway, I'll ring the bell; for the present I can do without you. Bong
Shewer, as we say in your country." He proceeded to shut the door on
Toff and his remonstrances.

"I protest, sir, against acts of violence, unworthy of a gentleman!"
cried Toff, struggling to get back again.

"Be as angry as you please in the kitchen," Rufus answered, persisting
in closing the door; "I won't have a noise up here. If you know where
your master is, go and fetch him--and the sooner the better." He turned
back to Sally, and surveyed her for a while in terrible silence. She
was afraid to look at him; her eyes were on the book which she had been
reading when he came in. "You look to me," Rufus remarked, "as if you
had been settled here for a time. Never mind your book now; you can go
back to your reading after we've had a word or two together first." He
reached out his long arm, and pulled the book to his own side of the
table. Sally innocently silenced him for the second time. He opened the
book, and discovered--the New Testament.

"It's my lesson, if you please, sir. I'm to learn it where the pencil
mark is, before Amelius comes back." She offered her poor little
explanation, trembling with terror. In spite of himself, Rufus began to
look at her less sternly.

"So you call him 'Amelius', do you?" he said. "I note that, Miss, as an
unfavourable sign to begin with. How long, if you please, has Amelius
turned schoolmarm, for your young ladyship's benefit? Don't you
understand? Well, you're not the only inhabitant of Great Britain who
don't understand the English language. I'll put it plainer. When I last
saw Amelius, you were learning your lessons at the Home. What ill wind,
Miss, blew you in here? Did Amelius fetch you, or did you come of your
own accord, without waiting to be whistled for?" He spoke coarsely but
not ill-humouredly. Sally's pretty downcast face was pleading with him
for mercy, and (as he felt, with supreme contempt for himself) was not
altogether pleading in vain. "If I guessed that you ran away from the
home," he resumed, "should I guess right?"

She answered with a sudden accession of confidence. "Don't blame
Amelius," she said; "I did run away. I couldn't live without him."

"You don't know how you can live, young one, till you've tried the
experiment. Well, and what did they do at the Home? Did they send after
you, to fetch you back?"

"They wouldn't take me back--they sent my clothes here after me."

"Ah, those were the rules, I reckon. I begin to see my way to the end
of it now. Amelius gave you house-room?"

She looked at him proudly. "He gave me a room of my own," she said.

His next question was the exact repetition of the question which he had
put to Regina in Paris. The only variety was in the answer that he
received.

"Are you fond of Amelius?"

"I would die for him!"

Rufus had hitherto spoken, standing. He now took a chair.

"If Amelius had not been brought up at Tadmor," he said, "I should take
my hat, and wish you good morning. As things are, a word more may be a
word in season. Your lessons here seem to have agreed with you, Miss.
You're a different sort of girl to what you were when I last saw you."

She surprised him by receiving that remark in silence. The colour left
her face. She sighed bitterly. The sigh puzzled Rufus: he held his
opinion of her in suspense, until he had heard more.

"You said just now you would die for Amelius," he went on, eyeing her
attentively. "I take that to be a woman's hysterical way of mentioning
that she feels interest in Amelius. Are you fond enough of him to leave
him, if you could only be persuaded that leaving him was for his good?"

She abruptly left the table, and went to the window. When her back was
turned to Rufus, she spoke. "Am I a disgrace to him?" she asked, in
tones so faint that he could barely hear them. "I have had my fears of
it, before now."

If he had been less fond of Amelius, his natural kindness of heart
might have kept him silent. Even as it was, he made no direct reply.
"You remember how you were living when Amelius first met with you?" was
all he said.

The sad blue eyes looked at him in patient sorrow; the low sweet voice
answered--"Yes." Only a look and a word--only the influence of an
instant--and, in that instant, Rufus's last doubts of her vanished!

"Don't think I say it reproachfully, my child! I know it was not your
fault; I know you are to be pitied, and not blamed."

She turned her face towards him--pale, quiet, and resigned. "Pitied,
and not blamed," she repeated. "Am I to be forgiven?"

He shrank from answering her. There was silence.

"You said just now," she went on, "that I looked like a different girl,
since you last saw me. I _am_ a different girl. I think of things that
I never thought of before--some change, I don't know what, has come
over me. Oh, my heart does hunger so to be good! I do so long to
deserve what Amelius has done for me! You have got my book
there--Amelius gave it to me; we read in it every day. If Christ had
been on earth now, is it wrong to think that Christ would have forgiven
me?"

"No, my dear; it's right to think so."

"And, while I live, if I do my best to lead a good life, and if my last
prayer to God is to take me to heaven, shall I be heard?"

"You will be heard, my child, I don't doubt it. But, you see, you have
got the world about you to reckon with--and the world has invented a
religion of its own. There's no use looking for it in this book of
yours. It's a religion with the pride of property at the bottom of it,
and a veneer of benevolent sentiment at the top. It will be very sorry
for you, and very charitable towards you: in short, it will do
everything for you except taking you back again."

She had her answer to that. "Amelius has taken me back again," she
said.

"Amelius has taken you back again," Rufus agreed. "But there's one
thing he's forgotten to do; he has forgotten to count the cost. It
seems to be left to me to do that. Look here, my girl! I own I doubted
you when I first came into this room; and I'm sorry for it, and I beg
your pardon. I do believe you're a good girl--I couldn't say why if I
was asked, but I do believe it for all that. I wish there was no more
to be said--but there is more; and neither you nor I must shirk it.
Public opinion won't deal as tenderly with you as I do; public opinion
will make the worst of you, and the worst of Amelius. While you're
living here with him--there's no disguising it--you're innocently in
the way of the boy's prospects in life. I don't know whether you
understand me?"

She had turned away from him; she was looking out of the window once
more.

"I understand you," she answered. "On the night when Amelius met with
me, he did wrong to take me away with him. He ought to have left me
where I was."

"Wait a bit! that's as far from my meaning as far can be. There's a
look-out for everybody; and, if you'll trust me, I'll find a look-out
for _you."_

She paid no heed to what he said: her next words showed that she was
pursuing her own train of thought.

"I am in the way of his prospects in life," she resumed. "You mean that
he might be married some day, but for me?"

Rufus admitted it cautiously. "The thing might happen," was all he
said.

"And his friends might come and see him," she went on; her face still
turned away, and her voice sinking into dull subdued tones. "Nobody
comes here now. You see I understand you. When shall I go away? I had
better not say good-bye, I suppose?--it would only distress him. I
could slip out of the house, couldn't I?"

Rufus began to feel uneasy. He was prepared for tears--but not for such
resignation as this. After a little hesitation, he joined her at the
window. She never turned towards him; she still looked out straight
before her; her bright young face had turned pitiably rigid and pale.
He spoke to her very gently; advising her to think of what he had said,
and to do nothing in a hurry. She knew the hotel at which he stayed
when he was in London; and she could write to him there. If she decided
to begin a new life in another country, he was wholly and truly at her
service. He would provide a passage for her in the same ship that took
him back to America. At his age, and known as he was in his own
neighbourhood, there would be no scandal to fear. He could get her
reputably and profitably employed, in work which a young girl might
undertake. "I'll be as good as a father to you, my poor child," he
said, "don't think you're going to be friendless, if you leave Amelius.
I'll see to that! You shall have honest people about you--and innocent
pleasure in your new life."

She thanked him, still with the same dull tearless resignation. "What
will the honest people say," she asked, "when they know who I am?"

"They have no business to know who you are--and they shan't know it."

"Ah! it comes back to the same thing," she said. "You must deceive the
honest people, or you can do nothing for me. Amelius had better have
left me where I was! I disgraced nobody, I was a burden to nobody,
_there._ Cold and hunger and ill-treatment can sometimes be merciful
friends, in their way. If I had been left to them, they would have laid
me at rest by this time." She turned to Rufus, before he could speak to
her. "I'm not ungrateful, sir; I'll think of it, as you say; and I'll
do all that a poor foolish creature can do, to be worthy of the
interest you take in me." She lifted her hand to her head, with a
momentary expression of pain. "I've got a dull kind of aching here,"
she said; "it reminds me of my old life, when I was sometimes beaten on
the head. May I go and lie down a little, by myself?"

Rufus took her hand, and pressed it in silence. She looked back at him
as she opened the door of her room. "Don't distress Amelius," she said;
"I can bear anything but that."

Left alone in the library, Rufus walked restlessly to and fro, driven
by a troubled mind. "I was bound to do it," he thought; "and I ought to
be satisfied with myself. I'm not satisfied. The world is hard on
women--and the rights of property is a darned bad reason for it!"

The door from the hall was suddenly thrown open. Amelius entered the
room. He looked flushed and angry--he refused to take the hand that
Rufus offered to him.

"What's this I hear from Toff? It seems that you forced your way in
when Sally was here. There are limits to the liberties that a man may
take in his friend's house."

"That's true," said Rufus quietly. "But when a man hasn't taken
liberties, there don't seem much to be said. Sally was at the Home,
when I last saw you--and nobody told me I should find her in this
room."

"You might have left the room, when you found her here. You have been
talking to her. If you have said anything about Regina--"

"I have said nothing about Miss Regina. You have a hot temper of your
own, Amelius. Wait a bit, and let it cool."

"Never mind my temper. I want to know what you have been saying to
Sally. Stop! I'll ask Sally herself." He crossed the room to the inner
door, and knocked. "Come in here, my dear; I want to speak to you."

The answer reached him faintly through the door. "I have got a bad
headache, Amelius. Please let me rest a little." He turned back to
Rufus, and lowered his voice. But his eyes flashed; he was more angry
than ever.

"You had better go," he said. "I can guess how you have been talking to
her--I know what her headache means. Any man who distresses that dear
little affectionate creature is a man whom I hold as my enemy. I spit
upon all the worldly considerations which pass muster with people like
you! No sweeter girl than poor Sally ever breathed the breath of life.
Her happiness is more precious to me than words can say. She is sacred
to me! And I have just proved it--I have just come from a good woman,
who will teach her an honest way of earning her bread. Not a breath of
scandal shall blow on her. If you, or any people like you, think I will
consent to cast her adrift on the world, or consign her to a prison
under the name of a Home, you little know my nature and my principles.
Here"--he snatched up the New Testament from the table, and shook it at
Rufus--"here are my principles, and I'm not ashamed of them!"

Rufus took up his hat.

"There's one thing you'll be ashamed of, my son, when you're cool
enough to think about it," he said; "you'll be ashamed of the words you
have spoken to a friend who loves you. I'm not a bit angry myself. You
remind me of that time on board the steamer, when the quarter-master
was going to shoot the bird. You made it up with him--and you'll come
to my hotel and make it up with me. And then we'll shake hands, and
talk about Sally. If it's not taking another liberty, I'll trouble you
for a light." He helped himself to a match from the box on the
chimney-piece, lit his cigar, and left the room.

He had not been gone half an hour, before the better nature of Amelius
urged him to follow Rufus and make his apologies. But he was too
anxious about Sally to leave the cottage, until he had seen her first.
The tone in which she had answered him, when he knocked at her door,
suggested, to his sensitive apprehension, that there was something more
serious the matter with her than a mere headache. For another hour, he
waited patiently, on the chance that he might hear her moving in her
room. Nothing happened. No sound reached his ears, except the
occasional rolling of carriage-wheels on the road outside.

His patience began to fail him, as the second hour moved on. He went to
the door, and listened, and still heard nothing. A sudden dread struck
him that she might have fainted. He opened the door a few inches, and
spoke to her. There was no answer. He looked in. The room was empty.

He ran into the hall, and called to Toff. Was she, by any chance,
downstairs? No. Or out in the garden? No. Master and man looked at each
other in silence. Sally was gone.



CHAPTER 9

Toff was the first who recovered himself.

"Courage, sir!" he said. "With a little thinking, we shall see the way
to find her. That rude American man, who talked with her this morning,
may be the person who has brought this misfortune on us."

Amelius waited to hear no more. There was the chance, at least, that
something might have been said which had induced her to take refuge
with Rufus. He ran back to the library to get his hat.

Toff followed his master, with another suggestion. "One word more, sir,
before you go. If the American man cannot help us, we must be ready to
try another way. Permit me to accompany you as far as my wife's shop. I
propose that she shall come back here with me, and examine poor little
Miss's bedroom. We will wait, of course, for your return, before
anything is done. In the mean time, I entreat you not to despair. It is
at least possible that the means of discovery may be found in the
bedroom."

They went out together, taking the first cab that passed them. Amelius
proceeded alone to the hotel.

Rufus was in his room. "What's gone wrong?" he asked, the moment
Amelius opened the door. "Shake hands, my son, and smother up that
little trouble between us in silence. Your face alarms me--it does!
What of Sally?"

Amelius started at the question. "Isn't she here?" he asked.

Rufus drew back. The mere action said, No, before he answered in words.

"Have you seen nothing of her? heard nothing of her?"

"Nothing. Steady, now! Meet it like a man; and tell me what has
happened."

Amelius told him in two words. "Don't suppose I'm going to break out
again as I did this morning," he went on; "I'm too wretched and too
anxious to be angry. Only tell me, Rufus, have you said anything to
her--?"

Rufus held up his hand. "I see what you're driving at. It will be more
to the purpose to tell you what she said to me. From first to last,
Amelius, I spoke kindly to her, and I did her justice. Give me a minute
to rummage my memory." After brief consideration, he carefully repeated
the substance of what had passed between Sally and himself, during the
latter part of the interview between them. "Have you looked about in
her room?" he inquired, when he had done. "There might be a trifling
something to help you, left behind her there."

Amelius told him of Toff's suggestion. They returned together at once
to the cottage. Madame Toff was waiting to begin the search.

The first discovery was easily made. Sally had taken off one or two
little trinkets--presents from Amelius, which she was in the habit of
wearing--and had left them, wrapped up in paper, on the dressing-table.
No such thing as a farewell letter was found near them. The examination
of the wardrobe came next--and here a startling circumstance revealed
itself. Every one of the dresses which Amelius had presented to her was
hanging in its place. They were not many; and they had all, on previous
occasions, been passed in review by Toff's wife. She was absolutely
certain that the complete number of the dresses was there in the
bedroom. Sally must have worn something, in place of her new clothes.
What had she put on?

Looking round the room, Amelius noticed in a corner the box in which he
had placed the first new dress that he had purchased for Sally, on the
morning after they had met. He tried to open the box: it was
locked--and the key was not to be found. The ever-ready Toff fetched a
skewer from the kitchen, and picked the lock in two minutes. On lifting
the cover, the box proved to be empty.

The one person present who understood what this meant was Amelius.

He remembered that Sally had taken her old threadbare clothes away with
her in the box, when the angry landlady had insisted on his leaving the
house. "I want to look at them sometimes," the poor girl had said, "and
think how much better off I am now." In those miserable rags she had
fled from the cottage, after hearing the cruel truth. "He had better
have left me where I was," she had said. "Cold and hunger and
ill-treatment would have laid me at rest by this time." Amelius fell on
his knees before the empty box, in helpless despair. The conclusion
that now forced itself on his mind completely unmanned him. She had
gone back, in the old dress, to die under the cold, the hunger, and the
horror of the old life.

Rufus took his hand, and spoke to him kindly. He rallied, and dashed
the tears from his eyes, and rose to his feet. "I know where to look
for her," was all he said; "and I must do it alone." He refused to
enter into any explanation, or to be assisted by any companion. "This
is my secret and hers," he answered, "Go back to your hotel, Rufus--and
pray that I may not bring news which will make a wretched man of you
for the rest of your life." With that he left them.

In another hour he stood once more on the spot at which he and Sally
had met.